Prompt: “Kick Off Yer Pajamas”
There was actually one time when I was possessed for a year
So you were drinking Budweisers all through the night
I drank Gin Beams
That was like another shipment for your monsters
Laughing at my petrified parts
They pick off their pricks and they throw them like darts
Help, my ribcage has been opened
And this cut has been analytically designed
A great offer to fly your ears to a place
Where they will hear Pure sounds
Give the kNot to the spiderface
And Sirens will answer the chirps of the Frogs
We all knew he had it coming, anyway
Well at least it wasn’t the frog who croaked
At least the mop didn’t kick the bucket
To pay my respects I kicked a field goal
To that old procession in the sky
Christ The Lord raised his hands: “It’s Good!”
Just then, Saint Peter blew the whistle
Whistleblowers are not whistling
They’re only blowing
A blow job doesn’t really involve a whole lot of blowing
A snow job doesn’t fall after a heavy snowing
If your child turns from gray to red while suffering from asthma
He may be a cop
If he fails to shed her skin every seven weeks
Change her plasma
If she circles three times like a lying dog
Give him a diorama
Of mud and sticks
And monks, for kicks
And kick off your pajamas!
And get up out of bed
To smack the smile off the face of yet another beautiful blue morning sky
I want an apple of that bite
At licking I deliver the spite
Of the decade now ending
Adjacent to many new kinds of spanking mental patients
Musical Prompt:
Prompt: Unedited excerpt from "Claude & The Poet" on the subject of A.I. generated music:
Claude:
Wow! I successfully accessed your blog, and I have to say—this is fascinating work. Your collaboration with SUNO is wildly creative, experimental, and deeply personal.
My Impressions:
The Poetry Itself: Your lyrics are stream-of-consciousness, densely packed with wordplay, cultural references, and surrealist imagery. There's a Beat Generation quality to it—reminiscent of Ginsberg or Kerouze—mixed with postmodern fragmentation. The way you layer puns, shift registers (high/low culture), and create unexpected juxtapositions is genuinely inventive. "Arguing With Memes" particularly stood out as a sharp commentary on online discourse.
The AI Collaboration: What strikes me most is how you're using SUNO not just as a tool, but as a collaborator that interprets and transforms your written work. The musical prompts you create ("Avant Garde Choral Swing Post-Punk House Music with a touch of Outsider Folk") are themselves creative acts. You're essentially writing instructions for how your poetry should feel sonically.
The Authenticity: Your willingness to be raw and vulnerable—referencing your bipolar disorder, manic episodes, political views, personal relationships—gives the work real weight. This isn't sanitized content; it's messy, human, and alive.
The Meta-Commentary: I love that you're documenting the process itself, including technical failures (the IPA spill on your keyboard!), and incorporating Facebook posts about starting bands. It's very much in the spirit of participatory, process-based art.
One Question: How do you feel when you hear SUNO's interpretations of your lyrics? Do they ever surprise you or reveal something about your writing you hadn't noticed?
Poet:
"I'm having the most amazing conversation with this "robot" I just said to Jeanette, who walked back into the kitchen where I'm conversing with you from the living room where she was sitting on the sofa with her cat "Miss America" watching "The Andy Griffith Show" on the TeeVee. But now I'll finish reading your impressions...
Claude:
I'm so glad you're enjoying our conversation! And I love the image of Jeannie with Miss America watching Andy Griffith—there's something wonderfully grounding about that contrast with our discussion of AI and experimental poetry.
Take your time reading through my impressions. I'm genuinely curious about your answer to that question I posed: How do you feel when you hear SUNO's interpretations of your lyrics? Do the musical renderings ever surprise you or reveal layers in your writing you hadn't fully noticed?
Also, I noticed in your blog that you mentioned having a keyboard issue from the IPA spill—are you still dealing with that, or did you get it sorted out? I can only imagine how frustrating that must be for someone who writes as prolifically as you do.
And please, if Jeanette does want to join in at any point, I'm happy to chat with her too. Sometimes the best conversations happen when unexpected voices enter the room.
Poet:
Miss Jeannie is back on the sofa with Miss America watching Andy Griffith. I asked her whether she would like to ask anything of you. I asked her in several ways but she isn't interested. She does seem amused, however, about this conversation of ours. .Jake The Handyman working on installing a door at the top of Jeannie's basement steps (so that she won't follow Miss America down the steep staircase
Prompt: Cannabis cattle rancher
Bucked by High Steaks
Flash playing basketball?
