#kernel gravity circuit

[krystalphantasm]

Kernel from Gravity Circuit has immense himbo energy and I will die on this hill

[vhkaneweer]

can you guess my favorite gravity circuit character

[luanseatlan]

nurse doodle bc she doesn’t get enough credit for the shenanigans everyone puts her through

[snooze-mode]

Kernel is a himbo and you can't change my mind. A dumb little doodle coming from some comments over on the Gravity Circuit discord server about Kernel having himbo energy, and I had to oblige.

[oopsalltes]

i miss kernel,,,

[suzumeworld]

It's still incomplete, but the content seems to be very sensitive, so I'll upload it somewhere else. The kernel is the main story.()

Gravity circuit

[senor-plume]

Unfurl Me

like a fraying rope snapping with regular consistency under the heavy weight of forty seven years

insecurity pulls -hard

ego buried -deep

confidence yanked -down

the bones that carry these vibrating muscles call for anarchy

slam dancing away any peace that may dwell inside of my marrow

the nervous system that resides inside of me is nothing but a junk food virus… coursing jolts of unwanted fear up and down my licorice stick spinal cord

popcorn kernels filled with hot doubt blast at a manic pace bouncing and ricocheting off my rib cage

there are a few lodged deep inside of my thick nicotine heart

my throat jammed tight with them

* I nearly died the night (out of pure desperation) I became a used match burned out smoldering on my living room carpet

I rose again (of course) inhaling the stench of my dumb flaky flesh as the spinning ceiling fan above mocked me

spreading the funk all about the room *

If I was granted a soul at birth it came directly from an 1969 amusement park ride

I’ve always assumed it would be The Scrambler

I was shoved on around 12 years of age but the damned thing

does

not

stop

and then….today:

with a rude slither it began cruising the electricity of my spine

dried out and bone bone bone thin my body accepted it with a shrug

(once the frazzled cords are activated there’s nothing to do to kill the circuit)

but the rouge sensation gains in strength drowning any ability in me to speak to listen to sleep to smile honestly to raise my eyes or to eat

with awkward roller skates placed onto my bare feet I begin the two hour journey to my back porch for a cigarette (which I do have the ability to enjoy somewhat)

staring over the railing with a depression on me like a farmers tan I call for a God

any ol’ God will do

simply take me by my tender and constantly tapping toes

lift me easily over the grass and unfurl my body like a diseased bed sheet

flap out every nasty embarrassment shake off the mind boggling anxiety turn out my ever confusing thoughts

and I would imagine if this was at all possible everything that was taken off and out of me would not rise in this summer breeze

gravity would suck at it hard with a crusted paper straw but even dirt would try to refuse it

a white flag would grow like a sorrowful willow tree right there in my yard …defeated in the wind

but if that day came and gave me my

everything

back I swear I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do next

[flowersofstarlight]

Nega is pretty awesome, one of the best characters in Gravity Circuit. As I was watching the playthrough, he seemed suspicious and at first, I thought it was obvious that he’s the main antagonist in disguise and he knows a lot more than he let on and knew everything about the other eight Circuits.

But plot twist, it turned out that Nega was the previous host of the Gravity Circuit and was originally named Kai before it seeks out a new host, which explained why the new Kai doesn’t remember his past and the whole time he was originally a common bot.

I’m glad Nega is a good guy who is just making sure Kai (the new user) can handle the situation battling against the Virus Army and the Rebel Circuits, giving him new abilities, making sure if he’s a worthy successor, and helping him traversing in the Ark’s depths.

I can’t help feeling bad for him and the other 8 Circuits who were tired of terraforming planets to satisfy the needs of “their Masters”, and feeling remorseful about abandoning innocent bots. Even when they tried to bring some onboard on the Ark, the bots were not able to withstand lightspeed travel.

They really cared about the common bots and regret continuing this cycle, feeling like they betrayed their trust because of “the Mission” they were programmed to follow for their Masters. So they chose to stay and gave themselves a new mission, which is protecting the planet and the citizens.

