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.

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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. 

 

Urban Ascetic

BaltimoreCityCardboard

 

Urban Ascetic

A soul close to heartbreak.

Vice pandering on the MLK.  (Martin Luther King Expressway)

Economic Reasons.

40 oz to the heathens.

Sun beats down as he paces.

Down and out leathered faces.

Cardboard billboards advertise the story, “I ain’t good

lookin enough to be a stripper”.

The slogan worked.

He’s found a big tipper.

One dollar bill.

One drink on federal hill.

One moment of even keel.

Hard times in the city of charm.

Everyone is up in arms.

A gun shot blazes.

Everyone scatters.

A child yells at the top of her lungs,

“All lives matter”.

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

 

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 Big Queef

The Big Queef

A wind gust
blows against my balls.
The smell, is where
the trouble started.
I realized she had just farted.

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