loops 101

def am_i_fed_up(learning, language):
if language == "python":
print("No more.")
elif language == "japanese":
if learning <=4:
print("But when?")
else:
print("Not any time soon… But when?")
else:
print("Yes.")

am_i_fed_up("this is too", "hard")

>> “Yes.”

golden logic are etched upon neo-green walls of microcities.
towering plastic structures are home to more than one instruction
binary state, upwards battle, uphill climb, electric saddle
it’s time to learn, one more language, one too many, magic puzzle

one one zero zero one one one zero zero one zero one
this fancy rhythm; it means fun; three thousand, three hundred, one.
algorithm, one more done, one more error, no more fun.

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A Chemical Overreaction

put equal parts lye and spirits of salt
together gently; drop by drop falling from
an funnel-like sky, changing chemistry,
we were watching the ratio flow past one to one
you screamed — stop — and we were too late
we’ve gotten too caught up in ourselves
(one to one, together gently)
ultimately harmless beyond this logarithm
of drip, drop, drip, drop, done, done! drip, stop!
I thank you for knowing when to end.

Continue reading “A Chemical Overreaction”

The Understanding of a Friend

The both of us together is a wonder.

Our eyes pierce one another with analytical stares;
It wasn’t a casual glance of generalising scowls
This single moment means forever, we blink and then
the truth sets in, and you approach me silently
with open arms.

I feel the warmth of your dull coloured sweater
against the chill in this cold, dark weather
I feel the great joy of your embrace
against this congestion of bad days

A voice utters a series of words I cannot comprehend.
In the moment, I was utterly lost and struck with pallor.
I found myself saying, “What does it mean?”
“Appreciation.” Yes, that was the answer.

I wish that moment could have lasted forever.

 

Continue reading “The Understanding of a Friend”

Wax-Based Ailerons

They say that the riverbed is the birthplace
of civilisation; (oh, how far we’ve come).
Unchanging the sun bids farewell as our pupils dilate further,
we look upwards stuck in shoeboxes
and other temporal shelters in the bosom of the desert.

Knowledge of Aquila and Heracles herald of obsession; oh
indeed, so far we’ve come; Flowers destroyed in casual action,
(but there’s nothing wrong with that!)
and wax havens become catacombs, tortuous recessions
of purest, white abodes. Oh, how far they’ve gone.

These are the times we take flight.

To Balance Against a Feather

(This is our philosophy reimagined.)

Life has the lion’s share of pleasures,
these agitations tied non-linear (logarithmic?)
portrayed crudely through mismanaged flux,
That of disposition, and callous idiosyncrasies,
Chemical enigmatic (current flow: automatic)

Natural progression (count: 1, 2, 3)
Fulfil the blessings of a meta-familiar mind.
Restriction falls like a snake on a garden;
And with it falls the burden of life. (rest upon your shoulders)
(count: 35) and eyes reveal seven geometric
confinements, restriction falls as a threat
(now follow) flow stunted at best.

(The rest is unknown.)

 

 

A Note Regarding The Circumstances Of Reality

I still dream of you every night,
a fantasy shining ever-bright, full
of color and feel and depth and matter,
unscratched edges rough with pallor

Beside me you lie before my eyes;
I am unable to reject
the price of the past. I look
at the future, still hopeful.

It’s terrifying, but you still sleep
by my side. What I feel is real but
to you, unnatural. You never leave me
but you’re never there.

I touch your face calmly every night.
I utter, “this is perfect; you and me”
I kiss your forehead in respite
“I believe this is our destiny.”

In Their Absence

In their absence, the waves swell up at the outer rim and crash upon the shores with sounds unheard of, never heard by anyone. In their absence, flora illuminated itself as it branches upwards towards the sky as if the earth was reaching for the heavens, weeds untouched.

In their absence, the great fallacy of the beauty in isolation crumbles with the turbulence of an impending storm upon our consciousness, and the mystery of the canopy evades any and all forms of perception, in their absence.

Early Losses

I would be lying if I ever said it feels just like yesterday.
Those uniform days of uniform and shoes
Black shoes, white to black, no laces, only straps.

I would be lying if I said I missed those days
Of climbing up late on the yellow-tiled case
Of stairs, waiting outside, waiting to be scolded.
I run back home without worry in the world.

I would be happy if I could go back to then.
The end of those days, the beginning of the end.

 

 

Helpless, Less No Help

Reverberating in a cave of sheer, blank nothingness of a
rock, smoothened by the confounded waves of the persistent sea,
gently rising, blasting trepidation and honing claws of wretched fury,
reflecting and believing in nothing to be believed as the distance grows weary.
Kinaesthetically comprehensive experiences shape the seraphic journey of the
lost person whose mind lies unattached and unbroken, wandering freely.

For this is the time where one forgets
What one has done and the other regrets

(Rationality beckons)
Lustrous orbs forming utter beacons in a catatonic cave
of sheer, blank nothingness.