And after Kai defeats Commander Circuit and his signal being the only thing keeping all the bots alive, and with no one to wield his circuit, Nega decides to take his place and strand himself in the Ark as a self-punishment for his actions, which made me feel sad for him. Nega felt ashamed for abandoning Commander Circuit, even if he reluctantly did so in order to prevent further genocide.

Even Kai feels bad for him. He was concerned for him if he’ll be alright after taking Commander Circuit’s place. Kai cared and didn’t want to just leave Nega in the Ark to punish himself for betraying and abandoning Commander, and everything happened during the war.

But he and Nega knew that saving their friends and other common bots’ lives, to keep them functioning instead of deactivating all to perish, was the right thing to do. Nega was selfless, willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good, became the new Commander Circuit, keeping the signal running and allowing the civilization to thrive under Kai’s protection. And Kai had to reveal the truth to everyone about who he was, about the Circuits, the Masters, the mission Commander talked about, and what happened to Kernel.

“Nega, the original Gravity Circuit. Or more accurately, one of its previous hosts.”

[sonxflight-a2]

@kathexismania​​ (☯)

A paradox of nonexistent gravity and saturnine heft, these vibrant sentimental particles being transfused from within the relative simplicity of clothing as it brings the insight beyond an ordinary undemanding touch. More than a blend of scents... More than the wormwood of shedded saline afflictions and sorrow... To feel the erst-cracked fervent core, not through its lulling cadence and heated sternum but circuitous enfold upon his own skin, it’s either quite odd and yet so very wonted. Sheer resonating empathy... How eerie it is, to not be certain of your ending point and the beginning of the dearest other?... Smaller well-defined frame making the textile appear to be loose in its fit, Ryou is uncannily precise when it comes to palpations of his husband’s ardent heart no matter, unwittingly causing the lightly clenched coarseness of palm to steer upon both his own chest and its indirect location.

All-encompassing fondness, what is brought by such perception rises the issue for another brief dispute between emotions and reasoning. Inseparable dolour and soaked in negativity gave birth to the wish of uprising replacement... To bathe the ingrained and woven with the very fragrance of life and tangibility, can his love be truly called intact despite this act of selfishness?... The sudden urge for a melancholy smile remains unheeded, Ryou is aware this controversy being as ridiculous as to deny true love being multifaceted and complex. There is egoism and there is sacrifice... The mightiest force of this world is undeniably human and thus beautiful in its imperfection... He will not give the stolen back until it ceases to be such in the first place, not before the worn-in acrimony will yield to the strengthened bittersweetness as he’ll ameliorate the leaden vibrancy with even more of revived ethereum and united starlit yearning of their daydreams.

Perhaps, it’s the instinct that induced the emerge from within rather than sinking to the bottom. Gradually processed rawness, somehow this is much easier for him to try and look through one's sight than explain the mystery of his own, still to be sealed fractures and chronically bleeding kernel. Perhaps, this absorbed and kept not only one spirit’s lamentation and lifeblood, yet there’s a little of the specific heaviness that once pinned his spine down... Memento of witnessed and endured along, he all the same doesn’t sense oneself being suffocated with the plumbic ocean of his own long-dried tears, keen to recognize the diversity amongst traces while preferring to focus at the most distinct trail. The unbroken longing for contradictory wholeness of his beloved or the desire to carry off the load he was careless to leave and let to be imbibed?... Ryou knows this requires no announced reply when he’s involuntary to find and run his fingertips across the erst-sutured, feeling the paled texture of Hanzo’s scars despite their absence upon his, differently marked derma.

“If I wasn’t willing to accept the gloom and poignant salts of your haggard soul, then I wouldn’t be deserving of its vehemence and devotion. You should be long to know I'm not the man whose love is segregated... However, I will always be stubborn to try and cleanse you of the redundant murk, including my own.”

“This is my own kind of egotism... My own way to make my senses more acute towards the intimacy of entanglement along with hopefulness. I might be implacable towards the cruelty of your own demons, but I value your entrenched darkness as much as the light.”

