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The Left Column

Politics for Poets

politics of the here and now

every so often
it's good
to clean our
cabinets
cabinets
but the doors don't shut
the doors don't shut
you aren't a poet
just because
you repeat your self
you repeat your self
she takes the cash
and would give no reciept
for you and only
her bonded friends
can be hired for her
required
'mitigation'
make sure it's all in tens and twenties.




Musings . . .

November 29, 2016


 
 My windmill is tilted tilted, tilting 
 at your windmill is tilted, tilted, tilting at
 my windmill. My windmill is grinding corn
 my windmill is toasty warm
 when the sun in high
 and the day is long.
 
 Out in the river you can see the rocks 
 when the water's low,
 the day is over, the
 ferry has made it's long crossing.
 
 All of the things she demands
 her tyranical rants
 and the money for the car
 the diamonds, pearls and
 little furry pets
 and a constant stream of soda
 all of it today tomorrow
 yesterday drive
 us all away off into the forest
 "you are the sinner, 
 you not a Vermnotteer
  you
   you are the sinner, you.
   not a Versnooststeer"
   
   Yesterday it was broken dreams
   when some of this
   made sense
   all day long 
   he laments his calling
   gone retrograde,
   the fence at the edge of the swamp,
   the fringes of the forest, off in a 
   memory,
   lost
   in a long forgotten yesterday
   suddenly reappears.
   It's cold there that day 
   though the light was bright
   the fringes of the field 
   were all grown over by then, 
   it had been left fallow.
   You would have been pulling a sled
   or a taboggan
   and it would have been cold and damp
   and dangerous
   but no one would have been scared.
   There were not thickets then,
   it's a different memory now
   when they'd mow it.
   Cow Weeds and Pig Weeds and Hogweed
   damage and cortesone and
   caritgine
   and vitamins
   and a fussy coach who was nosy
   and a far away father, always travelling,
   and the Winter
   with knit mittens 
   that didn't work against the cold
   and snot down his face
   and snot on the jacket of his coat 
   he didnt' even see it.
   Didn't think it matter,
   never thought it was anything,
   too cold, too lost, where do you live, little boy?
   Call an officer to find his home.
   Find a person who
   can make him feel less alone
   he's never been to this neighborhood 
   and no body knows who he is.
   
   So Duders mohter must have known
   better, about these things, she
   called an officer who showed up just like that
   and he was very large,
   and the kid was scared a little, like
   he didn't love cops.
   
   So then it was later.
   I'm walking up that next street, 
   the icey hill, the limosene service 
   pulled up to Mavin's Maidly's house
   evening delivery
   liquor and soda.
   
   The Christmas lights were on.
   I never thought of that boy again,
   lost and bawling frozen tears.
   Lost boys you really can't follow me home
   or don't I know how young you really were?
   Rat out some small child to a welfare
   profiteers,
   they'll see it that there's money in it,
   I can hear the ladies talking.
   I wasn't knowing what they were saying, about
   who it were that was being discussed,
   no one I remember.
   It wasn't my sled.
   I don't let strays follow me
   when I'm wondering through the forest
   but you can't stop them from doing it
   when they've got the mind to.
   Saturday
   we'd go all the way up that long road,
   and down the longer hill to the lake
   all the way around
   rampaging through the college,
   all the pretty girls smelling like smiles and giggles
   and us being young and rathscallion
   screaming like champians
   running through the tennis courts
   disrupting all the girls' games.
   
   I could walk out across the frozen lake
   it would be thin ice 
   over where the river runs into the head of the lake
   We all knew not to skate over there.
   
   
   
   


Sean!

