we are in the random forests
we are. leo. adele. Ho[4][5] and Amit and German [6] in order (Fujitsu now)
we are random forests
we are decision trees. tree bagging (Main article: Bootstrap aggregating)
predictions for unseen samples x’ can be made by averaging the predictions
from all the individual regression trees onx’
we are from bagging to random forests
we are in the 7000 oaks
we are documenta 7 (joseph beuys)
we are 7000 oaks
we are the basalt stones pointing to the oaks
predictions for unseen situ (situationist international (not regression trees))
we are from random forests to 7000 oaks
Tag: poetry
If Walls Could Talk, by Christopher Kent
If walls could talk,
they’d hear a man
breathing all alone
as he stares longingly
out the window
watching a young robin
build her cozy nest
for a family quickly coming.
If walls could talk,
they’d hear the shuffle
of routine feet
assisting the man
from the chair to bed
and back again,
and the barrage of insults
issuing from a man
exhausted from sitting
for so long.
If walls could talk,
they’d hear an old man
fumble with his phone,
punching in the only
number he knows,
waiting and hoping
to hear her voice.
“Maybe tonight,”
they hear him whisper,
but they know the truth,
that number’s been
disconnected for three years
and it’s only the dementia
keeping the old man’s
love and drive alive
in this quiet nursing home.
If walls could talk,
they might say,
“I’m sorry
your robin’s flown away,
but it’s ok to let go
and fly too”
I understand why you died tonight, by Joel Schueler
I understand why you died tonight
why the devil grew his tail
as your mind became frail,
why the sky mistook him for an angel.
Vienna and Bruges, and all that is smooth —
when toe meets foreshore;
dark chocolate, the Louvre.
Of nard and koi, and all that is joy —
sparkling streams of cygnets,
hard liquor, soft toys.
And now for the news.
Lead ties to shank
surfeit from the crapulous,
there are those who wait for the
summer to fall
there are those who act
when tablet mountain calls,
who torched the trellis
watched the wind make it crawl
it’s hard when no-one knows
where no-one goes
behind your wall.
MORSE CODE, by Carla Botha
——— • • • ———
I leave you
dits and dahs.
A brief sequence but you do not respond
like I do not respond to Mondays.
I try and decode my days for the sake of dealing
with time and dispensing of you. I am authorized
to dispense of things. I haven’t decided
the category you fall under — office hours,
overtime. The week is short.
I am working, planning to buy
a home for myself and my chickens.
The budget predicts I need to rid myself
of dots and dashes, I decipher
dreams. Everything seems like reality
except you — not included,
an untranslatable character.
#
#
#
The duration of a dash —
three times the duration
of a dot •
I memorize this distress signal —
three dashes
three dots
three dashes.
But I won’t send it.
I hear Morse code
is seldom used nowadays.
A Novel, by Nick Green
The book is bound.
The spine is riveted with glue.
The glue is not marrow, or flour,
but the calcium of grief.
At first, the spine begins to fray –
persecuted by well-read tears.
Now is the time of semper:
The long atom between day
and night when lovers pronounce kiss.
Then the book unbinds as love
unbuttons its petal stomacher.
At last, the Fall of the scattered page.
Soon there is only Fingal,
lost in his brief library
as the day comes to incarnadine.
(C) All Rights Reserved
Outside My Window, by Vivian Zems
the tv has been cruel to me lately,
with more and more bad news
about the numberless souls
who have departed
in droves
in torrents
leaving behind a deluge
of grief
and sorrow
Pushing the living
into an abyss of indescribable despair
….forcing the marriage of engaged thoughts
I don’t know what to do
and I feel guilty
because I’m overwhelmed
by having to stay indoors
bored and even more bored
and slightly anxious about the future
while I protect my heart
from the pain that hovers
just outside
my window
SOLAR PROBE, by Muhammad Zaheer
Thy Corona Heat can render and ignite
Yonder placed;
Carbon-Carbon-Composite sheath
And every cocoon placed at yon
Farther at Six n two million
O’Helios!
To Subdue the Sun; in this fun
One should not spun.
I do importune and the rest must learn
What we require is nothing!
But a real
Refractory.