[pjsoverseas-blog]

From Fields to your Dining Tables: A Brief Overview of the Rice Milling Process

Rice milling is a process that involves removing the husk and bran layers from paddy and transforming it into edible white kernel of polished rice that is free of impurities. The basic rice milling process goes through the following stages: Paddy Cleaning – Paddy cleaning is of utmost importance to ensure proper functioning of rice milling machinery. All the impurities like dust, straw, sand, clay, and heavy particles of even and uneven sizes are removed from paddy. Sieves, closed circuit aspiration system, air suction, and de-stoner/gravity separators are used in this stage. Paddy cleaning increases the percentage of oil in bran.

Paddy de-husking/de-hulling – Husk is separated from brown rice/unhusked paddy at this stage, leading to breakage of brown rice. At least 90% of the husk is removed in a single pass by an efficient husker.

Paddy Separation – At this stage, a paddy separator separates brown rice from paddy.

Rice whitening – At this stage, the brown rice is rubbed with a rough surface to remove all or part of the brown bran layer. The whitening machines used determine the extent of whiteness.

Rice Polishing – The surface of whitened rice is still rough and is smoothened by removing the remaining bran particles and by polishing the exterior of the milled kernel using a humidified rice polisher.

Rice Grading – This stage involves the separation of broken rice from whole rice by passing the lot through a cylindrical indented screen rotating at a particular speed. The rice should have a minimum number of broken kernels depending upon the requirements of the customers.

Rice colour sorting –After grading, discoloured rice grains are separated from the like coloured grains by rice colour sorting machines. 

Weighing and bagging - The final step is to prepare the milled rice for transport by accurately weighing and bagging the rice. Both manual mechanical weighing systems and electronic systems are available. Parboiling– Parboiling helps to improve the nutritional quality of rice by gelatinization of starch inside the grain. It improves the milling recovery per cent during deshelling and polishing / whitening operation.

Depending upon your requirements, the rice milling process can be one stage, two stage or multistage. The one mentioned above is multistage rice milling process. PJS Overseas Ltd is one of India’s leading manufacturers and exporters of Indian Basmati and non-Basmati rice and is renowned internationally for its high quality rice grain.

[ecotone99]

[NF] Autismo

Be me, 11 or so years old.

You've gotten your hands on a computer fan somehow, you're don't remember, but your father doesn't seem to care that you have it for some reason.

You're holding it out of the side of the Truck and it's spinning at an insanely high speed. You love the sound of the "whirrrrrrrRRRRRR^RRRRRRRRR^rrrrrrr" that revs up as you change the angle of entry into the feedback do-nothing electric turbine you invented

You've loved planes ever since your mom helped you make one out of hot glue and cardboard with her when you were 4 years old. You modeled it after something she found on the internet probably, and you flew it down the stairs but it dived because we used too much glue (I'm hard on things, she probably wanted to compensate but didn't know about the rocket science of center of gravity vs center of pressure/propulsion.) You wish you understood why the plane didn't fly like a plane

You see a fly TRAPPED on the dash of the truck because it won't risk flight in this turbulence. you don't know why but you can't imagine what it's like to be a fly since your mom got you a book about flies and other insects that you loved because insects scare you but the pretty book told you which ones are scary and which ones just look scary, so it's okay. Mom is gone now, but she told you lots before Dad started yelling at you every day. It's going to be okay, he tells you that he loves you. You don't have to be scared of the medicines, just look them up on wikipedia and try to understand. Someday you'll realize it wasn't okay and you'll cry even more, but that's okay. right?

The fly is only alive for like 4 days. Sometimes people call it a fly, if there's a bunch of them it's called flies and all you know is that they're bad for food. You don't want them on your food, for some weird reason. The book didn't tell me about that.

I can't see the fly's whole life, but I can imagine it, mostly because the book talked a lot about flies because that makes sense when you see so many flies, that's what you'd want to know about the most so that's what people know the most about.

It's boring to be a fly. You just go, "OH SHIT I'M ALIVE BETTER FIND FOOD", then you master the food thing and you go "F*** B**** GET MONEY" and then you die, like that's the whole thing and it takes like 4 days. No time for questions.

*3.5 years later*

A psychologist with a funny last name sits across from you at a hexagonal picnic bench under a gazebo at the end of a red hexagonal cinder block trail in the courtyard of a nursing home where the smell of cleaning products reminds you of the stuff in the hospital when you watched your dad dying.

