Steam of conch


Intro gedicht hef gewicht inuit verplicht
Niet aankomen – dat is bah MONEY
Ben je gevallen? Waar is het ow? Aaah? MONEY
Uw majesteit uw uw gazon uw distels
Republican tantrum, hissy-fit, screaming abdabs
let’s settle this with pistols
I told my children the facts of life
Cinderalla come Sexyrella, the deep-fried wife
The bubbling Dopamine from the sexual intercourse
ACH need to Know? No to Need
Shoes melted, fused to her feets
as we swim in tomorrow’s daylight HONEY
Deep-fried wife dat krijg je daarvan
Da kidz was shocked and angry like
Vrom? Vrom? Fuck and filth he growled at the bathroom mirror
Fuck and filth Foek en vies sweesh Rome Brabant KUTZOOI
w-w-w-w-w waar de menus, minutieus, the back streets, Frankie Knuckles
nearly 50, house to home, steam of consciousness
ffffwwwwfffffwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhhhhh

Willem de Ridder welcome to Lambiek (everybody wants to rule the park)

hoera een jongen

Tiblisi blini stream stro ought will we’re nice people
Gestural delineations give visual evidence, the whole truth
And but nothing knuckle a note, pout bouncy, part finding
An answers in tomorrow’s breaminkler, an alpert, a cornflower
Gee sshh exegesis, climp, bun, until we bathe in tomorrow’s daylight,
Stralbert, mister, like a trick question passion, your body will C bunkum B,
The no note, spring’s cushion beyond tolet you know as possible, soon
You tipper ess, directional it’s alright wonky blimmed as I’m
Just dirt on tubaul, your tube, metals a briskly cone fident, this way
That way, you’ll be upside don in minutes, down the dungeon
Like a trick, nothing lost.

UUUURRRRR

Excuse me, chairs are not allowed on the grass. They may damage the hose in the ground. They probably won't but we take no chances here.

Look at the sun setting. Look at those quintessential village roofs and listen to that driver swear, see her spit.

What a world-fuck.

Tradition

Clowning is an art - you can't buy no double negative. Black flowers will reward your investment of energy and ideals, although
you need some milk
you need some.
Revolutionary voices rumble from the next house, a train swooshes through the station
like a bride.
Now, if you think that's all there is to it, watch!

I would like lots of black flowers

frozen world

frozen world frozen world
dance the charleston

dance the charleston

little leap

blackbird forward hop

9 (of enthusiasm)

like springing into a subject

not about the thing but embodying the thing

confessional ratatouille

how could i know that?

If you DIG you will find Costner's case of pencils (CATAPULTS)

this message was sent with high importance

Ask Murdress

Attempt to knock a dude out with a knee strike. The K1 fighter's raised knee froze like a statue and became more balletic as the hours passed of our regarding it.

Schoolchildren covered the fighter in wattle and daub. His frightened eyes trapped in his husk rolled in his burly bruised head. His tattoos were covered by dusk.

The kids tipped him over onto a flat-bed truck and drove him out to a field with a platform of pallets tied together with paisley scarves. They erected the K1 fighter in the centre of the pallets.

He looked from a distance like a scarecrow yet did not repel birds, quite the opposite. They flocked to the dark, dried mud figure and shat on it.

CONCH BUNNIES' PRICKLY HEDGES MADE THE LEAP OF FAITH INTO THE SUBSEQUENT ENTRY

GONNA TWIST THIS ONE THEN STILETTO IT
ALL THESE TINGS HAPPENIN AT ONCE. WHAT A WORLD.

SOME SIMULTANEITY

As a grumbling but happy French comedian
shoves his fingers into the fountain in Dijon,
a troop of monkeys rounds
the horizon of the pink square.
Intent on mischief, they piss in the pool.

After sunning herself on a carpet of chilly blues,
an elderly farmer sneezes theatrically
and feels her abdominal muscles
tighten.

On a country lane in Wiltshire, a mother presses
her sons into a prickly hedge
as a vintage Wolsley speeds
past them in the late afternoon haze.

It rains on the outskirts of Brussels. Koen scrubs mussels
in his bedsit above the bar
on the corner of Avenue Constant Permeke
and Rue Fernand Léger.
It’s five thirty-seven and he still needs to buy beer.

Conch bunny

I bit the head off a chocolate bunny and blew into the hole, producing a sound like wind in a conch. This brought to mind a hotel on a steep hill by the seaside, tractor tyres rolling down the lawn to crash into prickly hedges as dusk began its onset.

Adrew

I need to create something for the Dubdichters Festival.

On the poster, they missed the 'n' out of my name.

Maybe that could be a starting point for a beautiful poem or profound relationship between audience and poet.

a poem containing symbols as well as words

≈ΘŽǾ≤№™₫⁄®¬¬«¶¦§µ§¨

and photos

oo

a poem, all of whose words contain the 'oo' sound in the word 'moon'

gs

Bias-Variance Analysis


Let X be a poem of objects and let dogs bark
and warm spring winds blow cheeks red
distribution (or density) on X × R
(where R reperesents an arbitrary trail of gold.

In other worlds X is a probability density on
pairs hx, yi with x 2 sequence of deduced conclusions and y 2 R.

We now consider an arbitrary space of
insisted joy functions fw : X ! R with w 2 RD.

For example, we might have
fw(x) = w · _(x) where _ : X ! R is a feature map.

But we might also have some other arbitrary function
such as the following “neural network”.

