My vows-turned-poetry, Et Cetera, as piped through the Gizoogle engine...

BLOT: (14 Nov 2014 - 09:42:51 AM)

My vows-turned-poetry, Et Cetera, as piped through the Gizoogle engine...

At work, the question of "Do you know Gizoogle.net?" came up. It is a search engine that has an extra feature: "Gizoogle lets you translate pretty much anything on the internet into gangsta slang." It is a silly concept, and mostly for a one-off gag. However, it is capable of moments of semi-brilliance, such as when I pipe the poem posted from my wedding vows into it. It sort of outright fails by the end, but lines like "I breathe moments, n' I drop a rhyme eternity," have their own innermost light. Here you go, then, the whole thing. Warning, languge. And if you want to read the rest of the ceremony Gizoogled, feel free.

Dougz Vows, tha poem, "Et Cetera" (as rendered by Gizoogle.net)

I be tha bonez of stars, born dying.

I be tha grandchild of bacteria, clingin ta tha thin scab coverin a scaldin wound hustlin at 7 point 0 times ten ta tha fifth milez per minute round a middle-aged star glorious all up in unimpressive on a galactic scale.

I peep space, n' I conceive infinity.

I breathe moments, n' I drop a rhyme eternity.

I be thrust all up in nuff muthafuckin points, a unwittin travela up in time, mah own microcosm incomplete.

I stand atop a mountain, a trazillion light muthafuckin years tall.

I swim all up in tha bottom of a sea, a trazillion light muthafuckin years deep.

Just another of tha Million-Bizzleion Dougs, mah nuff Feynman cousins, legion n' disparate, adrift.

Adrift, solidly awake aloud up in tha Universe,

Brightly asleep like MANA-YOOD-SUSHAI, unable ta hold mah eyes open up in a thugged-out dawn of a gangbangin' finger-lickin' distizzle inconceivable even though it is constantly painted across all tha windowz of dis myriad dream.

All dem Million-Bizzleion:

Some have took a dirt nap n' some have thrived,

And there but fo' tha grace of god go I.

Because fo' all mah wonder, kickin it n' aware of all dem indefinite, unique, dope moments, witnizz ta tha splendor,

I

am not.

I be nothing,

Made not a god damn thang by bein a We.

I done been kickin it, ta date, thirteen-thousand, six-hundred n' sixty-three days yo, but I done been ME fo' ten years. Three-thousand, six-hundred, n' fifty-two days, props ta tha miracle of two leap-years.

Ten years. In ten muthafuckin years I have gained

myself my color my direction mah hoe

MY WIFE! Let me introduce mah hoe. Da warmth I gladly hold, tha real deal I gladly face, tha laughta I gladly play all up in jokes, tha tears I embrace even when I be unsure of em.

Bitch is solid. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is dope naaahhmean, biatch? Biatch is kind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Bitch is silly. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is cute. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is crazy. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is mine.

Faith, hope, n' ludd fo' realz. As they say, these three remain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So let our asses tend ta these three.

Sarah Lindsey Bolden, I vow ta have FAITH up in you, n' up in what tha fuck you can do, fo' ten muthafuckin years more, n' twenty muthafuckin years afta that, n' thirty muthafuckin years afta that, n' et cetera.

Sarah Lindsey Bolden, I vow ta always HOPE fo' tha dopest up in our marriage n' ta expect only even mo' impossible thangs up in our next decade, n' up in tha decade afta that, n' up in tha decade afta that, et cetera.

Da top billin is LOVE, they also say, n' wit dat I can agree, so letz end, here, a funky-ass bazillion year trip a mazillion milez up in tha making, wit this, simply...

Sarah Lindsey Bolden, I vow ta LOVE you mo' than books. Et cetera.

OTHER BLOTS THIS MONTH: November 2014