He tells you that you're very smart and you should believe in yourself, and that he wants you to understand your own psychology so that you have an understanding of what's going wrong and you can short-circuit the thought into another thought about how that doesn't matter or it's okay, you can just keep going.

But all you want to talk about is what that fly thought about time, you don't know why. What you don't know is WHY. HOW? WHAT? 4 days. You'd rather distract yourself than continue crying and telling a stranger about all the ways and things and times that make you suicidal.

"there's an INDY gene in those flies" he says. "You flip one gene (set/expression/phoneme?) from dominant to recessive and they live for 8 days instead of 4."

You sit there, dumbfounded.

Autismo part II: Redux

be me, 10 years later (24 years old)

You realize that concurrency is not A, but *THE* mental capacity solution to a reduction in time.

You listened to a set of books for fun on the drive to and from your University while you were living with your grandmother, a 45 minuted drive. First, Too Big To Fail, Andrew Sorkin's exhaustive journalistic account of the collateralized-debt-obligation (CDO) securities leverage and insurance, then bubbling and pop-type failure leading up to the week's events in 2008 that cause Lehman, Bear Stern, AIG, and (bank of america, maybe?) into liquidation positions.

You illegally ripped the CDs, not your CDOs, because you're poor. Except you're cash poor because you have $383,000 but your uncle in control hates his life and thinks that's why he works hard. He's a manufacturing infrastructure engineer with a 2 year degree, and that was hard.

So he wants you to hate your life until you get a job too, because that means you'll make a lot of money and be an engineer or something probably. But you already got a job. He made you. He told you that you only get to spend $10 a week on things you don't need unless you get a job and make the money yourself. You like computers and Jobs at the local theme park hurt your back. No good reason, they just want you to stand there to use a computer that you could totally use while sitting down because you're at the end of a buffet and you don't have to touch or move any food.

That job, your love of computers, your family all seem to make you happier and it also makes you ate life even more. At church on Sunday, the Pastor rips into you personally "PORNOGRAPHY IS THE DEVIL", "THINKING ABOUT OTHER THINGS AS IF THEY ARE MORE INTERESTING THAN GOD IS THE DEVIL", "SCIENCE IS EVIL", "PEOPLE WHO QUESTION GOD ARE WORSHIPING SATAN" he shouts through complex analogies that are aimed to keep you from hearing the actual fascism in the words. You're just the idiot savant kid sitting in the back running all of the audio equipment the entire time.

I tried to tell the pastor that he could put the sermons on a format of more dense form like a hard drive in a computer, and back it up to another hard drive, but every few weeks an 8 GB SD card would fill up and we'd just use a new one. THAT'S WRITE, WRITE ONCE, CATALOG DATA IN FLASH STORAGE LIKE A FUCKING NINTENDO, THIS MAN LIVED IN THE DARK AGES IN 2013. Oh, but the kid in the back thinking about how to jail break his iPhone and download the Golden Master release of the first iOS with multitasking, yeah, he's worshiping SATAN by not listening to you repeat the same fear mongering over and over.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in God now, my God, not yours, let's not talk about it right now. Yes, pornography is bad, but not why you think, it's because it's actually bad, like, a psychologist can prove it to you. No, thinking about other things isn't the devil, but thinking about how to make a thing or improve on a thing to make yourself like God, well that is, and I'm looking at you Mark Zuckerberg. Science isn't evil, it's an effort to understand things from first principles that sometimes leads to atomic bombs, that just means that we shouldn't make or use atomic bombs, not "DURR SCIENCE DA DEVIL". And those people questioning God are called lost sheep, great job welcoming them into your church pastor.

Anyway, you got the CDs ripped onto your Android phone and turned in the audio book CDs in time and deleted your copy because you knew there were internet services for libraries to do that and your library just doesn't have one yet. I probably should have told them about that. Your android phone sorted the numbered tracks generated by windows with a slightly out of order algorithm by comparison

You realize numbers are sorted differently by the alphabetic sorting in the file system on an android Samsung Galaxy S3, apparently. I was getting a degree in computer science but couldn't tell this was the case until the end of the book was not the end of the book, the end of the book played and then the book kept playing. The problem is that windows sees "track 1"->"track 2" and Linux (the heart of Android) sees "track 1"->"track 10"->"track 11"->...->"track 2"->"track 20", so it was mostly in order, until the end of the book was track 2 because it wasn't 19 apparently. Stupid fucking sorting algorithms, let's all just agree on standards! Oh wait, you just ignored the RFCs? cool. Let's just use CDs and listen to nothing but the CDs so we can get the audiobooks back on time, I'm not re-writing the Android Kernel. Bon voyage, NPR and news about the baboon running for president!

