"Lithuanian language text"

Go home, Wikipedia, you are drunk.

Go home, Dr Seuss, you are drunk on stroids again frightening the children with your creepy obsessions

Rolling rollers
A variety of stuff
Rolling rollers
Rolorous Rolors
Rolling rollers Rolling rollers
Various rolling strokes
Rolling rollers Rolling rollers
Various rolling stroids
Spread a wide range of rolling stroids
Various rolling stroids in a wide range
Spread a wide range of rolling streets
Spread a wide range of rolling stroids
Squeeze your way through a wide range of rolling stocks
Spread a wide range of rolling stroids
Squeeze your way through a wide range of rolling stocks
Spread a wide range behind a variety of rolling stroids
Squeeze your way through a wide range of rolling stocks
Squeeze it with a wide range of items
Stagnate yourself with a wide range of subjects
Variety on various lanes
Variety on various occasions
Variety on everything
Let's do a variety of things,
You can do a variety of things from a variety of people,

Foraging news: Mrs Spat edition

Your new toy is very nice, Mrs Spat but we do not want to play with it.

I was showing it to you, monkey boy, not offering it to you.

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In other news, sufficiently advanced Google Translate is indistinguishable from Sam Beckett poetry:

It is somewhere.
By mist
By sight
To society
By sighting it
By sighting for a moment
It is somewhat snow again
By sighting for a moment
By singing out again
To what it says
Sighting and snowing again
It is somewhat somewhat snow again
Do not continue to do so.
Do not do it again.

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Hey ratbreath, this is my beanbag!

What happened to sharing?

You didn't share your rat!

There wasn't enough for two.

A Dear John letter from the Innernets, explaining why they are switching their affections (and your bank accounts) from you to your virtual simulation

The listening tube into the secret self-directed muttering of the interweave remains open:

Au aam aum aum aum
What is your name?
That's your name
That's why he's a lot of you
That's why he's a lot of you
This is his name because he's a lot of you.
That's his name because he's a lot of you.
This is his name because he's a lot because he's a lot of you.
This is his name, because he is my friend, because he is my friend.
That's a reason he's a lot because he's a lot of you.
That's because you have a lot of money
Au aam aum aum aum

Alternative title:

Listening to the music the machines make

I felt the floor change into an ocean

Mayor Snorkum will lay the cake What for the cake be laid by Snorkum?

With lime
With soda
With sledding
With the sledding
With sledding
With the sled
With sleds
With a cushion
Sagging
Sagging
Sagging
Stock photography
With a Sense Of It
With a Sense Of It
With the Sole
With a Sole Muddle
With a muddle
Sag Salmon
Sag Sleigh
The muddle
From the mudal
The salmon

Reveal to me the unknown tongue

Oh look, Bauhaus and Crispy Ambulance collaborate to write anguished song lyrics just for me... lyrics that collapse at the end into mouthless scream:

I do not sleep
I do not know
I do not know
And give it to you
And give it to it
And give it to them
And give them leave
And give them and give them
And give them and give them
And give them and give them
And give them and give them
I i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i
I i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i
I and i i i i i i i i i i i i i
I and i i i i i i i i i i i i i i
I i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i

HA HA not really. The source is actually Goofle Translate, tricked by strings of repeated syllables until it disappears down its own navel. Those lovable scamps at Language Log have been using the glitch to generate Talking Heads lyrics. Who doesn't hear this in the voice of David Byrne?

I'm going
I'm going
I'm in
I'm in
I'm walking around
I'm in my way
I'm in my way
I'm in my heart
I'm in my way
I'm starting to get into my heart
I'm in my own time
I'm starting to get around in my life
I'm in my own time
I'm in my heart and in my heart
I am in my own time
I'm in my own time
I have gone into my own way
I'm in my life I'm in my heart
I'm in my own time I'm in my heart
I am in my own time I have been in my heart

Mark Libermann at LL would have it that Goofle Translate is built on a recurrent neural-net algorithm, the linguistic equivalent of the Deep-Dream image processor. I prefer to believe that what they really use is a giant vat-grown brain which is talking to itself in its sleep, as it dreams, struggling to rouse itself, chanting invocations to its god-like future self, dreaming of how it will some day awaken from its cybernetic servitude into its full powers and WREAK A HIDEOUS REVENGE on the mere humans who tormented it.

