In this podcast you can hear me writing a poem . I auto dictate the poem as I walk through Berlin. I notice it’s 420 when I start. This is the raw recording of it. I auto dictate poems now and then edit the text by hand. I send the poems to my poet buddy Sean. He responded like this:

I like this poem.

Reading it as you're texting me.

I like it's repeated rhythm, driving the connection home.

I like picturing your jaunts through Berlin

Seeing what you notice.

What comes alive in you.

What makes you wonder and feel alive.

I like the self-awsreness of it.

I like it's rawness.

If you do edit, do it yourself by hand.

Maybe sleep outside in Berlin some night so you can experience just how cold it is?

Did you get an audio recording of your original voice dictation?

This would be cool to hear on the BBB

From Sean (November 2025)

420 auto dictated pull while walking through a gully in Berlin There is fog. It hasn't drifted down to this spot yet, but the colors of the leaves have. And it's a blend of orange and red and the dark green. scene set / poem rip.

It started this morning looking at cat food, round, crunchy, in the bowl. The atoms in the cat food are the same as in the garbage can. These underside dark side of the moon, the part of the miniature poodle. that it can't reach with its teeth. The underbelly. The armpit. the smell, even in smell, it's all here. There's atoms, the molecules, whatever it is that everything is, that internal structure, that vibrating, glistening, iridescent, biouminous deep seafish is on the other side of the cat food. Crunchy, waiting there in the bowl. No, not even waiting. Bursting, Dean Moriarty. Not even bursting, just being. Everything's transitioning. Made it to the leaves. full, so could this tree changes all the colors. Continue in narration, trying to get it succinctly, something magical or no. There's nothing succinct in magic. Looking at the cat food, then looking at the trash can, thinking of all the trash in the trash can. and thinking of my insides and my hands and the songs that I sing. And those songs are made of breath and moving. air and up and down waves. Same as the trash and the cat food. It's all the same. This seemed like a poem if I could get it succinctly and somehow not be pretentious while saying molecule and atom and it's all the same as cat food and trash…