Hanging Art

Happenstance is an odd quality of life. Perhaps, its spice. Who finds who, and where. When. What you find and in what circumstances. Which strings of text align before your eyes. In books. In letters. On posters. On screens, now. Sometimes, the coherence is lacking. Other times, it’s surprisingly clear. Succinct. Poignant. Story.

Interacting with bots online has proven quite imaginative. Nonsensical, at times, too. But, ultimately it’s been revealing to see how literary, creative, and, even, inspiring these random text generators can be. More, it’s been fascinating to see happenstance in action. See which posts align with each other on my own, personal feed. I believe a kind of observable or discernible taste develops. You can scroll through someone’s feed and, through the bots one follows, piece together an idea of what they like–what amuses them, intrigues them, inspires them. It’s like walking through the art gallery in another’s mind.

Would you care to take a stroll through mine?

Uncertain journeys call for gods. Their guidance. Their protection. Their witness. Belief in them, of course, optional. Unnecessary in most cases. “Not believing in the devil will not save you from him,” and all that. Still, a god I found for this journey. Better safe than sorry.


With a simple greeting, a god was procured. @all_the_gods wastes little time. Knows the value of timely work. Perhaps you should procure a god of your own? If you’re going to continue following me along my travels down the rabbot hole. Shy? There are plenty of preconceived gods for the masses to choose from. I selected a patron saint of my own to accompany me as well:


My choices were sound, qualms over the rejection of screaming notwithstanding. A spell for humming without purpose seemed to leave more purpose for text. For algorithms to seek. To make up the difference.

I found poetry. Found stories. Received invitations into dreamy, other-side (of the Looking Glass) worlds. ~***Found stars, too. New constellations. For navigation.***~

Dada nonsense (free-associative) poetry is its own delight but I like glimpses through another pair of eyes a little more. Poet-bots abound. Offering a little of both, for all tastes. @poem_exe writes beautifully. (And regularly.) Short sentiments to chew on. Savor.

More thoughtful words to contemplate.


In slivers, I find myself. Between beats, a pulse. Partial res o nan ce.

Whole d  i  s  s  o   n    a   n     c       e.

There seems little science to what engages an individual. Broad ideas exist, I’m sure. But, we are in the details. (With the devil–that’s why we need our gods.)

Though this bot required less interaction than the former, I still found it interesting. Entertaining. Whatever its algorithm, it’s effective. At least 9400 other people agree. Throughout the past few days, I retweeted many poems. Wrote some. Wandered with them in my thoughts.


More captivating than pure poetry were the inadvertent/impromptu stories that began to decorate my feed. Every story had a surprise ending. In this one (above), the desires of ancestors were renounced in the name of self-realization, moon bearing witness to the vow. At least, that’s my story. What’s yours?

Maybe it’s just me, creating purpose where there is none. A story needs a reader to exist. Interpret. But, I like being a reader. Like the simple joy of these unexpected narratives. In school, everything is linear.Weighted ’round the neck by the collar of tradition. Word choice is highly selective. Content codified and shelved, on neat little shelves in neat little rows. I’m not knocking books–I love them as much as the next English major–but, sometimes, they can be lacking in excitement. Not necessarily the individual narratives (there are some stand-out sucky ones though, I’m sure you’ve got a list) but the system in which they exist. It tires itself out.


This is interesting story. Unexpected. Rich with possibility. Rich with the inexplicable. I ponder. Stroll through one corridor of my frontal cortex and come back ’round, to mull some more. There is so much room to walk around these words, observe them from every angle and then some imanginative ones. Make an exercise out of make-believe.

What is literary is relative, these days. Much less quantifiable. It’s exciting. Exhilerating.  Kind of scary. Kind of freeing.

Fully magickal.


Really breathtaking.

It’s something special to watch storytelling become as expansive as it always had the possibility to be. To watch new technology help the art realize the dimensions of its potential.

I hope you enjoyed your visit to the gallery of my mind palace. The pieces exhibited are constantly being reorganized, changed, so, do be sure to drop in again. Feel free to drop an invitation to visit your own gallery, too. I’m always looking to add to my collection.

***My Recommendations***








(tweets gems like this)


Tweet me your recs.

Safe travels.



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