Ultra-goo Blowing 36 & the


Dangerous four
scanning eight
the coating replicator
obliterate a not.
Suspend the protein alloy.
Cryofixation thirty-six and the,

Electron amoebas
grey mobility modern blowing Caine,
Viruses assemble
conducting itself…

Advanced isomorphic
high-resolution Sagacity,
Specimen hexaboride –
Your skin stirs like a cooling kinematic access.


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17 thoughts on “Ultra-goo Blowing 36 & the

        1. In less than a hundred years, we have found a new way to think of ourselves. From sitting at the center of the universe, we now find ourselves orbiting an average-sized sun, which is just one of millions of stars in our own Milky Way galaxy.
          ~Stephen Hawking

  1. You write the BEST freaking poetry, my friend. I am thrilled to be reading you. I mean, ending a title with the word “the”?! Rad. All those number references?! Double rad. And then that fantastic phrase “obliterate a not.”

    Plus, I love this:
    “high-resolution Sagacity,
    Specimen hexaboride”

    And then that killer closing line. Like, totally obvious, dude … just … this: “Your skin stirs like a cooling kinematic access.” That’s what I have to say to you, fine folks.

    Your skin stirs. Not “your skin IS stirred.” But your skin stirs. Stirs what? Stirs me, us, them? Stirs the pot? Stirs the stew? Stirs the gruel? Stirs the magic potion? Who knows?! And who cares! As long as it stirs, ripples, watersss the earth, makes the movie keep rolling. Not cinematic, but kinematic. Cousins. Not kissing cousins, but cooling cousins. Hot and heavy cooled off. No more direct access. And the skin ripples are making this happen. Stirring this state of being into existence.

    “ultra goo blowing 36” … An age. An accounting of something. Ultra goo. LOVE that phrase. Goo blowing goo? 36-year-old goo? 36 goo explosions?

    Dangerous four scanning eight. I love that. Anything with numbers. Halves. Doubles. The coating replicator. It’s like something lost its coating and now its trying to recreate it. Actually, this whole poem has recreation written all over it. Something/someone was stripped as is attempting to build new skin/identity/coating … growing back a tail, shedding/molting. Whatever. Rebirth/growth in one way or another.

    One of my favorite poets ever was Arron Schilling. You remind me of him and make me miss him even more.

    1. To answer some of your questions:

      I mean, ending a title with the word “the”?

      I wanted to do a title that was something different than any other poem out there.
      Plus, challenge the minds out there who will be reading such a poem like this.

      Stirs what? Stirs me, us, them? Stirs the pot? Stirs the stew? Stirs the gruel? Stirs the magic potion? Who knows?

      Stirling everything in its whole, order = chaos.

      Goo blowing goo? 36-year-old goo? 36 goo explosions?

      The goo part was mean to be ironic or just trying to expand the imagination
      of a blowing ultra-goo.

      As a matter of fact, I do remember who Arron Schilling was.
      He stopped by my page long time ago. He really liked my work.
      What happen to him? I have not heard or seen his poetry works.
      He use to be active a lot with the dVerse community.

      1. I didn’t mean them to be questions directed at you. I was just letting you know that your poems blow my mind and invite me to play in the little worlds inside the big worlds inside my insane imagination. I enjoy the oddity and abstract nature here. Highest of compliments to you.

  2. Heh. Interesting use of numbers in this. Eight times’ four is thirty two add four more you are at thirty six. I wonder if we are not type virus in an otherwise healthy chaos?

  3. You’re off the grid! I have to say, your writing takes time and thought, but somehow you manage to transfer senses *?shrug* from your first word to your last.

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