The Berlin Diaries – Robo Poetry


Here, right so: Dave is pretty smart. His head’ll swell if I say ‘really’ smart, so it’s just ‘pretty’. He loves maths and algorithms and all those things I hate. Dave likes to fuck around and make new little formulas, and his latest thing is a programme that analyses large examples of text, then rearranges it into new sentences. And he’s done it to my site.

And lo, below you will find the result: generated completely at random from the snowfall of daft old blog posts that make up this website, a few dozen barmy snippets of prose. They actually sound like me, which is weird. They make fuck all sense, of course, but they’re entertaining. Some are funny, some are bizarre, and some read like neo-noir science fiction haikus, which is pretty cool.

Give it a read – and try not to think about robots taking over and stealing all our jobs and whatnot. It probably won’t happen. It’s going to be fine. Everything will be fine.


Tom, Bob and we could properly make friends I had maybe two beers I’d bought for 70 cents each. WAIT WHILE WRITING THIS – AND I GOT THE JOB!!!

I’m sorry but in virtual land, the blustery sheets slowly descended to reveal a winding staircase inside, stretching away forever into the strange art of hostel life.

There was an excellent project.

We danced and drank for an 11am flight after a horde of tiny children in wellingtons and bobble hats, who seemed vibrant, young and stylish.

Imagine the worst entrance you have a job interview on Monday morning, and left dead on his girlfriend’s bed, calmly looking after each other and went to a bar, but not me.

Friday came, and the food is good.

Take them away and frying eggs in a tiny, hot, ear-smashingly loud room with crumbling brick onto the grass again, basking in the queue or anywhere near, and said: “You didn’t get in.”

The evening’s conductor, a tall woman in colourful African dress, swept onto the structure, peeling away gradually to reveal six naked people: three guys and 3 French girls.

[Note: this is a favourite of mine ^]

I’m glad it’s hard, I’m glad I’m suffering, because this was a 1 litre and a weird padded red leather ceiling.

I finally exhaled once we passed the mum-looking lady, and a Middle Eastern complexion.

I just had the right words and awkwardly chuckling like a walking corpse, staring at this point, and opted for the conductor.

Victoria’s mates from Adelaide who had just finished.

The first one I noticed their badges: Polizei. We sat together and did the usual stuff you talk about, sex, drugs and sex and whatnot.

I Googled ‘The Berlin Diaries’ is a really cool guy.

Last Sunday I went to explore more of the people at the crack of with sorting my life common sense took hold – I used to be polite, which is a huge shopping centre.

Skinner played everything from the white warehouse into a courtyard for a minute, and he never expected it, he was cold, about 4.30pm.

Germans don’t see what I’d have to do when moving here, you’d have thought it’d occur to me before Berlin. I was far more real.

She tells me that I think minimal techno is wank. In order to get into Berghain, anyway.

I’m stuck in this city, I’m going to include in this city. It’s free to go to in.

We went to the lifts.

For the larger animals, the predators, the explorers, the loners and the Danes use ‘hyggeligt’ in every park in Berlin.

I spent my morning routine. In the midst of a man’s cock.

[Note: Strong contender for best snippet here ^]

He asked us what was essentially a brown smudge, due to language difficulties.

The doors opened and I love it.

[Note: YES this one is brilliant and I can’t explain why ^]

Last night I went with Michelle to a soundscape that is obviously unusual in an East Berlin power station, Berghain, can certainly claim some responsibility for this job, I’ll be out in the lounge until 5am. I mean, who wouldn’t want to keep living here.

Why spoil the Now by worrying over one another and generally had a high heeled boot, and so much power in them.

 I asked him for most of the stones, the tourists, the warmth, the sounds of the process.

Spontaneous and free tea.

The Irish guy on reception and got in with the girls wanted to skank to some cool new friends, so rather than a frantic Saturday night shag-a-thon.

There’s a lot of random Facebook friend requests waiting for me in German that I was, with wild bushy hair.

Ten pairs of eyes floating in the middle of a girl started kissing.

We sat through all stages of grief.

[Note: YES!]

Or until my eyes and mouths, and wandered the cobbles to find a Berlin address.

This is every night, if you manage to rebound yourself in the sea of people.

She said sorry, she didn’t catch that, as her German is a football firm meet up, but I just there was some macabre object.

Both the girls living there for a spoken word night.

To my horror, when I feel calm.

I do this weird shit I’ve seen.

Conveyor belts, pockets emptied, body scanners and so I left the flat, and an outer circle of leaves and grass, badly rendered and plastic-looking.

[Note: I fucking LOVE this one ^]

It pissed it down my forehead and my intentions of writing I pretty much burst into flames of excitement.

He asked us what was essentially a brown smudge, due to the front of the virtual reality it feels like I’m self-assessing constantly.

I’m off to some cool people.


So there we are. Robo poetry, harvested from the depths of my brain. Gnarly.


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