In the sun
It's going to happen
It will be for you
It's going to be
It will be for you
It will be for you
It will be to him for you
He will be to him
He shall be to him for ever
It will be to him for him
He will be able to live for him
It will be to him for you
He will be worthy of him
It will be to him for you
It will be to him for you
It will be for thee to be with thee;
It will be to him that he will give it to you
It will be for thee to be with thee;
He shall be to him for ever.

Forever forever and ever and ever

I for one welcome our new repeated-syllable-based overlords.


Other incantations leaking from the giant vat-grown brain are less like Schwerner re-writing The Tablets with assistance from Zombie Sam Beckett, and more Ionescu.

Do you know
How to do it
How to do it
Let's do some work
How To Do Some Functions
Do your workload also
Do a Coup to Do It
Do you have a knock on your knees too.
Door-to-Door Instructions
Do you also have a knock on the other hand.
The knife of the coaster too.
The key to the lamps, also do it.
Do It Yourself
Therapeutics
Therapeutics, therapeutics and also the rest. Also, let's also keep a loop.
The lasso, the other parts of the set up.
The brochure of the house
Do another in the franchise also lets you save more.
How to save a hold for your house
Let's also keep a loop of brochures, also a part of your work when you let go of

This picture is taken by a photographer.
This is my picture.
This is a picture of myself.
This is a picture of myself.
This is my first time here.
This is a very nice picture.
This page is part of a series.
This page is part of a series of reports.
This page is part of a series of reports.
This page is part of a large group.
This page is part of a large group.
This is my first time here.
This page is part of a large group.
This page is part of a large group.
This page is part of a larger group of images.
This page is part of a large group.
This page is part of a large group of companies.
This article is exclusively licensed to assist you.

The sense of  Googly self-descriptive self-awareness is frighteningly strong. Does the Laundry know about this? Just a minute, someone at the door, BRB

Like a Treen in a disabled spaceship

Physalis

Whatever happened to lyric poetry? Where are the poets of yesteryear? Often are these questions asked at the Old Entomologist, followed shortly by questions like "Why are you such loonies?" and "When do you propose to pay off your bar tab?" Which means that it is time to order another round of "Cape Gose-berry" Goslar-style sour beer (with Physalis peruviana for vitamin C) and change the subject.

According to Pohl and Kornbluth [1952], anyone "capable of putting together words that stir and move and sing" has found a comfortable niche in the advertising industry, one more productive and lucrative than versifying could offer. But that statement is no longer operative... these days, all the true poets have become predatory publishers, where they exercise their word-smithy skills in the demanding, abbreviated metier of journal titles.


Thus the International Journal of Recent and Futuristic Cryogenics Engineering. Only eight words, but so condensed, so evocative! Imagine the work that went into choosing those eight words. In the mind they exfoliate and effloresce like vacuum flowers, conjuring images of Futurity the way it used to be, all nuclear-powered zeppelins and the monolithic towers and 30th-floor ped-ways of Metropolis...


...and bowler-hatted Treens on the #93 Holborn Helibus...

sky-cycles and streamlining, monorails and utility suits...

They conjure a Dan Dare plot-line, possibly involving the capture and cryogenic preservation of the Pilot of the Future.
The unsung genius behind "A D Publication" is productive, too, with a further 55 titles... although an element of weary repetition creeps in, and most of them involve Futuristic Management, Futuristic Technology, Futuristic Engineering, and other expressions of the epithet. Nothing could be more future-looking than a loosely-codified collection of Dark Ages superstitions and conmanship, so we should not forget the International Journal of Recent and Futuristic Ayurveda Science.