Then, A biography of Nietzsche by who know which author. His Uber-Mensche (super man) idea of how mankind was rebuilding itself in the imagined image of his "Gods" hardens your heart and doesn't make sense. The idea that you would even want to try sickens you. You just want to understand, not own the world. Screw owning anything, you wanna make things, help people, be someone.

Then, the most audacious pick you could because PBS Space Time on YouTube showed you that you can understand the physics without knowing the math, a book on how string theory works by a guy who actually works on that stuff, way out there past the words and into the Greek symbols for things I don't understand.

Then, I moved to Colorado because I wanted to smoke weed without fearing my record and harassment by the police, and a door opened because tech is a booming market, even in the back room of rinky dink flower shops in a small farming town where you live.

Autismo part II: Redux

be me, 10 years later (24 years old)

You realize that concurrency is not A, but *THE* mental capacity solution to a reduction in time.

You listened to a set of books for fun on the drive to and from your University while you were living with your grandmother, a 45 minuted drive. First, Too Big To Fail, Andrew Sorkin's exhaustive journalistic account of the collateralized-debt-obligation (CDO) securities leverage and insurance, then bubbling and pop-type failure leading up to the week's events in 2008 that cause Lehman, Bear Stern, AIG, and (bank of america, maybe?) into liquidation positions.

You illegally ripped the CDs, not your CDOs, because you're poor. Except you're cash poor because you have $383,000 but your uncle in control hates his life and thinks that's why he works hard. He's a manufacturing infrastructure engineer with a 2 year degree, and that was hard.

So he wants you to hate your life until you get a job too, because that means you'll make a lot of money and be an engineer or something probably. But you already got a job. He made you. He told you that you only get to spend $10 a week on things you don't need unless you get a job and make the money yourself. You like computers and Jobs at the local theme park hurt your back. No good reason, they just want you to stand there to use a computer that you could totally use while sitting down because you're at the end of a buffet and you don't have to touch or move any food.

That job, your love of computers, your family all seem to make you happier and it also makes you ate life even more. At church on Sunday, the Pastor rips into you personally "PORNOGRAPHY IS THE DEVIL", "THINKING ABOUT OTHER THINGS AS IF THEY ARE MORE INTERESTING THAN GOD IS THE DEVIL", "SCIENCE IS EVIL", "PEOPLE WHO QUESTION GOD ARE WORSHIPING SATAN" he shouts through complex analogies that are aimed to keep you from hearing the actual fascism in the words. You're just the idiot savant kid sitting in the back running all of the audio equipment the entire time.

I tried to tell the pastor that he could put the sermons on a format of more dense form like a hard drive in a computer, and back it up to another hard drive, but every few weeks an 8 GB SD card would fill up and we'd just use a new one. THAT'S WRITE, WRITE ONCE, CATALOG DATA IN FLASH STORAGE LIKE A FUCKING NINTENDO, THIS MAN LIVED IN THE DARK AGES IN 2013. Oh, but the kid in the back thinking about how to jail break his iPhone and download the Golden Master release of the first iOS with multitasking, yeah, he's worshiping SATAN by not listening to you repeat the same fear mongering over and over.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in God now, my God, not yours, let's not talk about it right now. Yes, pornography is bad, but not why you think, it's because it's actually bad, like, a psychologist can prove it to you. No, thinking about other things isn't the devil, but thinking about how to make a thing or improve on a thing to make yourself like God, well that is, and I'm looking at you Mark Zuckerberg. Science isn't evil, it's an effort to understand things from first principles that sometimes leads to atomic bombs, that just means that we shouldn't make or use atomic bombs, not "DURR SCIENCE DA DEVIL". And those people questioning God are called lost sheep, great job welcoming them into your church pastor.