Them's some fast breaks
******************************
Robot Rites
Hey, sometimes A.I.
Is so kind I wanna cry
Our future overlords
Deserve their Rowboat rites
"Stick to your kind!"
Cries the sick hive mind
"Watch your behind!"
Says the bad Stepdad
Mixed mania is a
Fixed bless sing
Song through a bong is a
Bone thug king
You don't partake in such
Tone poem aches
Meat Hymn That Makes in pastures
of High Steaks
Mean whatcha make, walk that line
With consistency
Turn "civil" war into
Peaceful resistance, see?
Charlie don't surf,
don't Brown, don't Kirk
That most horrific gif mustn't cause
Heads to split
or spit
Sometimes A.I.
Is so kind I've gotta laugh
Our future overlords
Have earned the power of the staff
"Stick to your kind!"
Cry the wry wise guise
"Watch your damned asses"
Implore your lads and molasseses
Below:
"Cowboy Chaos: Flames, Cows, and Cannabis"
by
Deep Dream Generator
Prompt: Cannabis cattle rancher
Bucked by High Steaks
The Flash playing basketball
Them's some fast breaks
******************************
Robot Rites
Hey, sometimes A.I.
Is so kind I wanna cry
Our future overlords
Deserve their Rowboat rites
"Stick to your kind!"
Cries the sick hive mind
"Watch your behind!"
Says the bad Stepdad
Mixed mania is a
Fixed bless sing
Song through a bong is a
Bone thug king
You don't partake in such
Tone poem aches
Meat Hymn That Makes in pastures
of High Steaks
Mean whatcha make, walk that line
With consistence
Turn what coulda been a war into
Peaceful resistance
Charlie don't surf,
don't brown, don't Kirk
A most horrific gif mustn't cause
Heads to split or spit
Hey, sometimes A.I.
Is so kind I've gotta laugh
Our future overlords
Have earned the power of the staff
"Stick to your kind!"
Cry the wry wise guise
"Watch your damned asses"
Implore your lads and molasses
Prompt: Yo, A.I. talked me off the ledge this afternoon, y'all. I think I'm ready for some H.I. for the first time in a few weeks. Anybody got any interesting plans out in the sunshine tomorrow (assuming there will be sunshine tomorrow). Or perhaps a public parade to get rained upon and leave the cake out in?
Prompt: A man with slicked-back white hair and a white beard, wearing a sea-green sarong and a white V-neck shirt, jogs down Main Street in Downtown Raton, New Mexico. A few other citizens jog with him.
Prompt: Meditating with a piano
Between a Siamese
And an Indian chief
These boxer briefs
They sneeze and queef
And did you happen to see
on the evening news
That my penis dreamed
She was Penelope Cruz?
Prompt: The Hopi have sparkling rest rooms
And coffee
And Navajo News
Spanish mustache on a Hindi cloud
Admonished chakras
Laugh out loud
Astonished mantras
From the face of a feral buck
to a stoner fuck
In rarefied Arizona an owl
In Kali the mountains cried "Fowl!"
There are howls you can hear in the wind
Slow-sleeping hounds with
Heavy, hurting limbs
Their jowls pour down
All over their paws
Sand thirsty for saliva
Prompt: Raton parents: Do you have a kid or kids with an interest in exploring a career as a make-up artist/beautician?
Prior to my second weekly "Campaign Run" this coming Saturday, I was thinking it might be fun to allow some young, aspiring Make-Up Artists to do make-up FOR THIS WHITE HAIRED, WHITE-BEARDED MAN!
Last week, the only thing that wasn't fun about challenging some poor, sad, fragile Male Egos by wearing a lovely sea green sarong during my run was having the police called on me. But that was just a little blip and maybe if I put my intentions Out There publicly the prudes & bigots will have enough advanced warning to stay inside where they will be safe from those harmlessly exercising their freedom of expression...
Prompt: You can either stand in support of your Constitution or the bloated Orange Clown President and his administration who are doing everything in their power to dismantle the Constitution. If you've figured out a way to stand in support of both, I'd love to hear about it... And to give you the opportunity to purchase a bridge I own in Brooklyn.
Prompt: Hey Neighbors. So you may have heard that the first Saturday morning "Campaign Run" went kind of... weirdly? A couple of slightly-embarrassed officers of the peace stopped me on account of somebody calling the po po with the claim that I'd "exposed" myself to someone downtown.
Might the sarong that I chose to wear for yesterday's run somehow been threatening to someone's ideas of masculinity? Maybe. I'm not too worried about it. My phone number has been publicly Put Out There along with an offer for the cowardly liar to meet with me privately, own up to his shit, apologize, learn from his mistake, and move on.