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They collect
environmental fines
to fund their lavishness

    
    
🖐morning
clover🖐



these can get you banned from school?!:
🔫 🚀 🚙🚤🚣c🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣
🚣🚣🚣  🚀  🚀🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
🔨 🚙 🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣



spinfont unicode-isms
🍀 Praise God! 🍀
🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰🍀
🎠 
🎠 
🎠 
🔫
🔨🔨 
🍀 Praise God! 🍀



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if you don't have proper fonts installed you won't see what this picture shows: the output of the echo command with unicode symbols as input. If you are blind basically the unicode are symbols that you could feel as shapes. If you have a 'font box', which would be like that divice with all the pins in it that you can place your hand inside, and the shape of your hand will appear on the surface. If such a thing locked, it would then let a blind person feel it and they would feel the shape. such a device that does that for font shapes would greatly aid the blind. It would be a 'kind of' high resolution new-braille. Call it a 'sean-box' font reader.

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🚀 🚙🚤🚣c🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣
🚣🚣🚣  🚀  🚀🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
🔨 🚙 🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣
🖐


🖐🖑 🖑🖐   © 2010, 2012 Amillia Publishing Company.Stylized Lincoln from a high-res photo of his memorial.  © 2013 Amillia Publishing Company.

Here is today's pretty poem:


  

friendly

    
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  © 2010, 2012 Amillia Publishing Company.  © 2010, 2012 Amillia Publishing Company.
  © 2010, 2012 Amillia Publishing Company.
  © 2010, 2012 Amillia Publishing Company.

🖐 🌙 🖑
🖑🌛 🌜🖐
   
 🖐🖑
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🖐🖑 🖑🖐
 ♥♥?

 
 he blathered:

 
 clearly countertative,
 cause redactical
 cause
 redactical
 cleary countertative.
 
 Kanye's not
 crazy
 crazy like a fox.
 Foxes have holes.
 Birds of the air
 birds of the air.
 Foxes have holes.
 
 The son of man has no place to call home . . . 
 
 Kanye is not crazy.
 crazy, crazy like a fox.
 Waves of leaves flood the fields and woodslands
 clearly in need of a snowfall
 to make it all a happy winter scene,
 children sleding
 like from a distant dream.
 
 Clearly eve 
 evening
 evening in Malibu
 a gracious painter
 holding a single maple leaf,
 elegance of form,
 a painting of many pots
 that she is selling
 at auction.
 You can have it
 If you bit it
 bid it
 win it.
 Win a tour
 win a life of touring.
 
 Your not Jesus.
 You have a home.
 You don't live in a hole.
 You have a family who wants you to be well.
 When manic people are often exceptionally creative.
 Except maybe they can't tell the difference.
 Eve tweets about her discontents.
 Kanye remains
 under observation
 by millions
 who really want to know
 Are you alright?
 Was that quite a fight?
 Would you and Eve be OK?
 Would you buy her painting 
 on a better day?
 
 bid it, win it,
 paint it, show it.
 If you never try
 you never learn to walk
 How could we have learned to fly
 if no one would ever try?
 
 Kanye's not crazy.
 Eve seems to have a contented life
 secure enough to tweet about politics.
 discontented with other people's choices.
 I hail her, I solute her, if she ever got 'checked in'
 her people kept it from the press.
 
 We are all her people.
 We wish her well forever.
 She was a princess
 amoung princesses,
 never a flighty queen
 not ever known for being mean
 or all agrandized
 never one put out there to despise.
 
 If he never tries,
 he never flies.
 Make sense of this
 with all your ties.
 
 If he never tries
 he never succeeds
 give up some large part
 of very many greeds.
 
 My painting
 is all words just glittering
 I always felt great joy 
 while everybody is painting
 It was never a competition.
 get out your box of wax pencils,
 fill up a page with color.
 Make sure there aren't any empty spaces.
 
 But the empty space
 stands apart and gives
 the border to the forms.
 The forms take shape
 as effort continues,
 a poetic form perhaps most vauge of all
 no rythum to guide you,
 no color theme, that if you use those materials
 you can't go wrong, 
 no one beating a drum in time
 so that the orator knows when to beat the next sylable
 into the heads of the audiences
 Kany's ascended the light towers,
 he's way up high
 above the stage
 which is very high already,
 very high already
 already very high already
 and no one had to put him there
 he didn't need to climb up there.
 He can't touch the sun,
 you cna't touch the sun,
 he knows that he isn't Jesus. 
 Maybe Jesus could go and touch him directly,
 visit him and calm him and feed him your wine.
 Love him and cure him.
 cure me.
 cure you, the reader,
 cure Eve
 cure Donald,
 cure Hillary.
 