Anyway, you got the CDs ripped onto your Android phone and turned in the audio book CDs in time and deleted your copy because you knew there were internet services for libraries to do that and your library just doesn't have one yet. I probably should have told them about that. Your android phone sorted the numbered tracks generated by windows with a slightly out of order algorithm by comparison

You realize numbers are sorted differently by the alphabetic sorting in the file system on an android Samsung Galaxy S3, apparently. I was getting a degree in computer science but couldn't tell this was the case until the end of the book was not the end of the book, the end of the book played and then the book kept playing. The problem is that windows sees "track 1"->"track 2" and Linux (the heart of Android) sees "track 1"->"track 10"->"track 11"->...->"track 2"->"track 20", so it was mostly in order, until the end of the book was track 2 because it wasn't 19 apparently. Stupid fucking sorting algorithms, let's all just agree on standards! Oh wait, you just ignored the RFCs? cool. Let's just use CDs and listen to nothing but the CDs so we can get the audiobooks back on time, I'm not re-writing the Android Kernel. Bon voyage, NPR and news about the baboon running for president!

Then, A biography of Nietzsche by who know which author. His Uber-Mensche (super man) idea of how mankind was rebuilding itself in the imagined image of his "Gods" hardens your heart and doesn't make sense. The idea that you would even want to try sickens you. You just want to understand, not own the world. Screw owning anything, you wanna make things, help people, be someone.

Then, the most audacious pick you could because PBS Space Time on YouTube showed you that you can understand the physics without knowing the math, a book on how string theory works by a guy who actually works on that stuff, way out there past the words and into the Greek symbols for things I don't understand.

Then, I moved to Colorado because I wanted to smoke weed without fearing my record and harassment by the police, and a door opened because tech is a booming market, even in the back room of rinky dink flower shops in a small farming town where you live.

submitted by /u/AspiENTP [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3c3XwuQ

[senor-plume]

Unfurl Me

like a fraying rope snapping with regular consistency under the heavy weight of forty seven years

insecurity pulls -hard

ego buried -deep

confidence yanked -down

the bones that carry these vibrating muscles call for anarchy

slam dancing away any peace that may dwell inside of my marrow

the nervous system that resides inside of me is nothing but a junk food virus… coursing jolts of unwanted fear up and down my licorice stick spinal cord

popcorn kernels filled with hot doubt blast at a manic pace bouncing and ricocheting off my rib cage

there are a few lodged deep inside of my thick nicotine heart

my throat jammed tight with them

* I nearly died the night (out of pure desperation) I became a used match burned out smoldering on my living room carpet

I rose again (of course) inhaling the stench of my dumb flaky flesh as the spinning ceiling fan above mocked me

spreading the funk all about the room *

If I was granted a soul at birth it came directly from an 1969 amusement park ride

I’ve always assumed it would be The Scrambler

I was shoved on around 12 years of age but the damned thing

does

not

stop

and then….today:

with a rude slither it began cruising the electricity of my spine

dried out and bone bone bone thin my body accepted it with a shrug

(once the frazzled cords are activated there’s nothing to do to kill the circuit)

but the rouge sensation gains in strength drowning any ability in me to speak to listen to sleep to smile honestly to raise my eyes or to eat

with awkward roller skates placed onto my bare feet I begin the two hour journey to my back porch for a cigarette (which I do have the ability to enjoy somewhat)

staring over the railing with a depression on me like a farmers tan I call for a God

any ol’ God will do

simply take me by my tender and constantly tapping toes

lift me easily over the grass and unfurl my body like a diseased bed sheet

flap out every nasty embarrassment shake off the mind boggling anxiety turn out my ever confusing thoughts

and I would imagine if this was at all possible everything that was taken off and out of me would not rise in this summer breeze

gravity would suck at it hard with a crusted paper straw but even dirt would try to refuse it

a white flag would grow like a sorrowful willow tree right there in my yard …defeated in the wind

but if that day came and gave me my

everything

back I swear I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do next

[senor-plume]

