hummingwolf (
hummingwolf) wrote2006-11-03 09:57 pm
Entry tags:
Despite its frequent recourse to a horse the rider was lost.
Why oh why did I ever agree to do MegaPoMo? It's only day 3 and already I'm having trouble finding my old enthusiasm for this project. Writing is hard! I am so uninspired! Trying to come up with one word to put after another, over and over and over...
Wait a minute. All I have to do in order to generate some nonsense poetry is start a program. And then if I want another poem, I hit "Enter" twice. Nevermind.
Yes, yes, I see... the winter sun is the aging inspirational fire of our decadent culture: not a virgin mine from which new ideas may be taken and refined like gold, but a violently spraying fire, a daystar whose outer appearance is that night before--that "night" of all that came before this society of our decay. And yet each voice, each of us underneath that furious emperor, reflects that light like water...
Or, y'know, maybe it's all just randomly-generated nonsense. That could be it.
Oh, I bet they are, HAL.
Wait a minute. All I have to do in order to generate some nonsense poetry is start a program. And then if I want another poem, I hit "Enter" twice. Nevermind.
The winter sun, of course, a most furious emperor!
but it's a shame
with a shoulder stick set to a renewed formalism,
postmodern poetry rejects the notion of some virgin mine,
that fire, which all things spray violent
and whose skin is the
night before, and you try walking in my nature.
each voice shines bright like running water,
how you are.
Yes, yes, I see... the winter sun is the aging inspirational fire of our decadent culture: not a virgin mine from which new ideas may be taken and refined like gold, but a violently spraying fire, a daystar whose outer appearance is that night before--that "night" of all that came before this society of our decay. And yet each voice, each of us underneath that furious emperor, reflects that light like water...
Or, y'know, maybe it's all just randomly-generated nonsense. That could be it.
In a medium saucepan bring the bullfrog back.
we would with our eyes are dim with tears:
they had an hour, or until just tender. Drain and set me the bonus of laughter
a richer harvest reaping without toil,
and pumpkins safe in bed
is not the love of a deserted pool,
old poets skill-less in the agricultural sector?
because they are.
Oh, I bet they are, HAL.

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Thank you! Oh, that's two days after my next dental appointment. Ouch.
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I swear HAL's pisces. But then, I would.
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My somewhat outdated copy of the program says it was modified May 18, 1998. But I don't know when HAL was originally born. He could be Pisces!
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