 And when you try and understand
 other people's art
 they might tell you
 nothing with their smile.
 Their twitter feed still shines out,
 even after they have abandoned it.
 The sunlight along the ridges,
 the aspen glow of the late afternoon.
 The haze and distant cliffs draped in pendant whisps of evaporation,
 blown along and made into clouds?
 Or is that a distant forest fire?
 Upon the ridge, along the Sierra highway, the other travellor knows
 where the fire burns,
 someone's ranch, someone fertile vinyard,
 someone's maple grove,
 an artist's cottage
 and a summer's worth of fancy painting.
 
 Let's hope that's not really what it is.
 
 Race to the stars?
 Reproduce the master work?
 How many masterpieces,
 through out the long ages of mankind
 have been destroyed by neglect
 or mallice? HOw many
 mona lisa's?
 
 And even if you see her
 standing in the sunlight
 head slightly cocked,
 to be respected as a talented painter
 do you notice her own ease
 and grace and
 welcoming nature
 even if she is a skeptic
 about politics
 and inclined to let you know
 how she feels about the news of the world.
 
 Shine on,
 oh life time stars of human novae!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 🖐🖑
🖑🖐


glossary of what's next

♥♥? :

Be nice to yourself and others. What other choice?

Praise the Lord Just because it's the right thing to do !© 2012 APC.Praise the Lord for his deep and unfailing love for us! © 2012 APC.


The waste land
of your spirit quest
hallucinations
aren't coins to use
to explain away
what you delude to be
failures of being,
your excess,
kicking in the door
of some strangers SUV
at Venice Beach, October
2014.
You were out of your mind
and being inhuman
raving at 'them' about 
your urges, needs, crappy
understanding of
society
and the wider world
wind and waves.

But your better now, by now?
some time in a rehab for a while?
found by someone important?
Your better now, and I won't ask
about the tats, bars, stars, gang sign
markings.

Got to go wash? 
Wash-off your life
from yourself?

What we have done
What we have failed to do.

building bridges where there is a river?
building bridges and walls, roads, valley town
around the roll in the highway, 
up the mountain,
down the mountain
up the mountain
down the mountain
this must be stealing,

you can't wash off 
who you are.
You can't.
You can only be born again once
it is said
get born again.
got the message?
hang up the phone?

Want to experiment with awareness?
take a long nap, remove yourself
from delusions
that the peculiarity of the place
that you will create for yourself
if you burn off parts of your mind
is going to be anything more
than just an idiosyncratic
virtual delusion

Maybe you could wrap it up in stories?
Leave them in a box, 
no body will read them?
I'm being a buzz kill?
buzzing on
means that you land on a flower,
for a while,
if you were a butterfly
and then fly on to the next one.

// // Or maybe that is where you'd lay your eggs,
if you were a butterfly.
You are not a butterfly
even if on alkaloids you
could think that you were.





Wake up!

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wake up and be unaware of being the Buddha Praise and love ♥♥ the Lord!! ♥♥ © 2012 APC.

♥♥ Praise ♥♥ the ♥♥ Lord ♥♥ !!

end of column

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The Message Column


November Rain

Rain. November Rain. It's not snow. It might become . . . black ice. That's dangerous.

Nov 30, 2016




Paddering rain
It'll never be the same . . .
  

what does it matter patter
what does it matter patter
what does it matter patter
what does it matter patter



 
 Shimmering rain
 running down my window
 

If I feel
like I'm not succeeding
does that mean I feel
like I'm failing?
Introspection.
The glare of traffic lights
attacks my eyes
splashing water on the street outside.

If I get it wrong
will eternity blame me
for being lame?
Not wanting thoughts,
not agreeing with thoughts
isn't the same of never having them.

