Divorce Bard's Blog

...Iambic pentameter is for the ear. Read it out loud.

Divorce Bard

Divorce Bard
Location
pretty how town, USA
Birthday
February 13
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While the ashes of marriage #2 were cooling, I began a journal here in verse, to keep myself out of trouble. So far so good, and one day at a time. I took a hiatus this past January, and I missed it terribly. Writing daily had changed the way I think - not my opinions, but the process of thinking itself. So here I am back again, and hungry. I began with three rules: (1) Iambic pentameter, (2) Perfect rhyme, and (3) It had to be true (no hyperbole). I hereby amend rule number 3: If I'm writing about myself, yes, it has to be true. But it doesn't, if I want to tell a story.

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OCTOBER 23, 2010 1:55AM

App. Friday Oct 22, 2010

Rate: 13 Flag

The logic is unstoppable.  My mind
Is swirling with it.  Data won't combine,
The keys are missing.  What I'd hoped to find
Was all synthetic groupings, line by line,
So I could make the data self-aware.
I've spent the evening tearing out my hair.

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That one could know it's one
Or two could realize
It had a place, a nose, a face,
Would give me great surprise.

Data would be greater
With knowledge of a self
Like a wise potater
Or a goofy happy elf.

But the numbers that encumber
My daily calculation
Merely seem to slumber
Bereft of all elation.

They do supremely well
In parsing time and space.
They neither feel nor do they smell
And toil with no disgrace.
See, what's wrong with this is the tech-headedness of the thing.
You assume the reader knows what App. means.
And data, let alone 'self-aware' data.
Synthetic groupings, give me a break.
Hair I can relate to, because I miss most of mine.
I take it you're having a rough night.
I can relate to that, but I get the feeling this is a poem
about a computer.
Quills and inkpots will cure your ills.
I happen to know that. Those and a glass of brandy.
rated for spam busting
I'll take Kim's recipe any day, quills ink and brandy must cure all ills, especially technological ones.
I do have a more radical one, throw the apple away.
Now, the poem's frustration reminds me of my own when I am trying to fight justified margins that freeze or deal with my ailing checkbook.
But for now, it reminds me I should be working on a paragraph on my novel that has been giving me grief for the last week.
Perhaps it's all the data's fault though somehow doubt that would calm you. Quills and inkpots and time that breathes, time that gives. Time that calms. These I wish for you.
Is this about Star Trek, and Commander Data's search for his own humanity? Because when you think about it . . . what's that? Oh, never mind.

;)

Don't you find that when it's late and the things you're working with just won't behave (with me it's fumbling for words), the best thing to do is go to sleep?
I've found that data almost never pays attention and when it does, it is completely indifferent. I tend to side with the happy goofy elf. (sorry about your hair!)
Stop tossing, brother, put your mind at rest:
The data never pass a Turing test.
I think Kim and Vanessa have some great remedies.. Bard.
The extension of time to file your income tax return must be about to expire.
The logic always stops in my world.
When I was hurrying the other night to put the hand-sewn finishing touches on my granddaughter's dress and then the frustrating all handsewn intracacies of the head band, I wanted to pull my hair out. Instead, I caught myself sighing with every stitch I pulled out that didn't match the perfection I desired! Frustration, arrrrgh!