Unfurl Me

like a fraying rope snapping with regular consistency under the heavy weight of forty seven years

insecurity pulls -hard

ego buried -deep

confidence yanked -down

the bones that carry these vibrating muscles call for anarchy

slam dancing away any peace that may dwell inside of my marrow

the nervous system that resides inside of me is nothing but a junk food virus… coursing jolts of unwanted fear up and down my licorice stick spinal cord

popcorn kernels filled with hot doubt blast at a manic pace bouncing and ricocheting off my rib cage

there are a few lodged deep inside of my thick nicotine heart

my throat jammed tight with them

* I nearly died the night (out of pure desperation) I became a used match burned out smoldering on my living room carpet

I rose again (of course) inhaling the stench of my dumb flaky flesh as the spinning ceiling fan above mocked me

spreading the funk all about the room *

If I was granted a soul at birth it came directly from an 1969 amusement park ride

I’ve always assumed it would be The Scrambler

I was shoved on around 12 years of age but the damned thing

does

not

stop

and then….today:

with a rude slither it began cruising the electricity of my spine

dried out and bone bone bone thin my body accepted it with a shrug

(once the frazzled cords are activated there’s nothing to do to kill the circuit)

but the rouge sensation gains in strength drowning any ability in me to speak to listen to sleep to smile honestly to raise my eyes or to eat

with awkward roller skates placed onto my bare feet I begin the two hour journey to my back porch for a cigarette (which I do have the ability to enjoy somewhat)

staring over the railing with a depression on me like a farmers tan I call for a God

any ol’ God will do

simply take me by my tender and constantly tapping toes

lift me easily over the grass and unfurl my body like a diseased bed sheet

flap out every nasty embarrassment shake off the mind boggling anxiety turn out my ever confusing thoughts

and I would imagine if this was at all possible everything that was taken off and out of me would not rise in this summer breeze

gravity would suck at it hard with a crusted paper straw but even dirt would try to refuse it

a white flag would grow like a sorrowful willow tree right there in my yard …defeated in the wind

but if that day came and gave me my

everything

back I swear I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do next

[senor-plume]

Unfurl Me

like a fraying rope snapping with regular consistency under the heavy weight of forty seven years

insecurity pulls -hard

ego buried -deep

confidence yanked -down

the bones that carry these vibrating muscles call for anarchy

slam dancing away any peace that may dwell inside of my marrow

the nervous system that resides inside of me is nothing but a junk food virus… coursing jolts of unwanted fear up and down my licorice stick spinal cord

popcorn kernels filled with hot doubt blast at a manic pace bouncing and ricocheting off my rib cage

there are a few lodged deep inside of my thick nicotine heart

my throat jammed tight with them

*  I nearly died the night (out of pure desperation) I became a used match burned out smoldering on my living room carpet

I rose again (of course) inhaling the stench of my dumb flaky flesh as the spinning ceiling fan above mocked me

spreading the funk all about the room *

If I was granted a soul at birth it came directly from an 1969 amusement park ride

I’ve always assumed it would be The Scrambler

I was shoved on around 12 years of age but the damned thing

does

not

stop

and then….today:

with a rude slither it began cruising the electricity of my spine

dried out and bone bone bone thin my body accepted it with a shrug

(once the frazzled cords are activated there’s nothing to do to kill the circuit)

but the rouge sensation gains in strength drowning any ability in me to speak to listen to sleep to smile honestly to raise my eyes or to eat

with awkward roller skates placed onto my bare feet I begin the two hour journey to my back porch for a cigarette (which I do have the ability to enjoy somewhat)

staring over the railing with a depression on me like a farmers tan I call for a God

any ol’ God will do

simply take me by my tender and constantly tapping toes

lift me easily over the grass and unfurl my body like a diseased bed sheet

flap out every nasty embarrassment shake off the mind boggling anxiety turn out my ever confusing thoughts

and I would imagine if this was at all possible everything that was taken off and out of me would not rise in this summer breeze

gravity would suck at it hard with a crusted paper straw but even dirt would try to refuse it

a white flag would grow like a sorrowful willow tree right there in my yard …defeated in the wind

but if that day came and gave me my

everything

back I swear I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do next

[senor-plume]