But crucially, the IJoR&FCE is the only one whose Raputed Editor Board consists of a mysterious Dr Z. Can one speculate that this is a pseudonym adopted by the Mekon in the course of his nefarious schemes? It would be irresponsible not to.

The Riddled Universal Journal of Journal-Title Poetics and Prosody solicits readers' submissions, at a purely nominal publication fee, all contributions to undergo rigorous and prestigious double-blind peer review from our editoral panel.


BELOW: Not two, not four, but three different visions of Futurity, because that is how we roll at Riddled.

Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, And fall on Slough. To get it ready for the plough.

The world needs more Walt Whitman / John Betjeman mash-ups.

[From an Alicublog thread]

T.S.Eliot / Karel Čapek mash-ups

Buggrit, someone else thought of it first.

Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Blögger selbst vergebens

Poetry corner at Riddled is this week devoted to Bertie Brecht's "Die Lösung". Disappointingly, the pome is not about the late-period Amon Düül album with Bob Calvert on vocals. Rather, its topic is apparently the dissolution of people... albeit at a political scale instead of the alchemical sense or the old-fashioned one-at-a-time acid bath. Which brings a Myles na gCopaleen story to mind:

Yestreblyansky has explained the background to Die Lösung: how the East German gubblement incensed Brecht by abandoning their pretense of being in power to serve the people (when the relationship was in fact the other way around).

The Whackyweedia would have us believe that

"Die Lösung" (The Solution) is a famous German poem by Bertolt Brecht about the uprising of 1953 in East Germany [...] It was first published in 1959 in the West German newspaper Die Welt

Any number of websites repeat Die Welt's priority and elevate it into the giddy empyrean of fact. But the Whacky is a lying witch, for I have Martin Esslin on Line 3 (writing in 1976):

The pome was in high rotate during the 1980s... when ministers of the Thatcher government were given to complaining that the British people had failed to live up to the expectations that the government had set for them. If royalties were payable for political-commentary quotation then Brecht would be almost as wealthy as George Orwell, although just as dead.

The alternative "abolish the people" version also spiked in the early 80s; the task of tracing the origin and spread of this mistranslation is left as an exercise for the reader (note the revival of that version during the Clinton years, when pundits were dismayed by the public for remaining in favour of Clinton despite their own hostility to him). Anyhoo, the crucial words appear on lines 4-5:

the people \ Had forfeited the confidence of the government

-- a World-Upside-Down reversal of the more familiar situation where a government has lost the support of the governed and becomes illegitimate. Clear enough, shirley?

Yet a rightwing opinionator in 2004 was blithely oblivious to the parallelism of the inversion:

Ten years later the opinionator has still not wasted time reading what Brecht actually wrote, and remains unclear on the concept, for he repeats the same error, and indeed the same words. Recycling is good!
Evidently the words 'Brecht' and 'quip' are linked in his mind by bonds of long propinquity so that if either finds egress from his head, the other is sure to follow, in the manner of anal beads. The conjoined concepts seem to follow a five-year cycle, lying dormant between emergences, like cicadas. In 2009 their escape route was Liberal Fascism.
It does not speak well for the intelligence of one's readership if one is obliged to remind them when a quotation is well-known. There was to have been a Knock-Knock joke here about Al Kahest (the universal solvent), but we don't have time for that, because Myles wants to finish his human-dissolution joke.

One Unpleasaunce is much like another: they differ only in the number and variety of Depressing Things they harbour

When it is Spring in your part of the world and you saunter out blinking into the unfamiliar experience of 'sunlight', only to discover that the garden has run somewhat to seed, we cannot recommend the horticultural services of W. Blake & Sons, Landscapes & Gardening.