Some things are never real unless you make them real
like the woes and rainy day concerns of black ice
and all day car ride.
Sign here.
initial
initial
"you shouldn't even exist.
just pay the fines and we'll stamp your permit.
how dare you live with in a world of nuianced
existential conflict
and expect other people not to be
preditary
living off of strangers
secret vampires.."

She's mean, this one. 
Demons of purpose screaming about environmental causes
with a black heart made of mud
and living off of extortion of strangers.


how about an excerpt?
more like a literary joke.
The Blank page

end if excerpt

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Skylight Copley Place circa 2006  © 2015 2016 © APC morning glory.  © 2015 2016 © APC Purple Amythist  multi-mirrored image of a deep purple colored amythist.  © 2015 2016 © APC purple hued monochrome of El Captian, a giant cliff in Yosemete National Park.  © 2015 2016 © APC   El Captian, a giant cliff in Yosemete National Park.  © 2015 2016 © APC  of El Captian, a giant cliff in Yosemete National Park.  © 2015 2016 © APC Roses, slightly wilted, in a vase positioned near the center, but not exactly, a list of names, in memorial, which are written in ever increasing concentric circles, very very very many names of people who died during the AIDS epidemic. Golden Gate Park, in the AIDS Grove  © 2015 2016 © APC

The existance
of existance
is rumored 
throughout the crowd
the band plays on
their endless song

The existential crises
of existential crisis
were rumored
and cataloged
by some who weren't dancing
but off to the side
as observers

Finally,
there were the exits
not just rumors
but actual portals
to your future
off into the cold evening
and 
November rain.

But the streets weren't mean,
and the rain was cleansing
all the crazy
flowing down
with glitters and colored dies
flooding along with all of it,
just an hulluciantion?
Just the result of best intentions,
sincerist prayer?

Sincerist prayer
calls out to our purpose,
and asks,
pleads,
"can you help us ?
Of course you can help us."

He helps us.

Plaque in memorial for passangers of a slave ship who died local to this sign and are burried nearby. Key West, Florida.  © 2015 2016 © APC
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murmurs of existential nonsense
he downs his beer
and saunters out into the wet evening.

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord!
  for    because    
 Easter  He's so awesome! 
  welcome to The Message Column!

      🖐Love🖑
      🖑Cops🖐

      

content monitor
software?
Anyone?

 
Stylized Lincoln from a high-res photo of his memorial. © 2013 Amillia Publishing Company. Stylized Lincoln from a high-res photo of his memorial. © 2013 Amillia Publishing Company. Stylized Lincoln from a high-res photo of his memorial. © 2013 Amillia Publishing Company.
hover above images for a modification effect. ditto © 2014 © APC
🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥

🖐Love🖑
🖑Cops🖐

      

     
Vote Once
One Vote
here is a fresh link, a new path to some older content:
   photo pile!
   
 


 
Baby she wants you now . . . 

cause I don't know
what she's got up here sleave
she's made it clear 
that she wants you to leave
baby don't want you now
 
  
         
 

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

Kafka wrote comedy. Orwell was a pessimist. Depends who you ask.

Imagine if they both could have lived and made it to Los Angeles, post war, and been collaborators on writing romantic screwball comedies for Hollywood. If we search IMDB for movies written by Kafka, or by Orwell, will we find one? I kind of doubt it.

by Truck-u-later

Truck-u-later

in this column Truck-u-later steps in deeper . . .

Politics. Aren't we all sick of it by now?

Government should not be a shakedown. Zoning board parasites should not be a single point of shakedown. 'environmental' requirements are used to justify graft to petty tyrrants who burrow into office and then haunt there, like a ghoul, shaking down anyone who wants to do something real, have a home, be their own person. And while they do it, they scold their victims. "There shouldn't even be a house there." A clear case of 'governance' with disdain for the governed. But these zoning board parasites get to live large off of the money collected in the shakedown.

Nov 30, 2016

tell us how you really feel . . .

. . . well . . . Truck-you-later!

this was once a poem
but now it's just me
filling space.

This was once a grand soliloquy
of a man with a sense of eternity
skipping down the page.

