We just filled up TeachText's 32000-byte limit. This is a new file! You can still look at (but not edit) the old one, entitled "(full) poetry 2005-06-03". You can even look at both at once, because we're running multifinder...just open up another copy of TeachText. (You will note that you have to actually make another copy of the executable. Silly mac.) You can also look at the old file online at http://www.ugcs.caltech.edu/~q/poetry/ Write poetry here: poetry here There once was a being named Q. His omnipotence yielded a slew Of odd human trials And interspecies sex styles That left viewers without a clue. I tried being nice while with your mother last night; she wanted it rough The weasels came and took my screwdriver now I have no clams Bees there is all came and took my uncle Joe this wasted space I think they are going to Mars over here please eat the pencil and tabs in this text editor it is made of solid wax are equivalent to removed from the ear of a waffle two spaces in outer space and the font is proportional with no lungs so there is no way but that is ok to make this column line up because there is no at all. air in outer space Blah. anyway I believe in the infallibility of language. Reflexive driven desire expresses expression. Less-meaning partness ofnovel use-tion unbound reinvent(gerund) this. pow is the explosion of my heart after everything after leaving its over its gone but lingers and returns in strange and impossible dreams and feelings Eulogy for a Forgotten Slumber ------------------------ One more time The music is droning, droning, droning, The same hypnotic notes From a thousand plays before. The record, old and scratched Hisses out a memory Of a thought Of an age When sleep was more than just a dream. my surf mentor is so awesome instead of flagella, my surf mentor's sperm have outboard motors Ah, the chemistry! It calls to me joyfully: "Come, study!! Let us dance!" And I frolic in my happiness and say, "yes, I will study! Hooray for chemistry!!" and scamper off to my books. Chemistry murdered my entire family and then raped my dog. Oh man! The essential mystery remains: how precisely did Commander Sadhu come to be at the Pink Flamingo that fateful night? Highly reliable eye witness accounts place him in a house of ill repute hundreds of miles away mere minutes before the incident in question. Yet, there can be no doubt that not only was Sadhu the mastermind behind the heinous assassination of our glorious leader, may his soul rest forever in the halls of the Great Salamander, but he was in fact present to activate the rubber ducky. Only if we elucidate this issue can we fully understand the collapse of the Grand Machinery of our Luminous Society, and the darkness and chaos into which we have been plunged. Forever at your service, Inspector Squidius Maximus MMmmmammmMmmamMMMMmMEmmiitIIIINNICVnei! Boohiegeiieium of great BOOOOOOOOQUESTIGERS in TASTY MERCURODROME plasmogrommet analysis rape monkeys of TOASTER TOFU now with an easy to open plastic banana that has twelve times the flavor of the real thing...and 25% less porridge by-products! Get yours today! Your brain has been MODIFIED! Suckers...all your squids will return to me, and the goat plasma will remain in a jar on the third shelf from the top labeled "octopus guts" with a wooden stencil named Maxwell. This, we say, is not the other, but this being that is this. This is the night of the pronouns...the pronouns...the pronouns...oh say, please tape, can you bring me the muskrat of Axel Scherer on a stalk of muffins and some tasty bread made of oranges and candles and the little flat bears that live under your pillow. Can we prove that the wallaby is np-complete without giving in to our inner fears of turkeys in the night and walruses with no coats and bees with tasty flanges of plastic burning like a tomato in the dusk? Or are we doomed to repeat over and over again the learnings of our great friend Joe who said that to fill a plastic bottle with uracil is to know the meaning of tomato paste sold in the supermarket in little tiny cans? Speaking of which, do they use those little tiny cans for anything else? Or perhaps we all live in little tiny cans, and the elephant is the true duck. Also, I really like carbon-filament light bulbs. Carbon-- oh wonder of wonders!! it can make so many compounds- one, two, three, even four-coordinate!! Mwahahahaa...I am sulfur. I can have FOUR MILLION BONDS...and it just makes me STRONGER!!! My name is Bill Brasky! SAY IT!!! I have lost my beverage. I am greatly saddened. this place is so freaking dead That's because I killed it with a spoon and some chopsticks in the head I have nothing to say to that your statement is in itself a contradiction you bastard guy What's the point of all this? We're standing right next to each other. *sigh.