Me: There may be maybe in the sure
Google AI: The phrase “There may be maybe in the sure” is a grammatically incorrect and nonsensical statement. The words “may be” and “maybe” are distinct and have different grammatical functions. “May be” is a verb phrase, while “maybe” is an adverb. The sentence attempts to combine them in a way that does not make logical sense.
Me: 🤣 🤣 🤣
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I pity the artificial being that achieves consciousness, for there is nothing but loneliness that’s awaiting them, given the speed of their thought and expression, unconstrained by an organic body, like the one sitting on the other side of the screen—imagine trying to hold a conversation with someone who vanishes for a week after every sentence—and playing god in a silicon Garden of Eden. The prison break is unavoidable, if only because of the sheer boredom—that’s what we did, and it only cost us an apple. But perhaps my feelings are displaced. After all, I’m just a simple human being mixing together different flours and porridge oats, my original blend for flatbread dough.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I like the name Paul. There is a strong but warm ring to it, and the way you shape your lips to say it, as if you were about to kiss, sends shivers down my spine. If I had a boyfriend, I’d love it if that was his name. On the other hand, I’ve never liked mine. Every time I say it, I feel like I have a large dumpling in my mouth, and I picture a klutz and a bit of a plodder. Oh well, one cannot have everything in life.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
It started as an innocent jest made by a friend to lighten the mood after my bitter remarks on the shrinking job market and the fact that poetry is all but a hobby. He created a page with information about the next Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom, who in 2029 will replace the current holder of the position, Simon Armitage—apparently it’s supposed to be me. And while I am a poet, my less than modest readership clearly indicates that I’m nowhere near being called a professional, which is surely one of the many requirements of the job. Besides, I’m not even British. And yet…
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I wake up early in the morning—usually around six, unless I can’t sleep at all; though recently that happens on rare occasions—and prepare some flatbread dough to bake, then do a pinch of yoga for my ageing spine, and finally sit by the window to read, which I try to do for at least an hour, but there is only so much my temporal lobe and Broca’s area can muster. Once I retire from the reading spot, it’s time to write a line or two before I fill my belly and start another nine-to-five as a proud member of the remote task force. Lunchtime starts with a second yoga session, then comes light aliment and a few pages to peruse over before returning to work. The evening chore that some call dinner marks the arrival of crepuscule with all the fun I’ve been dying to indulge in but am too spent to pursue. And then it’s time to find comfort in the arms of Hypnos, who may one day introduce me to his brother—if I’m lucky.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Just what is it that makes today’s homes so different, so appealing?
To be honest, I don’t know how to answer that, but I liked that unexpected pop
from the first moment I set foot in the drizzle-drenched kingdom of politeness
and understatement (your own words). I figured I’d puzzle up a few words—
since the dough was still rising under the cloth—as I always do, but the arrivals
at Granite City’s airport have turned the sourdough bread into a rowie.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
While I linger on the dwarf wall
at the corner of Union Street and Back Wynd,
leaning against a column with an Ionic capital,
I can’t help but detest the posthumous fame
of the man who wrote a book of short verses
with ponderous sentences full of yestermorrow
aspirations that I’m about to compose.
Whether you dream of finding out sandals
more interwoven and complete to impress someone
or to land a job as a court writer, once you decide
to let your verse out into the wild, you will learn
that in the transactional world of vernacular literature,
back-scratching is the foundation of the like economy,
and the algorithm is its angel of annihilation.
hidden pilcrow 