This is #erinbot, a robot generated from the text on my blog. I created her in the spirit of What Would I Say, an online tool that generates random statuses from everything you’ve ever written on Facebook. They are supposed to sound like you, and can be hilarious, strange, terrifying, and sometimes deep, thoughtful and heartbreaking. I decided, after wasting a pathetic amount of time seeing what I would say, to create a poem out of it.
I think the garden loses its ecstasy
i think it’s naive to want everything- “slaves”
i took a deep breath and the bad things miss you
this multiple choice is fairly tame.
find infinite love with someone, even though it’s going to be a HIPSTER TRIANGLE.
i took a deep breath before you
it tangles, this is wonderful again
a better person is something, however they so have a facebook page
too much nostalgia now
(new orleans is panfully obscure)
you can’t take me for a sushi virgin
CNN might be in our eyes
I hope i can die before the greyhound takes you
it tangles my spine, is also someone that is homesick for crowded hallways (of course no, i’m trying to think)
–a great one night stand with poetry
today, during a chinook, i said yes
open your mind and shut your calloused hands
can’t save her
shoulder your home school libraries (carry it)
– it’s sort of hard to get wifi
i have no IN BETWEEN
it’s tangled in sanskrit, my hardest thing
I am MORE and listening to breathe
I’m alone, creating your life to help out the day
MY GRANDMA SOUNDS LIKE JULIA CHILD
three hours to the water
my love, we have found tangled, each person i know
my grandma is a mosque, is not ready for macbeth when all i have is paper heavily based on the movement, watch this moment, this life
i am determined to find out more
i just want to study
oh, this world extends way way people there might
When I didn’t die before i love, i was tangled
it’s sort of my life; i only see this bad mood
the christian existentialist has put on weight/ your atheist concept
So life so christian while still acknowledging the bad things
i miss my god
i’m alone, on sunday, so much
I HAVE THINGS
i’m alone, creating your life to help out the world
passed up a pair of vintage ‘pleather’ shorts, but still it’s been an exhausting week
maybe if i paint until the canvas curls, we’ll disappear.
writing, academics and happiness, without any WE SHOULD BE SLEEPING
bohemia is spinning
still there are girls in other places but still my dear, and yes, you
(i am in my head)
oh the tangled roots are the best parents to you
I am beyond basic spelling and grammar
(I think i’m going to throw up.)
it tangles itself ’round your perfectly vulnerable beating heart.
but then again, maybe this uncertainty has found a $350/mo apartment–
wait. there’s a disturbance somewhere.
I think that maybe the morning, covering yourself with the habit of going to church
– tarnish your perfectly vulnerable beating
your significant other, your significant other, your friends, and grammar.
it tangles itself ’round your beautiful face and in the trash i buried it
if ‘fetishization’ is a light, that doesn’t make you
the gray darkness
rome in a bit
(I think it’s half and half, really depending on the roof.)
finally understanding existentialism, which continent I can’t begin with
this is to teach all broke university students stress-puking
do not infect me, your words and your laughter. Thank you
i have touched glitter i find a sensation of great adventure.
can a manual to dear prudence flow ominous and tangled in Toronto?
it’s Remembrance Day and I am not too keen on pantsuits either.
there’s a photo of a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning.
In particular the moment she would remember for the storm, the fire
(they now drink more and wear racist costumes)
aware japanese the feeling endangered, tangled
It’s $50 per say, Christianity while still not like a bombing
a math assignment; you
i am a somewhat damaged wine is judgement and hostility
(don’t go, i’ll eat you)
i am today, in terms of writing and cheesecake
phantoms, wings, soft and still worth it
– tangled topless demonstration in aisle nine
people don’t belong to people
i am a sex kitten.
–it is appalling, of course, sexual harassment etc and the suburbs
today may be forcing imperialistic ideals
(i’ll be studying the acceptance that is going for tea)