Thursday, November 11, 2010

Absurd Sugar

Blog post # 128:

These are actually the best two pictures of mine created over the last four days. Man, I suck.

Asymptotically Finite

Interpolated Fruit


Stupid palindrome:

We snot tons, ew.


What one word would you use to describe the next decade on Earth, as you would predict it?

I would choose either: Hellacious, Fascist, or Absurd.


So sorry, but today I have THREE poems for you.

(All written over the last few days.)

These Semi-Swirls

Semi-swirls juxtaposed
with inner doppelgangers,
Each once becoming the
single string underneath --
Hyphenated and abutted,
these tubes are as
Half tori somewhat spiraled,
somewhat tapering.

Those quasi-nautili, they
behold their positioning
Inside the gape of a
vast semicircular hole.
Between that arc and
that truncation,
The object is curled,
yet it is orthogonal, yet
It is rectilinearly impure.
Oh, severed are
Those cones bent
introspectively. And they
Form the orbit around
nothingness. Yes,
These semi-swirls are
as such duplication,
Are as such doubling
quartered and cut, are as
Partiality winding clockwise,
partiality diminishing
Into but a lengthy point,
becoming only
The substance within
the hollowness within
This hideousness of
flatness, within this
Zeroness churning
fluidically, churning as
Segmented rings --
perhaps, yes, perhaps
Remaining perfectly
partial and parallactic.


In This Windy Trigonometry

From the spheroid's
top exterior,this wispy thing
-- Unimaginatively imagined
-- flows in one wave,
Arcing upwardly then
downwardly then completing
In its ascension. But
the curve is wondrously
Idiotic and is confusingly
simplistic, surely. It
Inflects upon the
circumference of that knob.
Yet its meandering is trite,
ha. Its minimization
Is absurd although truthful,
although periodic
As to existence's singularity.
And what is this
Material within such
disregard? Oh, what is the
Shape of individuality
repeated? In this windy
Trigonometry otherwise
stagnant, these filaments
Compose that rotation.
From sines/cosines
Abutted onto a
curvaceous zigzag, all
Oscillates -- yet but once.
For, certain am I
Of the blurriness. Yes,
certainly the thing
Is contingent and
contiguous and is failed via
Its porousness; yet it is
successful via its
Symmetry about quite an
annoying and inert
Placement, about the
spheroid of its unwrapping.


That Fruit Of Our Depiction

A globe, a lobe of substance
and spirit, its
Exoskeleton is smooth and
haphazard. But its innards
Are fulfilling and divisive,
as the beautiful pus
Within such fruit. Oh,
these segmentations contain
Both pulp and juices.
But the acidic slices
Of this corpse, they taste not
of introspection. Yet
We gaze into our own
conjuring inside that
Flesh, inside what is quite
a colorful uterus,
Yes. And the peel of this,
it becomes the
Severing of vegetation.
We are never, though,
To conceive of its semicircles,
of its spheres cut
Roundly, cut hypothetically
again. Oh, I
Deny my saliva those
sugars. But I still
Devour the polygons
and the sap. Yes, I
Consume both crescendo
and asymmetry. But
My sleep is only countered
by my swallowing.
And I am threatened by
that fruit of our
Depiction, that fruit of our
deaths each flavorful.



1 comment:

The Quiet Riot said...

Your art does not suck! I like the second one. It's a bit different from your usual. Sorry, I'm not reading the poetry today. I have a headache, and I don't think I can follow.
I wish you'd download Apophysis and play with fractal flames. I'd even send you some files so you could jump right into spirals.