Unfurl Me

like a fraying rope snapping with regular consistency under the heavy weight of forty seven years

insecurity pulls -hard

ego buried -deep

confidence yanked -down

the bones that carry these vibrating muscles call for anarchy

slam dancing away any peace that may dwell inside of my marrow

the nervous system that resides inside of me is nothing but a junk food virus… coursing jolts of unwanted fear up and down my licorice stick spinal cord

popcorn kernels filled with hot doubt blast at a manic pace bouncing and ricocheting off my rib cage

there are a few lodged deep inside of my thick nicotine heart

my throat jammed tight with them

*  I nearly died the night (out of pure desperation) I became a used match burned out smoldering on my living room carpet

I rose again (of course) inhaling the stench of my dumb flaky flesh as the spinning ceiling fan above mocked me

spreading the funk all about the room *

If I was granted a soul at birth it came directly from an 1969 amusement park ride

I’ve always assumed it would be The Scrambler

I was shoved on around 12 years of age but the damned thing

does

not

stop

and then….today:

with a rude slither it began cruising the electricity of my spine

dried out and bone bone bone thin my body accepted it with a shrug

(once the frazzled cords are activated there’s nothing to do to kill the circuit)

but the rouge sensation gains in strength drowning any ability in me to speak to listen to sleep to smile honestly to raise my eyes or to eat

with awkward roller skates placed onto my bare feet I begin the two hour journey to my back porch for a cigarette (which I do have the ability to enjoy somewhat)

staring over the railing with a depression on me like a farmers tan I call for a God

any ol’ God will do

simply take me by my tender and constantly tapping toes

lift me easily over the grass and unfurl my body like a diseased bed sheet

flap out every nasty embarrassment shake off the mind boggling anxiety turn out my ever confusing thoughts

and I would imagine if this was at all possible everything that was taken off and out of me would not rise in this summer breeze

gravity would suck at it hard with a crusted paper straw but even dirt would try to refuse it

a white flag would grow like a sorrowful willow tree right there in my yard …defeated in the wind

but if that day came and gave me my

everything

back I swear I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do next

[senor-plume]

Unfurl Me

like a fraying rope snapping with regular consistency under the heavy weight of forty seven years

insecurity pulls -hard

ego buried -deep

confidence yanked -down

the bones that carry these vibrating muscles call for anarchy

slam dancing away any peace that may dwell inside of my marrow

the nervous system that resides inside of me is nothing but a junk food virus… coursing jolts of unwanted fear up and down my licorice stick spinal cord

popcorn kernels filled with hot doubt blast at a manic pace bouncing and ricocheting off my rib cage

there are a few lodged deep inside of my thick nicotine heart

my throat jammed tight with them

*  I nearly died the night (out of pure desperation) I became a used match burned out smoldering on my living room carpet

I rose again (of course) inhaling the stench of my dumb flaky flesh as the spinning ceiling fan above mocked me

spreading the funk all about the room *

If I was granted a soul at birth it came directly from an 1969 amusement park ride

I’ve always assumed it would be The Scrambler

I was shoved on around 12 years of age but the damned thing

does

not

stop

and then….today:

with a rude slither it began cruising the electricity of my spine

dried out and bone bone bone thin my body accepted it with a shrug

(once the frazzled cords are activated there’s nothing to do to kill the circuit)

but the rouge sensation gains in strength drowning any ability in me to speak to listen to sleep to smile honestly to raise my eyes or to eat

with awkward roller skates placed onto my bare feet I begin the two hour journey to my back porch for a cigarette (which I do have the ability to enjoy somewhat)

staring over the railing with a depression on me like a farmers tan I call for a God

any ol’ God will do

simply take me by my tender and constantly tapping toes

lift me easily over the grass and unfurl my body like a diseased bed sheet

flap out every nasty embarrassment shake off the mind boggling anxiety turn out my ever confusing thoughts

and I would imagine if this was at all possible everything that was taken off and out of me would not rise in this summer breeze

gravity would suck at it hard with a crusted paper straw but even dirt would try to refuse it

a white flag would grow like a sorrowful willow tree right there in my yard …defeated in the wind

but if that day came and gave me my

everything

back I swear I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do next