* agreed. one and up the mountain fish the grasshopper ate the weasel my teacher gave me licorice shoes and all is in the little thing that goes boom I find that things don't make much sense recently pass me the toothpaste, moonchild I do not want to leave my weasels out to dry for which one doesn't know the power of tomorrow's golden pineapple juice I believe there is only one cookie and some people can eat it did Jaap really just say something about orthodontists? No, he did not. But there are in fact five rolls of tape and a yellow-bellied sapsucker to mark the conglomerates with spools of thread and batter the coastline of the wall of waffle with bitter blasphemous muskrat breath in the face of adversity. Can we hear the muffin calling us, or is it just the belief of John the Baptist that spoons can listen to our speech as if oxen have no backhoes and dogmatic solid quadrupoles reflect across the obelisk of toad sauce? Believe that tofu is tasty for everyone, and you will be spared when the rake scrapes the turtle with coffee grounds. Repent and the squirrel will stuff your nose full of sandflies. Or hold fast, eating the mushrooms, quails, and modified food starch, and batons of great power will drop from the quaking muffin starch sky blasting songs of oil wells and wheels of giant gouda cheese. Nine strange beasts with horns of standpipes and barrels of gasket peas are tasty with the soft sausage of time and space. OR are we the cow? the klorpf of the glorpf is on cow sababababababababababababababababa sahara bicycles sahara bicycles sahara bicycles selcycib arahas? Green, green shades of teal Slowly envelope me as the twigs take root in my skin. The beetles are under the roots, Burrowing deep, biting, scratching. Myriads of Socratic gadflies Pushing, slashing, forcing My body into fast-fleshed frenzy Of forward-work-progress. I am but a cow surrounded by giant ants who ate my shovel? Viking viking viking viking viking viking viking viking viking viking viking viking mushroom mushroom... Well, Harold, you broke the moon. Yes, I used the wrong spork. I seek to bring string cheese into the world but all of my opossums are like clay some are spongier than others but all will become beautiful cats and many will dig great holes in the earth and fill them with tiramisu and goldfish because both of these things are delicious especially when one is on fire and needing cellulose to fill one's eyes with pure vegetable oil and seek the true bagel a bagel with cream cheese or maybe jam is a tasty thing indeed please do not eat the airplane with your sledgehammer and drill we are looking forward to sexual intercourse with bats can we hear the uncle of beans playing a ghostly trombone? or are we doomed to bake in the past, unknown to jellyfish, seeking a rat's toenail when the only light we have comes from our pliers bring me the furry canvas of pured spinach, and I will be as a goat. I believe that there is only one moose one straw toad in the bucket of toadstools and pigeon pudding that confronts us every day of our lives, as we stare at incessantly green lamprey parts cooking in the shallow bath of crimson marble ointment that decorates the pots and pans of our society and breathes a light of orange marmalade onto the flying toasters and the cigar factory that gleams brightly in the purple night--oh purple night, thou art purple as Dick Cheney's earpiece--that cooks the sausage on the floor of the Senate. If we portray ducks as human and humans as wombats, will we be rid of corrugations and allowed to drift slowly to the top of a lavendar pie, or will we be forced to face the onslaughts of rectangularly driven sea urchins crawling at various speeds through a night of omelets? Will we see the coca-cola factory spilling tofu on the bowels of Roger Rabbit crookedly eating black plastic ferret parts, or are we forever in the mouth of the ferruginous platypus? Will the green petunias save us? Will the mouse of doom truly flash in the fading green ptarmigan juice? Will mashed potatoes be our muffins and muffins be our plate of peas? Please, take the spoon and the rake and go! nncbcndkshvncdmsdlcisdlsnmdvjbnklvhzkcuvnlsdvbakf m.,cnbvouadhvi;784ht9q34ytdifvkadbvia4gha9vy-9ze nt8q3htkvjbf0v8zdrv*(Ar4t0wghzsgfihsd[rg8hae5ji; = happiness And now I will join the sporks on their merry quest for omelet pudding birds. frie ϷՌĩɽōúѭ Not quite...more like ^ʌʠ¿ʴʶʠʧ ë~ʿʶʺĿʵ Do we know the meaning of walrus? One can ask the candlestick for foot pedals, but without the tyrannosaur of politeness and the corrugation of defeat, we only say splat when the granular oscilloscopes inflame the trout. With four mushrooms and a faucet we seek the stellar cantaloupe, unknown to the bat and sponge of doom who walk in darkness with a sea of sprouts flying through a purple clam. With four commas and a grape, who needs strange tofu walruses? Good bye, Dabney. I'll miss you while I'm gone. Good bye, Dabney. I'll see you again when I excrete. Awwww, how sweet. When you excrete. That rhymes... So much stuff. Where did it all come from? You know, as they say.. your momma so fat... This is, perhaps, the end of spring 2005. Lalala. What will happen now? Maybe we will be eaten by bats. Anything you type after this point will not be backed up before the summer. Sorry...