This was once poetry
of a high gauge.

And once I thought a while
typing all night long
I put my drafts on the Internet
and some times it's a song

this was once a song
a poem
a dream
a roaming rock wants to dance
wants to swim
in a parade 
of awesome
standing in the late afternoon sunlight
of a beach of eternal
time
passing
repeating
passing 
repeating
this dream
your tan
his house
that door
was lock
the window
and the wall
and the cold wind
we were no longer friends

this was once a dream of you
it had a flavor,
like I could smell apples
and the day was bright and long
ever morning dreaming of you 
bringing

This was once a memory of a song
that had been a poem before
until someone saw it there, 
put it to a tune, 
used it without permission
these years of words draining
these heartbreak cliche days
dreaming
day dreaming
daze dreaming.
The sound of the rain.
oh, you literal cliche.
he keeps typing enen when he has nothing
left to say.
Hit enter.


My poem hadn't arrived yet
the promised poem, that
great epic trilogy of hope
and pathos coming to 
awareness of truth and life.
It wasn't there yet. 
It flopped around awhile,
the door to the garage had been locked
by his uncle
and no one would be getting access to the key
and then he died.
We were left standing while the storm approached
out in the rain
streaming lightning
but it was only a dream in a poem,
not even a real dream.
His uncle was never ever mean.
And if angels scream of sleep 
at the end of a very long day
waiting for parents to let you get in the car
and drive away
to a place with your bed for the night.
No one else will be there then,
it will be him alone with his toy tracktors.



If you go to his barn
you might find
a dream he had before
he started using
that excuse
that he makes up
over and over
like he forgets
that you know
it was obvious to you
you could tell by the mood swings,
the dust on his guitar strings,
the flat tire on his motor bikes,
the bird carcus laying next to the closed window
where it had flown against it and died
maybe a year before.

And driving away 
you wanted to pretend that you could still
sense the glow
the hope
the promise,
that eternal beach in the sun
afternoon eternity
for ever with you kind of
joyous
venture
the memory of which never goes away.
And locked within your jones you'll neer know the way he feels for you,
a love that's true.

And driving away
you know
that even though you might never go back there
you will always be there.

The paradox of that last verse
makes sense
during the dusk that descends upon the highway and the hills
this day was long, the lifetime trip back
to you
forever
condensed
into a fraction of hope,
by the time I could admit my own failure
my tendency was to cut bait on the problem
which usually meant
being alone
When so many were out on the town drinking
writing sappy poems
about that eternal beach of life
somewhere in an old notebook,
and confessions of my earlier life
when I was such a weasel at times
to so many people,
not being honest
afraid of the blow back
the most mendacious generation.

But I got better.


draft on, crazy typist.

Is it cold in here? 
Is there a draft?
Ya, everything on this website.

© 2016 © 2017 ©


  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for his    for his    for his
 unfailing  unfailing  unfailing
   love!      love!      love!


the poet won the prize for literature!

  well, nothing more here today.

It's TallBill who writes all these columns

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The Right Column

Rainy Days




Game Sculpture

Here are some karts, built with Blender and Open Source scripts at Game Sculpture. The page is one of my demonstration pages, with inserted images in that, and haven't taken too much time with it and it needs some tweaking.


7:03 AM
November 30, 2016

 

inline svg sample 1,inline svg sample 2,inline svg sample 3


🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 
🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 
🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 
🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 🌛 







🌛
    Lovers
    and
    fighters
    are often the same
    

 


Please visit my DEMOS

       
   
   Live your life
in constant resurrection!


⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰
 ~ ; )
 

Praise the Lord!

MH, where are you? Milton Moonlight © Copyright © 2010,2012, 2013, 2014 © APC ©.

I got nothing more

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Poem Shards


Eulogy
I met him in the fog
  of war
 after he was already dead
 his visage in videos speaking
         dread
 and how the public is
     mislead.

