Category: randomly generated

deliberate, or happy accidents

Going on

The dog on a train station on my bed 
and Netflix 
and I’m working fine now 
and I’m not working on a new phone 
and then I’m driving to this room with me 
and I don’t know if I’ll get it back 
or I get it now 
I got a problem 
that I’m just going on with my life

(Generated by hitting the suggested text button in iPhone Notes repeatedly)

You Latinist

You Latinist?
I doubt it.
Nah lad.
You alive?
Year man, hope so.
I’ve survived on ice cream.

It’s all good in the hood
thank you
prick.
I’m gonna get cained and wash-up
In the bath. Ahhh

The new terms will take effect from
7:30 pm
with balls and like a man.
Start your year helping someone else –
Just destroy the toilet and leave non alive.

Lines picked at random from recent text messages received by class members of the year 2 Music Practice Degree at UCLAN (Preston University). Submitted by Winston Plowes with contributions (in order) from DF, TF, AL, BE, JH, KM, JH, MG, SO, LG, JL, CE, NW, CH and MM.

Controlled Burn 1

We bite
When people have something to say

Every second counts

Wires
In tune
Like a record player
Screaming at a wall

Die, die my darling
Wayfarer

Die alone
Wide awake on Lake Street
Black heart broken

Sunbelt scars
Where are they now

Red Sky
Navigation point

Where we’re going we don’t need roads

Atlanta
Doormat

You’re all welcome

The first 20 songs shuffled by my iTunes in the Punk genre. Submitted by Ryan Falls.

Act Like a Man

Eddie stayed sceptical. He stretched, threw up his head, yawned, and tested the air with his sensitive nose. A trapped turbulence, as if the wind had solidified. He helped her to her feet. “Come, darling,” he said. “Come.” “You of all people,” the Void communicated. Scanned him with his quick black eyes. The only thing she could make out in the dark was the gravel forecourt in front of the house. “You ain’t talking to me.” He called her back to pay for the cognac. He closed his book and drew out a bleating kid. the cultural context in which it was offered, the phrase “act like a man”.

An online collaborative found poetry experiment, composed of the first line from page 50 (up to the full stop or end of line, whichever came first) in books taken from the shelves of 11 poets around the world. Submitted by Winston Plowes.

Contributors and sources: Winston Plowes, The Five People You Meet in Heaven; Andrea Reiser Perkins, Sequoia; Sonja Johanson, The Future of Ice; Sarah Nichols, ‘O City of Broken Dreams’; Catherine Nichols, Valis; Sherry Steiner, Midnight Cowboy; Laurie Kolp, Inkheart; Jenni B.Baker, The Sound and the Fury; Beth Ayer, The Unbearable Lightness of Being; Sheila Sondik, The Whispering Muse; Mildred Achoch, Raising a modern-day knight.

Backspace

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What happens when you accidentally leave a keylogger tracking your keystrokes while you compose a Facebook message. March 2012. Submitted by Jacob Dodson.

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.

We used to meet here, you and I

I was born when you needed me,
my life what I make it.
The constant smack of wet on wet

Trains rush by, boy on a bike
unfinished symphony
skimming stones as far as
Brindley’s heavy mitred gates.
Spreading rumours
in bracelets of fog.

There was a fatalism
as she walked along the towpath.
Black luck, slams hedges shut
in a dark space.
The bruise of blue on bone.
Rigid and dead – silent.
Yorkshire stone
and dagger-beak
seal our fate.

Don’t cry for me dear father
I bow my smokestack slowly
The canal is deep enough.

Lines from 19 poets whose work contributed to the Rochdale Canal Festival 2012 were reassembled in a cento. Contributing authors – Connie Ramsay Bott, Janine Bullman, John Darwin, Sheila Stretton, Jeanette Lomax, Eileen Wright, Andy N, John Betjeman, Ann Oxley, Annie Wright, Paul Blackburn, Diane Cockburn, Gaia Holmes, Anne Caldwell, Julia McClay, Jo Bell, Pat Trythall, Greg Freeman, Eileen Earnshaw, Val Chapman. Submitted by Winston Plowes.