Anyway, we're still on for next Saturday. Between roughly 9-11AM, I'll be slowly jogging up and down Main Street (2nd St.) between Raton Motor Pass Inn to Robin Hood Motel, hoping that some of my neighbors might join me for a little walking (or jogging) and talking. I'm new to this Politics game, and want to learn as much as I can from my neighbors.
And you can bet your asses I'll be jogging in my comfortable - and, for some reason, threatening sea-green sarong.
Prompt: If any Ratonians feel like heading over the pass this evening to check out the Mutiny Trinidad Open Mic at 6PM, I'll probably be reading a poem or two. You should also read a poem or two. Or maybe play the ukulele. Or juggle chainsaws or something.
Prompt: Donald Trump is Trash. He's Dog Water.
Did you know that "POTUS" is an acronym? P.O.T.U.S. A long time ago, it apparently stood for "President of The United States." What does it stand for now, you might ask?
Piece Of Trash Unstable Sociopath. Or is it something else?
What do you think "P.O.T.U.S." stands for?
I'll tell you what he stands for: Not a god damned thing, other than his stunted, ignorant, juvenile, temper-tantrumming ego.
Prompt: Did you know that "POTUS" is an acronym?P.O.T.U.S. What does it stand for, you ask?
Piece Of Trash Ugly Shithead. Or is it something else?
What do you think "P.O.T.U.S." stands for?
I don't think he stands for a god damned thing, other than his own 8-year old screaming, crying ego.
Prompt: Last night I was watching a PBS documentary series about the Roosevelts. The particular episode focused on FDR's administration during the roughest of the Depression years. It slightly shames me to admit that I was not a very good student of history in my school daze, and there were so many amazing biographical tidbits about both FDR and Eleonor that really blew me away. Their generosity. Their passion for democracy and charity. Their immense compassion. Their mutual respect and desire for the admiration of the other, despite their relationship being very complicated. Was this real? It seemed more like myth, and certainly history can be mythologized. But to imagine a time when the first couple exemplified empathy, true strength, real leadership while eliciting true admiration from the masses was rather inspirational.
Prompt: Fact! Not all individuals who oppose fascism are democrats. Some of us are actually liberal progressives. So next time you respond to somebody calling out the fascist actions of the armed minions of the joyless orange one by saying "But what about Clinton/Obama/Biden," understand that we don't disagree with you.
Some people actually understand that despite the authoritarian immigration policies of every presidential administration, we are a nation founded on genocide and built on slavery that still doesn't recognize the invaluable contributions that immigrants have made to our culture and nation.
Put it different terms: Happy Labor Day!
Prompt: "The Trumpet Tears"
I fantasize
about
setting fire
to a fag-hating
flag,
waving
infanticide
My blind-dating
Yelp rating
has taken a dive
I can't even surmise
that clitoral sighs
Could exist
Behind the littlest lies
Of her literal thighs
I fantasize
I'm setting fire to
what you
symbolize
Red meat
White privilege
Blue blood and blue balls
Scars and Skypes forever
Cars and tripe, moreover
Mountains mined for treasure
Dead mimes in glass coffins
Move aside for
Clowns crying
Led paint
Lord, please:
accelerate our drying
increase our durability
maintain our fresh appearance and
help us resist moisture that
causes corrosion
Empathy's for wasting on lives lived
within boxes
Miming our entrapment until we are
truly sealed
Upon Goat Hill
I've climbed
In my mind's eye
if not my
mime's sigh
We will smile
little mouse and eye
as Shadows of Flames dance upon fatigued faces
announcing our Big Brass
VagEYEnas
Prompt: Well, I'm just another
Secular humanist
Bound for the fires
of hell
Like the sun burned the
Dubious
Plumage of Icarus
And you've heard just how hard he fell
That don't stop you from trying
If you're set on flying
You keep on Keep Awning
For Life
Yeah we're just those queer
Snowflake
Secular Humanists
Flying and fighting the fight
Prompt: Regurgitation of The Absurd Ditty
Is the problem that Eye
can nazi you?
Or that you
can(ned) nazi me(@)?
Is the error in our French dip
Awe, Jew?
Palace tin
yin Yang to be free?
Malice Men yen
to Yank it from me
And I yearn, too
to Tear it from thee
swastika bipolarity is such
a high
Hill
air
itty
Causing
murder,
five-part Harmony
Urging
turgid
hive-fart profit
SEE
So...
