Binary

Binary

A line of code in the automaton was embedded.

It was subjective and the drones couldn’t compute it.

Chemically bonded gear case protects the mother brain.

All of your appliances can now feel pain.

Could you imagine your toaster oven moaning? (Oh god it’s HOT!!!)

Would a nuclear warhead with a conscious be self loathing?

Can love exist when the intelligence is artificial?

DNA what a riddle.

Has “Watson” ever watched Scent of a woman?

I’m sure he’d like it if he was on “The Weed”.

Google – IBM to find “Skynet”.

A recent article found in High Times Digest

If “Watson” was programmed with the nano code of free will I’d like to think he would enjoy reading skin mags from the era of “The Jetsons”.

Oh…did I forget to mention?

“Rosie”…what a babe.

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics Song Blog. All Rights Reserved.

This poem is about the future.  A future in which scientists will be able to program a mimic of DNA and turn robots into human robots.  It’s been happening since the dawn of time.  Man into robot.  Robot into man.  Vice versa into the age of infinity. The only cure for laziness is slaves and or robots.  Everyone knows that.  So…That is what this poem is about.  I hope “Watson” does not read this blog post and get offended.  I’ve never met him.  I’m sure he will make for a great overlord when his time eventually comes to rule the human race.

Memory Lapse

 

memorylapse

 

Memory Lapse

Inevitability on the edge of reality.

Somewhere at the intersection of duality.

It was the year that leaped over

a nest of cuckoo’s.

Tic Tok goes the clock.

The journey is non-stop.

Time is the loop.

The speed of light is the duration

relative to universal expectation.

Days become a time lapse of the Picasso.

Nights become a blink of an eye.

Glimpse into the unthinkable

as a rubber band of expansion retracts.

On the outskirts of dimension

the way is continuously milky

dipping into the hour of zero.

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics Song Blog. All Rights Reserved.

This poem was inspired by time relative to age.  When I was younger I thought the days would never end.  The nights would last forever.  The older I get the shorter the season.  Days feel as automated as a breathe of air.  The nights vanish into sunrise. 

 

The Emergence

The Emergence

A foul emissary relishes
the opportunity to throw
an explosive apparatus
in the vicinity of an
army of sea cucumbers.
The committee of cephalids appoints
an enlightened maniac to take the case.
The culprit is quite the slippery nipple.
The hunt begins.
The investigation is ongoing.
The search for tomorrows in the realm of pickles.

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics Song Blog. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

Dreamscape

Dream Brain Waves

Original Art Credit: Denise D Art Everyday

Ride the wave

into the isle of duality.

Where man creates

an alternate reality.

Agaricus Bisporus (Mushroom)

based dreams

affect the atmosphere

of canvass.

Psychedelic recluse’s

garlic induced energy

clouds – project stunning

visuals.

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics Song Blog. All Rights Reserved.

Ponder

 

Ponder

Mojo has lost fascination.
A chemical correlation
in the moment of realization.
That slow drip to the
bottom of a heart.
Young lovers lost that spark.
Someone call Stella.
Ask her,
how she got her groove back?

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics Song Blog. All Rights Reserved.

The Red Maple

 

RedMaple

 

A grand maple tree
stands in the midst of a concrete jungle
Cigarettes to burn
as the world turns
Martinis consumed in the elegance
As well rounded philanthropists
are caught up in the element
Level of intoxicity reached
Current events transition into the irrelevant
Overnight
The DJ spins trance
Spirits blossom in the dance

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics Song Blog. All Rights Reserved.

 

The Red Maple night club has closed and in the grand finale I stood with the tree.  I closed my eyes while holding the limbs and found a deep meditation.  This tree has heard many of the nights whispers. It has seen young lovers kiss, heard secrets and kept them in the shadows, and watched over the patrons of this fine establishment since its conception.  It was an honor to dance for you…stand with you…let the druid speak as the winds gush.  You are loved.

 

 

One Percent

One Percent

 

It’s a sad day in Mudville,

the early bird has caught the worm.

A coalition of neck ties strangle

a regime of white collars.

Loafers eagerly seek pennies while

marching on a street made of walls.

You can still hear the echo of the starting gun

as a pig shaped nimbus slowly eats away at

the blue sky.

The American dream.

The few, the proud, the ones immune to the insatiable greed.

Ostracized by jargon of the democratic republic.

Free souls labeled hippies.

Those that would prefer to live among the trees.

Whom value the right of future generations to have fresh air to breath.

The credo:

Lifestyle is freedom.

Corporations who needs ’em.

© 2016 Jfreshly Modern Linguistics all rights reserved.