My NASA dons!
Don’t be forlorn.
Do act upon my humble song.
I keep the all we need at all
Come and take that metallum mine!
That is to say, my heart along!
POETRY READING: A Scene of Brutal Glory, by Howard W. Robertson
Performed by Allison Kampf
POEM:
After football practice, Dave Malloy, assistant
coach, was sitting in the office of the coach, Jim
Shelby / I was there as well; I don’t remember why
/ without the slightest warning, zany Dave erupted,
bellowed, slammed the tabletop with both his hefty
hands, ejaculating loudly these impassioned words,
“I want to fuck!” / Malloy repeated this, and Shelby
shushed him, since a teenage boy was present, me /
soon after that, Malloy became the coach at New
Geneva High, our bitter rival, we of Fairfield High /
the summer just before my senior season, 1964, I
had an easy job delivering bouquets, arrangements,
wreaths, and other floral merchandise from Baxter’s
Blossoms, located in Fairfield but providing flowers
for all greater New Geneva / my delivery van pulled
up at New Geneva High one afternoon, and I began
unloading many floral products / suddenly Malloy
was there, just grinning at me crazily, eyes merrily
agleam / we talked a bit of this and that, not even
mentioning we’d meet next autumn on opposing
sides of gridiron combat / early in the New Geneva
game that fall, we punted on fourth down / I was the
long-snapper and could release downfield before the
other guys who had to block first / when the punt
returner caught the kick, I was already nearing him
at top speed / suddenly I caught some stream of
energy (let’s call it Ki) and flowed right through the
running back, depositing his body in a broken heap
at Coach Malloy’s large feet while I just trotted off
unscathed and nonchalant / my soft eyes sensed his
crazy stare and joyous grin directed at me all the
way across the field to what was now the line of
scrimmage / next day in the local paper he was
quoted, “Well, I knew when Douglas tore apart my
halfback early on that we were in for one hell of a
game!” / that was the scene of brutal glory, that
god-given moment, gleaming possibly forever /
Pindar said, “What’s man? A shadow’s dream.
God-given gleaming comes, and life is bright.”
Read Poem: THE POETRY OF YOU & ME, by April May Read
Mirror mirror on the wall,
show yourself before I fall.
Show ME all that keeps ME flawed.
Show ME all that keeps ME awed.
Show ME the ugly I still hold,
so I can thaw this heart so cold.
Please show ME now so I can grow,
or end it all and let ME go.
YOU and only YOU
have the vast power to show ME.
YOU and only YOU
because YOU were hand-carved for ME.
Your start was my start.
Your eyes are my eyes.
Your heart is my heart.
Your lies are my lies.
Your truth is my truth,
so tell ME this truthful,
how can we live a life
that is more fruitful?
In YOU I see ME,
all the ME
that can be,
the ME
that shies love,
the ME
that serves fear,
the ME
that loves love,
the ME
that’s so dear,
the ME
that pains YOU,
the ME
that loves YOU,
the ME
that knows there’s no one else here but YOU.
The ME
that wants to know someone else, not YOU!
And the ME
that’s awake and grateful for YOU.
You see, it always feels as though
YOU know
the truth that lies
within my muddled soul,
and maybe YOU do,
I’m staring at YOU,
this is your soul too
we’re just split in two.
So, can YOU see through my clean and pristine
prim and proper sometimes prudish esteem?
Can YOU see the mess of wires that are tangled
within
and still look ME in the eyes and recite that I can
win?
We live a whole new story
with new faces, new glories
new sweet smiles, new tears
new obstacles and fears.
YOU don’t remember ME,
I don’t remember YOU,
still, there’s a knowing.
Mirror, what are we to do?
Who do YOU want to be?
What do YOU want to see?
YOU are like my life projector,
projecting every little thing I do.
Some nights are hard to watch,
so I close my eyes
for those shameful slides
where I belittle YOU.
If I can only unplug YOU
for a bit and turn you off,
but what good will that do ME
like a luring flame to a moth.
Some days I lack courage
to look YOU in the eyes.
I fear you’ll see the tracks
left behind by my cries.