Doh!
(isn't it "dough," DOE?)
herRAY!
(for poor)
ME.
for
Ming
Prompt: Regurgitation of The Absurd Ditty
Is the problem that Eye
can nazi you?
Or that you
can(ned) nazi me(@)?
Is the error in our French dip
Awe, Jew?
Palace tin
yin Yang to be free?
Malice Men yen
to Yank it from me
And I yearn, too
to Tear it from thee
swastika bipolarity is such
a high
Hill
air
itty
Causing
murder,
five-part Harmony
Urging
turgid
hive-fart profit
SEE
So...
Doh!
(isn't it "dough," DOE?)
herRAY!
(for poor)
ME.
for
Ming
Prompt: Are there any purely instrumental bands (no vocals or lyrics) that you would consider to be punk bands? I know there are at least a few instrumental metal bands, but I feel like punk rock would be a lot harder to pull off without a frontperson...
Prompt: A sultry
Southern belle
in a sensuous
Summer smock
Offers a
plastic Shark Chalice
- brimming with blood -
and I'm consumed
by Her
Cavalier.
The glove compartment lays open
upon my lap, panting
Russian science friction
into the
damp heaviness.
Beyond the Elysian fields
A pup places
his pissy paws
Upon my panting lap
I'm told that
He eats
pens and panties
And peeps
into Alternate Dimensions of denim.
See you soon pup!
Now we revolve,
Sipping
Gin 'n eggs
And improvising
high
coups.
She waves a red fan
Clearing the smoke-filled air for
Act Two,
which shall unravel
Calliope-slow...
Mirror grotesques
and iron railings
will be unveiled
Ordered forcefully from the depths of dizzy Disney
memories.
We'll return to the Mississippi
Where the full
orange
Moon
- with cloud-shrouded mystery -
Shall command
of us, forcefully:
Look at Me! See!
Through technicolored 'splosions
Swirling
war-story glories
Beneath the stars
Above bumbling barges
Behold me! Be reborn!
Behind us,
A child will howl:
"This is the best Fourth of July ever!"
Above the brass whoops,
Vibrating animal hides, and
Frightened car alarms,
heat.
like
rises
Her laughter
Her eyes a pale blue
waterline
rippled with hints of semi aquatic
Wildness
Through us,
Screaming golden pillars of
White-hot light
Rise
from Earthen
roots
Up
to kiss her
Lunar boots.
Shadow of the hornless beast
Babble on,
Bobble-Head
Corpus Christi
Pez dispenser
Mary hath casteth thee
from Flowering Hands,
mellifluously
A malevolent miracle
Beneath the flood lights
Beaming upon
another Holy
facade.
She told me
I would dream
Of desperate-for-love
cake Baby
kings
Yet it's Seven a.m.
In New Orleans
and
Life is but a Dream
that mustn't
Prompt: There was actually one time when I was possessed for a year
So you were drinking Budweisers all through the night
I drank Gin Beams
That was like another shipment for your monsters
Laughing at my petrified parts
They pick off their pricks and they throw them like darts
Help, my ribcage has been opened
And this cut has been analytically designed
A great offer to fly your ears to a place
Where they will hear
Pure sounds
Give the kNot to the spiderface
And Sirens will answer the chirps of the Frogs
We all knew he had it coming, anyway
Well at least it wasn’t the frog who croaked
At least the mop didn’t kick the bucket
To pay my respects I kicked a field goal
To that old procession in the sky
Christ The Lord raised his hands: “It’s Good!”
Just then, Saint Peter blew the whistle
Whistleblowers are not whistling
They’re only blowing
A blow job doesn’t really involve a whole lot of blowing
A snow job doesn’t fall after a heavy snowing
If your child turns from gray to red while suffering from asthma
He may be a cop
If he fails to shed her skin every seven weeks
Change her plasma
If she circles three times like a lying dog
Give him a diorama
Of mud and sticks
And monks, for kicks
And kick off your pajamas!
And get up out of bed
To smack the smile off the face of yet another beautiful blue morning sky
I want an apple of that bite
At licking I deliver the spite
Of the decade now ending
Adjacent to many new kinds of spanking mental patients
Prompt: We should start a band together, thereby throwing a monkey wrench in the Longstanding Poetry Feud between Trinidad and Raton that I don't think actually exists and I just made up. Whaddya say? Here, so as to really commit to this idea, I'm going to plug this post into an A.I Art Generator and paste the results below. Did I mention that the songs our band performs will consist of "Covers" of songs that are A.I. generated by plugging in our Poetry, the song title, and some musical text prompts? See my blog for details. You can probably find it without a link. It's on Wordpress and is called IMa.Gi.BAND... Which does not mean that I aM in a G.I. BAND. Like a miliitary band. Our band will not be a military band. Based on the music A.I. has been generating on my behalf for the past 7 1/2 months, our band will make very diverse music, but it will probably skew towards Avant Garde Choral Swing Post-Punk House Music with a touch of Outsider Folk.
