#1
The key to
under-
standing John's mum-
bling babble is to
work blathering with
all known grum-
bling scum-
bags in the
area.
#2
Sheer junky
blonde men's
sons are
shared by
sheared shaken ju-
ries hunk-
ered down for
now in a
herky beef hus-
band's jerky her-
esy chamber or
dry cell assault and
battery cage.
Steven West's envoy #70 was a
teensy wee stew
eater who'd
vowed never to
wow anyone not
applying a
glands-on ap-
proach to
poaching today's or
any other
dazed whirled
musings on
plopular brick-
ish social ren-
ditions of all
winos who con-
tained extra cracks not a-
vailable on earlier
blurred virgins.
Water warms my skin
Slippery hands touch me
I babble loudly
Water splashes
“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”
~William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act V, Scene I
I weep by the stardust shore where seraphs sing
Tangerine tears rain despair ‘neath a velveteen veil
My melancholic muse, muslin-wrapped in ice-cold caskets
Slain by ruinous romance swirled in absinthe abstractions
Despondent sloughs bespeak the depths of my soul
Saffron scars scream sonnets through metaphorical mists
Morose melodies paint scabs on pastiche strophe
Pregnant pause, so precious, submerged in lurid lament
But then it whispered, a voice unvarnished by purple plumes
A verse, it bloomed, untainted by thesaurus bleeds
Sculpting off silken scaffolds pasted upon profligate poetry
Leaving a profounder palate for plainer prosody
Fools thought wisdom speak in sequin-laced soliloquy
But wise men abrade from calligraphic charade
Soft as hugs, tiny hands reach out
when the tall one comes to make the silly sounds.
Aaro forgets the dark warm place,
this new world too big.
*
Blinks at bright lights and strange faces.
Hears songs beyond the funny noises.
Wrapped snug in soft blanket folds,
Aaro wiggles on.
*
Dropping milk bubbles on fuzzy cloth, watches
shapes moving above: close enough to grab.
When sleep comes, Aaro takes a deep breath
and dreams away.
*
Sees a big face smiling in the light,
hiding then appearing with a "peek-a-boo."
Such a nice game, thinks Aaro,
it makes the big one laugh too.
*
Eyes will not stay on one thing
and wander to new colours instead:
ceiling fan spinning round and round;
herself, Aaro, a small wonder
known by warm arms.
*
Milk fills her tiny tummy. Coos escape
from lips still learning to smile.
Sleep comes to Aaro's eyes; her fingers,
wherever they reach, find something to hold.
*
A soft blanket against skin; her world,
sound-filled, simple as now.
Her cries heard always, Aaro babbles to herself
as she discovers everything new.
My Yin and my Yang are at odds with one another
I place the blame for my Oedipus Complex squarely on the shoulders of my mother
I cannot be held responsible for the mistakes I make each day
The flaws in my character are baked into my DNA.
Maslow's Hierarchy establishes priorities from which I cannot change
My interpretation of Rorschach's inkblots suggest I am deranged
I respond to certain stimuli much the same as Pavlov's dog
I hear voices from inside my head but cannot follow the dialogue.
Schrodinger's cat may be dead or alive, the same is true for my libido
Sigmund Frued would say that is because my Id is subservient to my Super-Ego
I am sorry but our time is up, according to the clock upon the wall
You integrated some of my personalities, but you did not get them all.
AI is the ultimate plagiarist
mimicking patterns in human devised data.
Its models needs training on high quality data,
billions and billions of bits and bytes
of high-quality human derived thoughts and information.
But, AI output, with its hallucinations and flaws,
now has begun to flood into the data sources themselves.
Just like inbreeding,
the training becomes regurgitative,
feeding off its own output recycled.
With no way to tell the difference
between original and AI derived stuff,
the models become dumber and dumber
as each model learns from the previous one.
Rehashing the trash, disgorging, re-eating its own sick.
AI is its own Tower of Babel, the omniscient fountain of all insight, capable of all and anything, is fundamentally flawed and inbred.
AI is destined to become a rabble,
a Babel babble, incoherent, useless flotsam and jetsam.
Sexy mouth,
so salty
make it sweet;
That babble
so sticky,
indulgent;
Damn body,
every word
included.
I only speak in Absolute
Yet this is not my only attribute
Im also fluent in Paradox
Contradiction and Outside the Box
Though Deception is my native tongue
And Manipulation my lips have sung
Not in ages have I conversed
In languages of the damned and cursed
On occasion I'll use Diplomat
To suit a purpose
Or if the situation calls for that
Never will I speak in Babble
Though in Hypocrisy I sometimes dabble
But my character i do defend
I only do this to reach an end
And Haughtiness if 'tis the season
And Hoity-Toity if there's a reason
And also in Conformity
Though it's sprinkled with Repugnancy
While in forgiveness I can read and I can write
My Understanding is riddled with my Oversight
I never learned to speak Coquettish
But I do admit I have a fetish
I understand a small amount of Bliss
Which I think derived from Righteousness
But honestly I'd have to say that Theoretic
Has always been,will always be,
My favorite aesthetic
Do you believe in faith,
enough to have faith in your belief?
Do you know enough to know
that you do not know sufficient?
Do you listen or merely talk?
Are there really several radios on the table -
all saying different things?
Like you, from Babel?
Do you wish they would listen
and not babble brashly, brazenly?
You’re one of a couple?
Does the other one merely hear you?
Do you close your ears
but open your mouth?
A confusion of voices?
What a discombobulation!
(25 May 2024)
Often
the rain has something to say to me,
but this rainy day
it is hyperactively neurotic.
Each of my shoes are waterlogged
by a squelching sky-fall.
Then again there is the soggy dribble
when the flood falters
and it plugs the dripping air
only to burst out in hysterical torrents.
It is not mute,
it mutters and sprays wet words;
a babble of bellicose blather.
I am drenched in my own sweat,
as weepy warm sweepings
wash over me.
I was hoping that the last spatter
and squall of the day
would have something to say
but it only seemed to hint at:
'Coming back again."
nightfall whispers hushed
but, trees whoosh amongst themselves
secrets come to naught
My cousin and I were dismayed
By the kids who were in her third grade
They had no answers to tell
Though they spoke very well
And knew how impressions were made!
They earned an A+ for endurance
For displaying remarkable effluence
They could babble all night
With no fact in sight
Nor any sign of congruence!
Oh, how wise we thought that we were
We could see their minds were a blur!
But now, mid-elections
And selfie confections
We see why they were so sure.
twitter tweets twaddle
musk thrusts tusk to take control
all babel's babble
Babble bear looked big and blustery and burly.
His eyes were large, and his hair was straight, not curly.
His fur was thick, and his snot was shiny and large.
He loved daisies, and the florist always said “no charge”
So, he got a bunch of honeycombs and took some in.
He put it on the counter and said, “this is a win.”
You keep giving me daisies and I will bring you honey.
It’s a lot tastier than that green yucky stuff you call money.
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