  If only I could have known
       you before
      you gave up the ghost to
           haunt the crossing ferry
  off to places unknown, an
      undiscovered . . . 
     virtue.
  A new country! 
      A new type of people who
   respect the things that work that
       ferry churning 
        through the fogs and mists and 
               dank smelling out-gassings
     of these many foul rethorics spewed
         plausible
     no one knows
  who is sure?

   Which shore
     does your ferry 
  pull up to
       to let out the ghost, so
   the story goes, the one
 that gets told . . . better
    be one that people can
              hear when their kids are there
   outside the house
       at the top of the stair.

 She
     can't hear that story if he
     is but a ghost now she
     knew him he was
        her friend and
 told her how he had
       been
 destroyed, remorsed, 
  fallowed, wasted, lost 
 abandoned on the battlefield of soul
 blow up your fallacies, this war
       needs to be taken way down inside those
              dark-thought places where
      hate channels freely destroy
            the hate by sending it off to unthought
                rhyme
  unspoken
            words unkind
      unthought hate.

  We try not to think of it, what
      the plausible story can be he's
 off on that Platsburgh ferry a shroud
        of fog the mists
         and fowl outgassings must
  some how be endured one last time
        to say good bye, come back to me
       come back to me you friend now gone and lost
  never known all hopes
   of how to write this story . . . his story . . . if he had asked me . . . 
   I'd start the book:
      "He faked his death to escape . . ." 




from Unipoems
 She asked 
 " If you get across
  can you take this
       to the King of Nowhere
 and tell him,
   plead to him
  to think of her
  and the way that she needs him?
       but he won't come home
     so she goes out looking for him
 went down to The Flatiron Building
         asking anyone
    wrote a card
        mailed it home.

  I imagine her
       collapsed on a bench
        people shuffle through
     she feels the lonely loss
          why won't he come home?
     I imagine her.
 She wrote it like that
      on her card.

  But it was all for sympathy,
       just an expression of her drama
 and she felt lost because of it
       and didn't know how to proceed
         the tricks didn't work with him
      he'd gotten willful,
     run off with a different girl
   who doesn't go to church.

     Hear the steam whistle
  of an approaching ferry turning to make a smooth connect.
      Moving back
 from the railing and the ropes
       she notes the impatience of the people at the dock
     and how the other women really like to talk.
  the crowd rushes forward
  have your nickel ready
        she gets swept along
     now she is way out there
       in the ferry
 out past the jetty.

 Ferry to Red Bank 1906





🚦 🚧 🚨 🚩 🚪 🚫 🚬 🚭 🚮 🚯 🚰 🚱 🚲
🌛         



🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥

sometimes there is beauty within the fragments . . .
🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛 

Sprongg . . . onng . . . ongg ga

Her tired morning
seems more like poetry
than anything you can
find on a blog.


Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Tree
Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Dog

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥

Woof and woe🌝 
🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥



who da thought?

thought is sequential the end of it is never flood on, river of wise neglect let the bough break let the wind blow removed the baby from that cradle long ago and took him somewhere safe. Thought is over rated when it's thought for being mean to be mean being mean what you mean when you are mean when you 'mean what you say'. Memory is overrated there is joy in the person even when they don't know who you are anymore they still love you they usually don't forget that they love you usually. It was cold that day he'd driven all the way there and plodded through the snow to face the sorrow of his loved-one who didn't remember him but thought him to be someone else as thwarted. Memory is overrated when it's hard hurt of past tragedy as if it happened yesterday from the long ago. Bill Perilli, writer of all of the things on this blog. 🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛

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Coders Edge

Tool Chain

3D things

projects

Oct 2, 2016





if you don't have proper fonts installed you won't see what this picture shows: the output of the echo command with unicode symbols as input. If you are blind basically the unicode are symbols that you could feel as shapes. If you have a 'font box', which would be like that divice with all the pins in it that you can place your hand inside, and the shape of your hand will appear on the surface. If such a thing locked, it would then let a blind person feel it and they would feel the shape. such a device that does that for font shapes would greatly aid the blind. It would be a 'kind of' high resolution new-braille. Call it a 'sean-box' font reader.


Please visit DEMOS

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