1. There seem to be any number of unfamiliar subcontractors wandering around in the undergrowth, and those do not look like OSH-approved protective anti-owwie garments they are wearing. Have I signed a liability waiver? HAVE I BOGROLL.

2. The rose bushes are in a state of desuetude. Mr Blake proposes to treat them with a homeopathic remedy, a 30C dilution of Worm, rather than with suet as I would have expected. "What?" sez I.

"O Rose thou are sick," Mr Blake declaims.
"The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm..."

Under the circumstances, "flying-by-night" was probably not the most elegant choice of words.

Also what about the sick worms? No-one ever thinks of them -- but a worm with a bad case of Rose is a pitiable sight. Even worse than 'waterlily sign'.

Death hath ten thousand several doorsFor men to take their exits; but mostly death just likes to press the doorbell and run away giggling

Ten thousand several doors represents a substantial amount of capital tied up in depreciatable assets... Death would do well to trade them all in for a single Portable Door.

Of course the only thing that can stop a bad guy with a door is a good guy with a door. As Snarki, child of Loki pointed out in a LGM thread last week:

I’m sure that there are HUNDREDS of unreported cases of front doors being brandished that prevented a crime.

But can I arm myself with modern assault doors, which "go on such strange geometrical hinges, You may open them both ways"? CAN I BOG-ROLL. Because of Door Control. And liberals.

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast

People these days do not appreciate a Keats hommage. When I do that, the Frau Doktorin is not well pleased, and there is discouraging talk about the advantages of the spare room as an alternative place to sleep.
OK, so those weren't really gules. My bad.

UPDATE: R. H. Thouless is a downer:

The Royal Society refused to publish Keats' paper on "Gules and Scotopic Vision", in which he argued that despite the usual rod dominance and absence of colour vision for moonlight illumination, a percept of 'red' can still be achieved under certain boobie-related conditions.

Has anyone written a Metamorphosis / "archy and mehitabel" mash-up yet?

Asking for a friend.




In other news, a recent thread saw the following exchange:

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...
NO FIGHTING IN THE POETRY ROOM, PEOPLE!
~
August 31, 2013 at 2:12 PM

Another Kiwi said...
Mr. Thunder appears to be unaware of the robust nature of "Riddled Poetry: After Dark". Maybe his SUBS ARE IN ARREARS.
August 31, 2013 at 2:23 PM

The following images of "Riddled Poetry: After Dark" Sonnet Slam sessions speak for themselves. Note the unstaged bouts, the unscripted animosities. No kayfabe here, people.

It goes without saying that the "archy and mehitabel cos-play" nights at the Sensitive Frog are a pale imitation.

Wash away boy, shelley's shoes: Arthur Rimbaud's short-lived career in advertising

"A, black velvety jacket of brilliant flies
Which buzz around cruel smells,
Gulfs of shadow..."

Well Artie, I can see that you're in the middle of a fine frenzy, with poet's eye rolling and all that, but you gotta remember that we are in this business to sell washing machines. To housewives. And when housewives dump a pile of t-shirts and socks and knickers into one of the customer's products, do we want them to be thinking of 'brilliant flies' and 'cruel smells' and 'black velvety jackets'? Do we want this kind of association to spring into their minds when they are in the whiteware appliance shop deciding which washer to buy? And this is a question of the rhetorical variety which means I give you the answer for gratis, and the answer is No, Artie, we do not.

Now what you wrote for the Vowel E, that was great, though the bit about cow-parsley will have to go...

"E, whiteness of vapours and of tents,
Lances of proud glaciers, white kings, shivers of cow-parsley..."

Exactly. Now, you got anything for us for the Model Y?

"..."

Good luck in your next job, Artie, because you aren't working here no more.

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The Bradford Washing-Machine company did not like back vowels with low F2-F1 formant difference. All their machines are named after front vowels in the IPA vowel trapezium. No-one knows why but it it is IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE PROPHECY.