I gaze away
and maybe say
a joke or two
and YOU do too
to lighten up this mood of true
instead of seeking what to do.
YOU were sculpted by the best,
a masterpiece in every way,
yet I nitpick and I test
pushing YOU
further and away.
I take advantage of no limits,
but I fear I’ve pushed too far.
I fear that my desertion this time
might justly leave a scar.
I fear that one day I’ll come knocking
and YOU won’t open up,
and can I blame YOU,
with all that has runneth over your cup?
I remember that morning
when I looked at YOU and laughed.
I chuckled at all your dreams,
reminded YOU of the math.
Keep adding to yourself,
while I subtract away
that oughta divide us
and lead us both to stray.
Round 2-
We’re in the ring now
the classic story of the fight.
The fierce battle of the wicked wrong
and cheering for the right.
I keep on punching right
when I know deep down it’s wrong,
but fear and doubts at my corner
praising ME with song.
When YOU fall I fall.
YOU tend to shatter, I quickly break.
I turn to other mirrors,
but their reflections seem fake.
Even my pride had to admit
they’re not as honest as YOU.
They don’t show ME all that I need to fix
and show ME what’s true.
I run,
while YOU chase
and now I know why.
Now I know why
you’d look at ME and sigh,
for kind, clever Clarity
has finally come to ME,
she flew into my dreams last night
and surrounded us with her light.
She showed ME all that we could be,
and all the things I could not see,
like how YOU are my destiny,
and because of YOU,
I am ME.
So, I’m sorry for ignoring YOU.
I’m sorry for neglecting YOU.
I’m sorry for not seeing YOU,
and all that YOU are here to do.
I’m sorry for not being there
when YOU were lost and needed care.
I’m sorry for always thinking in MEs.
I promise to use US now, and some WEs.
Mirror, it’s all because of YOU
that I now know what LOVE can do.
It took ME long enough, didn’t it,
but not for YOU, YOU always knew!
I’m excited to do life again.
I turn to YOU and see a friend.
I now see the beauty YOU withhold.
I now see that in YOU I am gold.
Mirror, it all makes sense to ME now.
Suddenly I remember YOU… WOW!
Come, take my hand and let’s vow
to do what we’re to do NOW!
No more attempts to throw the scripts away
and ending this relation.
No more doubting why YOU are here
and entertaining my frustration.
I’ve got a hold of my quill again
that almost flew away
and I’m writing US the perfect plot twist
that’ll stay I pray.
Mirror, Life says it’s divine time,
so grab your wings while I grab mine,
cause NOW, I dare to look YOU in the eyes.
Yup, let ME tell YOU all the reasons why
YOU and I were meant to fly high
and leave our marks all through the sky!
Let’s show this world what we’re about!
Let’s show this world how to kill doubt
with an atomic bomb of LOVE
and some help from the stars above!
So, when I rise YOU rise
and we MUST always do!
And I’ll always wonderDo you see ME in YOU?
Are my thoughts your thoughts?
My fears your fears?
Some nights I now wonder,
are your tears my tears?
If they are, I’ll catch them
faster than before,
every fearful teardrop
that should ever pour!
For TRUTH I’ll do better,
because now I know,
so bring it on, weather!
We’ll build castles of snow!
We won’t drown like before.
We’ll take turns on that door,
and hold each other up
until we’ve reached the shore!
I’ll continue to take notes
and learn the lessons YOU teach ME.
So thank YOU, sweet Mirror
for showing ME all there is to ME.
Thank YOU for your patience
and for never giving up on ME
and thank YOU
for the unconditional
LOVE
YOU always have for ME.
I hope that with ME,
you’ll always be honest
and I with YOU
until our last day,
I PROMISE…
Poetry Reading: STREETS, by David Dephy
Read by Allison Kampf
POEM:
Looking at the empty streets.
Beauty needs to be seen.
I know you are happy out there
on the other side of emptiness,
yet the present is the choice
which remains. In admiration,
beauty, in poverty wealth
and in silence the sound,
I will put the gun down,
who stands beside me matters more.
I’ll remember this second,
on the other side of what was emptiness,
I’ll remember this present, but the streets
will be alive again, only that which needs
to be seen will be.
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