Author: gabrielsmy

Swiftly

I am going to be a bit of a crush on you
and your lovely email address and
password for the first time today
and get a different thing to do it
for you to the gin bar in the UK who
are you a call on the anti-Russia
LGBT backlash the UK and Ireland
and the other day and night and
I am a beautiful person to person
who is the best address to to
the café now and then you came to
the the the the the the the
the the the the the the the
the the the the the the the

Text created by accepting all the predictive text suggestions made by the Swiftkey typing app, 11th August 2013. Submitted by Marika Rose.

Synopsis

Cambodian rival parties probe Michelle
Knight held captive for a decade 6 Children;

suicide-attack Doctors treat world
police, standoff merchants press, twist settlement;

pre-Islamic Bahrain filming Al Pachino movie,
Chicago building nears completion in Shanghai;

Giant octopus hunting Puget Sound World;
New York selling Boston, Globe; John Henry

deals to buy Boston, Globe, woman, voices, sons,
New Zealand, botulism, the sun set, a northernmost city;

Hollywood baby abandoned; inmates strike against California
archaeologists looking to begin again might be too late.

From the Twitter stream of the Associated Press, 2 August 2013. Some punctuation altered to recreate the ambiguity of a rolling Twitter feed. Submitted by M.K. Sukach.

Deep Blue

To my shame, I prefer playing chess
against a computer than a human opponent.
It’s less risky. There is no shame
in defeat. Cheating is not unethical.
Attention to it can be sporadic.
You can simply suspend
a game or start over if
you think you are going to lose.
Even when I am beaten soundly by
a computer opponent, I don’t feel
outwitted; instead I take away a
feeling that my thinking has not become
sufficiently machine-like to compete,
which is more reassuring than anything else.
I get the gratifying feeling
that being lousy at chess is
a mark of my indelible humanity.
This despite the fact that I
am playing computer chess because
I can’t bear the pressure of human interaction.

Taken from En Passant, a blog post published by The New Enquiry, 27th July 2013. Submitted by Marika.

Forty miles

Christ I remember this.
I was living in Leeds
And had the tidiest girlfriend
In York you could imagine.

I used to wake up
On Friday mornings
And put this on;
I was only forty miles away.

What days.
What beautiful proof of God she was.
Beautiful, smiley,
Shapely beauty.

I’ll never forget.

Comment on Youtube video 40 miles by Congress. Submitted by Ben Mellor.

The year of living (dangerously)

It was the year I came out
and had a fling with a gay Maori
the year a friend nearly died of Guillain barre syndrome
the year I met a man who had
a decidedly unsavoury relationship with his dog
the year I saw waterfalls streaming down the sides of Uluru
the year I had a fight with a wild kangaroo
over a $1 box of out of date Pokemon cereal
the year two of my best friends had their lesbian wedding
the year I tried special K (nudge nudge wink wink)
provided by a Welsh drug dealer called Elfed
the year I travelled around with friends in a van
(named bubbles after a local drag queen at the Imperial Hotel
the starting point of Priscilla queen of the desert)
It was all madness but pure gold
Everyone should keep a journal
I’d like to turn it into a book
but no one would believe me

(From comments under Why you really should keep a journal. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi)

What Goes Wrong With Poems

Tom once told me
a poem had to capture
his attention
in the first four lines.

Or perhaps it wasn’t four.
Perhaps it was within
the first twenty words.
Or perhaps I can’t remember
precisely what he said
and am wilfully recreating
the memory.

But I am sure he spoke
about our shared expectation
that poetry (Poetry),
that finest form of writing,

should do something
dynamic early on.

(From What goes wrong with poems. Submitted by Angi Holden)

Broken bones

Baby chicks hatch out of eggs
Smoke goes up a chimney
Chess is a kind of game

Spilt ink makes a splotch
Broken bones can be set in a splint
Rain splashes into puddles

The lamb has a woolly coat
The carving knife is long and sharp
A wren is a small brown bird

Sentences out of my homework book from when I was six. We had to put words into sentences three at a time; the resulting stanzas were haiku like and a little sinister. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.