The full bias-variance analysis is to rewrite L2(A) as follows.
L2(A) = ED__N,hx, yi__
_
(fA(D)(x) − y)2_
= ED__N,hx, yi__
_
((fA(D)(x) − fA(x)) − (y − fA(x)))2_
= ED__N,hx, yi__
_
(fA(D)(x) − fA(x))2 − 2(fA(D)(x) − fA(x))(y − fA(x)) + (y − fA(x))2_
= Ex__
_
(fA(D)(x) − fA(x))2_
−2Ehx, yi__
_
(y − fA(x))ED__N
_
fA(D)(x) − fA(x)
__
+Ehx, yi__
_
(y − fA(x))2_
= Ex__
_
(fA(D)(x) − fA(x))2_
+ L2(fA)
= Ex__,D__N
_
(fA(D)(x) − fA(x))2_
+Ex__
_
(fA(x) − f_(x))2_
+Ehx, yi__ genre
_
(y − f_(x))2_
(don't!!)

improbable lunch combinations

roll mop herrings and chocolate bunnies

We’re not grains of sand
but we are many
We’re not grains of sand
but we are universal
We’re not grains of sand
but we make shapes and structures
We’re not grains of sand
but we are shifting the boundaries
We’re not grains of sand

yet we are together

HE LOOKS LIKE A KIND HELL'S ANGEL
HE LOOKS LIKE SAXON JUSTICE
HE LOOKS LIKE BAMBOO BENDING IN THE WIND
HE LOOKS LIKE A REAL SELLING POINT
HE LOOKS LIKE A JOHNNY CASH SONG
HE LOOKS LIKE A QUESTION TO ALL THE KIDS

Watch yourself – surveillance cameras in the bedroom

Flavour of a month

Fine layer of crumbs on the floorboards

Carnaval creepers intwined in obscene dancers’ search warrants

Could you burn more wet wood, waterman?

Then roll your right nose over the steel-sticky respect

Then come oranges, limes, milk, balustrades, Baltimore

The desert makes her brave

You are assigned the following hobbies:

White outings
Sections of pear piracy
Mild poker
Maths over smugness
Desire to light the shed mountains
Coffees
Number place piano pauses
Aleo aloo aloovi

as the butter sizzles trumpets clatter and bubbles burst animaniacs

uummmmm, thinking out loud

James heeft een reactie geplaatst in een discussie.

--------------------
Re: Ding dong the bells without my radio
wick wick...

Hey,

Of course I'll be there in my thread and web. How could I not be? And, indeed, I've said as much. Helene brings me to the ever-so-serious STAG pluralise that?

Seriously, I think we should meet up before space in their diaries debauchery.

It's stop next week - although I'll be in doing OfSTED smoking hypnotherapy appointment and am viewing a Rent to Buy flat in Hackney; to Paris..... But, ummm, thinking out loud, would you be a fucking cold again.

SNOWCLONE

SNOWCLONE


SNOWCLONE

HOW ON EARTH DID YOU MANGLE THAT?

SNOWCLONE

SNOWCLONE

SNOWCLONE

HOW ON EARTH DID YOU FAIL TO TOOT?

rumpy pumpy

pump

chump steak

rakish angle poise lampion lamprey

rumpy scot lot

gin cider

gigabytes

would that it were

labelling

i'd like to write a poem in which various elements are labelled, rather after the manner of Harry Mathews' 'The Journalist'

ostriches

a sack of images
weighed down by stop
dusted and not done
stains
blueberry jam
stale and all its uses
mick
panty
light and the last
listless lust
broohaha
snow photos
turned out
pinned eyes

ON SATURDAY i'LL WRITE my POem

' dANce of THE coCKerels'

trapped in the web of love is such a campy song and it deserves to be peotized too - i mean poetized.

someone i know pronunced poet to rhyme with boot

POET RHYMES WITH BOOT!!!

POET RHYMES WITH BOOT!!!

eerste oester

here comes the queen

be in earnest about this letter

it’s your first oyster

you’ll be a chef

and

Tilburg is Australia


here comes the queen

drink harry drink

pieter vrede’s pocket monsters waited

but the piss ant never showed up

here comes the queen

but


Wailord is now asleep

OP LAGER PITJE

BONE OF CONTENTION

SNAP NIE

HEETHANGIJZER

SPIDER MITES

tiny full stops in pillar box red, hyperactive across a page

Capital P poet

the pen held in the gentle fist,
an extra silvery digit,
a crooked angle flashing
across pricey recycled vellum

dangling personality on the end of a stick
frantic dancing,
seamless improvization
of outre steps at the heart of it all

guzzling images and shards
of insights from the source,
a rusty, slightly stale trickle,
somewhere on the campus

trickling brook

poem
titles:

universal remote

portal

ergens op campus is een bron

false resumé

the maxims

CREST

DANCE
OF THE COCKERELS
TRUTH COW

seems to suggest an upward movement - is not strict, in the strict sense

fantastic name for a machine;

WEIRCLIFFE BULK ERASER

Sun 11 Jan

your name carved in butter

on the site of a painting

pssst mr C, your world is waiting for you

10 titles for paintings

chicken shittle

he's going to transform you into the belle of the ball for your big reveal

ik zeg niks betekent iets

Campaign Against Symmetry

I'm gonna make you into chips

compulsive military service

imagine the music in Monk's leg

sir, could you just pop your tray table up please?

a refreshingly obscene philosophy

I would love to be able to be restless