Babelfishing Poetry: "Logical, Rational, Logical, Boo"

Babelfishing Poetry: "Logical, Rational, Logical, Boo"


Hello! Would you like to see some more Babelfishing Poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, tinker with the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem?  You would? Well hot diggity, you're in luck, because here it comes!

This week it's the traditional Yale University fight song "Boola Boola" (listen to the Haydn Quartet vocal ensemble sing the song here, or listen to a recording of Arthur Pryor's Band performing it here, or watch video of a player piano playing the song here, or listen to a music box rendition of the song here).  Enjoy. 


Logical, Rational, Logical, Boo

Why, then, are we here now, are we here now?
Just take a look at the note book.
Some of those removed Harvard University, improving management
again, and a new bug said,
"High superstitious throw."
You can no longer sit and sigh.
Boolean?  OK, Po!  Boolean, Boolean, Pu,
Logical, Bo, logical, rational, logical, Boo!

Boolean.  Boolea.  Boolean.  Boolean value.
Boolean.  Boolean.  Boolean.  Boolean.
Old faces a rough Harvard University,
others smell a Boolean.
On your way! On your way! On your way!  Stage!
Ale Ale!
Oops! Yale Yale!


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Coyote Creek Lagoon Off-Trail

Coyote Creek Lagoon Off-Trail


On Sunday D. and I returned to the Coyote Creek Lagoon trail to go off-trail in another direction.  It wasn't very interesting, but here are some of the pics I took anyway.


Rose hips are ripening at the trailhead.





Canada geese hang out in Coyote Creek.





A black-necked stilt wades in a pond in the salt marsh.





This stilt is yelling at us in a high shrill voice as we pass by.





The reason for the screamin': its chick swims nearby.





Snowy egrets in Coyote Creek.







Looking across the marsh.





The trail is extremely overgrown and full of tinder-dry weeds.





Seaside heliotrope.





A view across the creek, choked with vegetation.





Small ponds dot the marsh.





A buckeye pod, with tiny spines.





A prickly pear cactus is bearing fruit.





Another look across the marsh.





Someone's ukulele lessions haven't paid off, I guess.





Cheerful graffiti in a drainage culvert near the trailhead.




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Babelfishing Poetry: "Gisparixxix Is A Shoe Protector"

Babelfishing Poetry: "Gisparixxix Is A Shoe Protector"


Hello! You well? I hope so; well and happy -- and still coronavirus-free.  Still washing your hands and not touching your face?  Good!  Still wearing a mask and observing social distancing?  Well done!  And now we can move on to more Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, tart the punctuation up a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.

This week's song is Chuck Berry's classic "No Particular Place To Go" (listen to song here).  Enjoy. 


Gisparixxix Is A Shoe Protector

He bought my car rope,
my baby son.

The dog was arrested.
My place is a desert.

Pain and radio.
There's no destination.

Rhine car is the gallows-maker.
I can't wait for the four rowers.

Slow down, Soidtle.
This makes me think of this box.

You need to drive slowly and leave separately,
to no avail.

There's no point.
As a result, cocoa grew.

He was a young man and a gold medalist.
As a result, everyone decided to meet with us.

Can you imagine what I heard?
We can take security!

I'm going to the club;
try to mark the scene.

When you go home to the summer house, there is no connection.
Gisparixxix is a shoe protector.

Pain collection machine.
Desperation.


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Adobe Creek Trail

Adobe Creek Trail


On Sunday D. and I took a walk along part of the Adobe Creek Trail, and here are some of the pics I took.


A view of Hawk Pond in the salt marsh.





Black-necked stilts gather in the pond.





In Adobe Creek, we see some fish with the incongruous name of Sacramento Sucker (yes, it's real).







The remains of last year's California aster.





Adobe Creek Trail.





Non-native fennel in bloom.





The floof of non-native milk thistle.





Mud at the edge of a pond in the flood control basin.





Looking east across San Francisco Bay.





A Cessna Skyhawk approaches nearby Palo Alto Airport.





White pelicans gather in Soap Pond to preen and bathe.







Time to move on.




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Monday Movies: Spraying Concrete

Monday Movies: Spraying Concrete


Monday Movies: 20 seconds (more or less) of video from the world around me.

This week: Twenty-three seconds of workers spraying concrete onto the perimeter foundation wall of a future apartment complex at the construction site next door (and violating social distancing and mask-wearing orders in the process ).  Enjoy.




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Babelfishing Poetry: "Come, Sunday Is Sunday"

Babelfishing Poetry: "Come, Sunday Is Sunday"


Hello!  Another Friday, here at last!  Let's get right to our next installment of Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, shake the punctuation up a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.

This week's song is one of my favorite summery-feeling songs: The Temptations' "Just My Imagination" (listen to song here).  Enjoy. 


Come, Sunday Is Sunday

Oh oh oh.
I saw fruit juice pass through the windows.
I love you, man; I am fortunate. I told you.
So he likes girls; wild improvisation of his guitar really speaks of his coming.
Any exceptional pieces in the world?
But because of concerns, you must come with me.

With no wife, no family, no family life, powers will be more close, for example.
The third, the second good condition, a room in your home.
Elephant thoughts.  Just as you can imagine.
It is, perhaps, because of their display.

But, just because,
come, come, come with me.

Every night I pray for your knees.
We *WILL request a boy, and I leaped to my Lord.
I am like a nothing.
And they understand private death.

Pearl of the universe.
Hand Denmark information; on-screen movement should be struck off.
Melody,
but a fact doesn't even should.

But again, I said I would speak of concerns.
Come, come, come with me.

But never for him, or for him; for me.
Grim,
oh yes, yes, yes, yes.
Come, come, come with me.

There, I mind.
Come, Sunday is Sunday.


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