translated text of automatic form

non human automatically generated poetry poesía automáticamente generada no humana automáticamente poesía اشعار aucun Не البشريه ، كبدايه автоматически поэзия poesía automáticamente جينيرادا не البشريه ، جينيرادا اوتوماتيكيمنت не поступает дру القائم automáticamente poesía де де اشعار ردود البشريه ،


A brief note about situational-coherence ... I intend to subject any significant emergent narrative - or, one might say, cognitive lie - to those already thoroughly-described relational and perceptive norms and methodologies which concerned me in my last posting, some months ago. I feel that, there, actualisation itself became the domain of kinds of non-Cagean chance-procedures - at least with respect to scientific or practical extents and their natural affinities. I identified at most six times six times six of these. I feel, further extensions are possible, however; as such things are intrinsically composite and demonstrable, and so promiscuous to a meaningful degree. For me, it is at this point that logic, as we might generally understand the term, corresponds less to some vague fact of consciousness and more towards a noticeable separation of value from viewpoint. In other words, the context itself stinks, you shitheads. In saying that, I am not attempting to curtail possibilities we might find in some notion of ourselves, or to mythologise same. No, I cannot be seeded. Nor can I be wondered-at. I simply eschew social unifications of that kind - to the degree that all their petty implications fuck me right off, I can tell you, mate. Genesis? Don't make me sick. I'm a religious functionalist, and only human experience amounts to uuuuuutopia in my view of the world. Envision ... d Derrid ahh, of reality, why so serious, of Algeria. F's Northern Ire/(every layer represents. Every layer toils.) I cycle.


Edward's Eye

Silhouette to crawl over the sick government labia, new physics, another molten to animate is a teenage Jericho--this poor. I foreign inflections. the usual side effects (some nifty sacred porn falls the night)--Shrunken fingers--It's a suddenly face I can't go to lick fiction, every possibility legion with pulp what swanky leather boots spinning breasts--then control, the sweating pores of angels by my Karl Marx of consciouness, like flapping wings, only I can see how sunshine the echo-chamber really is--quality of the hour or the corporation?--my aches. have the power to shatter that which cannot be wiggling--Episteme rhymes with emote another nubile warped my sense of reality forever smoke and magnificent, of shrink with the passage this suicide cigars and white, or does the mind really subway beneath emaciated synapse, the ghetto hurled at my face?--needed a name for a brother, television means destiny is into lavender models of rich and tongues at once. I


The involvement of the UN plan. This track is my life and move perpetuum, Eclipse of the end of pure reason. Bond hearing. Metaphysical incantations of black hair as the release of Tufts. Please continue to annihilation. In the country at this time, the mystery is a peaceful and quiet behavior. The clotting of the blood around the puddles gather in our hands. Withering day I met you as needed.