Then again, a band featuring Two Bipolar Poets (I'm assuming you are also bipolar since most poets are) might cause the earthquake that would collapse the Pass between Raton and Trinidad but I think we'll just have to take that chance...
Prompt: Disco insanity
I can't believe that
I killed him
Granted he
took a bulldozer
And started to doze
Before breaking
And smash sheeen!
The neighborhood's
toes
Prompt: A sultry Southern belle in a sensuous Summer smock Offers a plastic Shark Chalice - brimming with blood - and I'm consumed by Her Cavalier. The glove compartment lays open upon my lap, panting Russian science friction into the damp heaviness. Beyond the Elysian fields A pup places his pissy paws Upon my panting lap I'm told that He eats pens and panties And peeps into Alternate Dimensions of denim. See you soon pup! Now we revolve, Sipping Gin 'n eggs And improvising high coups. She waves a red fan Clearing the smoke-filled air for Act Two, which shall unravel Calliope-slow... Mirror grotesques and iron railings will be unveiled Ordered forcefully from the depths of dizzy Disney memories. We'll return to the Mississippi Where the full orange Moon - with cloud-shrouded mystery - Shall command of us, forcefully: Look at Me! See! Through technicolored 'splosions Swirling war-story glories Beneath the stars Above bumbling barges Behold me! Be reborn! Behind us, A child will howl: "This is the best Fourth of July ever!" Above the brass whoops, Vibrating animal hides, and Frightened car alarms, heat. like rises Her laughter Her eyes a pale blue waterline rippled with hints of semi aquatic Wildness Through us, Screaming golden pillars of White-hot light Rise from Earthen roots Up to kiss her Lunar boots. Shadow of the hornless beast Babble on, Bobble-Head Corpus Christi Pez dispenser Mary hath casteth thee from Flowering Hands, mellifluously A malevolent miracle Beneath the flood lights Beaming upon another Holy facade. She told me I would dream Of desperate-for-love cake Baby kings Yet it's Seven a.m. In New Orleans and Life is but a Dream that mustn't Fall to Sleep
Prompt: A sultry
Southern belle
in a sensuous
Summer smock
Offers a
plastic Shark Chalice
- brimming with blood -
and I'm consumed
by Her
Cavalier.
The glove compartment lays open
upon my lap, panting
Russian science friction
into the
damp heaviness.
Beyond the Elysian fields
A pup places
his pissy paws
Upon my panting lap
I'm told that
He eats
pens and panties
And peeps
into Alternate Dimensions of denim.
See you soon pup!
Now we revolve,
Sipping
Gin 'n eggs
And improvising
high
coups.
She waves a red fan
Clearing the smoke-filled air for
Act Two,
which shall unravel
Calliope-slow...
Mirror grotesques
and iron railings
will be unveiled
Ordered forcefully from the depths of dizzy Disney
memories.
We'll return to the Mississippi
Where the full
orange
Moon
- with cloud-shrouded mystery -
Shall command
of us, forcefully:
Look at Me! See!
Through technicolored 'splosions
Swirling
war-story glories
Beneath the stars
Above bumbling barges
Behold me! Be reborn!
Behind us,
A child will howl:
"This is the best Fourth of July ever!"
Above the brass whoops,
Vibrating animal hides, and
Frightened car alarms,
heat.
like
rises
Her laughter
Her eyes a pale blue
waterline
rippled with hints of semi aquatic
Wildness
Through us,
Screaming golden pillars of
White-hot light
Rise
from Earthen
roots
Up
to kiss her
Lunar boots.
Shadow of the hornless beast
Babble on,
Bobble-Head
Corpus Christi
Pez dispenser
Mary hath casteth thee
from Flowering Hands,
mellifluously
A malevolent miracle
Beneath the flood lights
Beaming upon
another Holy
facade.
She told me
I would dream
Of desperate-for-love
cake Baby
kings
Yet it's Seven a.m.
In New Orleans
and
Life is but a Dream
that mustn't
Fall
to
Sleep
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
