Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Theoretically Assumed

Blog post # 135:

Putrid Torque

Theoretically Counterintuitive


Scientists say that it may very well be likely (It is likely that it is likely) that multiple universes exist.
So, the grouping of these universes is our...


It is appropriate that they call it "underground music",
because the mainstream record companies and radio stations are always trying to BURY IT!


Two poems, written yesterday and today:

Placated By All Inner Ejecta

Formed from a stained spiral,
from a tube wound
Into quite a careful coil,
this is a cylinder
Turning and becoming
the very exhaust that fluidly
Spins and arcs and swirls
yet lengthwise. It
Becomes the fumes destined
to protrude as
Smoke and steam and
truth's vacant atrocities.
Yet the disease is
such waste; it is such a
Weird configuration of
strands formed from
The stained spiral
itself coursing roundly.

And the vapors pollute
our left sides. But
They continue unto
the surfaces of distances,
Unto the vanishing of
this putrid vision, ha.

Ah, from that stain, yes,
reality is only
Placated by all
inner ejecta. And the smoke
Does seethe
in its swallowing. Yes,
It rotates but finally
is imperfect. It
Betrays these particles
of ash and sap.
It betrays the spiral,
despite its angularity.
And it sickens our
permutations with breath,
With a poisonous beauty
revolving, a beauty
Detected as purposeless
but combustive,
A beauty detrimental
and speaking of this, of
This torque wrapped
doubtfully, of this
Clockwise momentum
so artificial yet nauseating.


Reality Bends

Reality bends twice and
twists once; for, it is a
Cylinder, is a triangle,
a cone laid asymmetrically.
Reality bends as its
transition into flames.
And it bleeds of such
overwhelming finality,
Bleeds of bulbous triangles
definitely angular
And partially convex. Oh,
of a psychotic
Truth, the dream is
incorrect, yes. But
Yet its autocracy
becomes counterintuitive.
Yes, from the swerving forms
of our waking,
The cosmos halves us
into thirds, then it
Multiplies us by pi,
by numbers not retained,
Never drooping. Ah,
reality bends so as
To aperiodically think
of translucence. But its
Assumption is of its
astigmatism. And its
Implication is of
all creases and folds
Made from those knots,
made from those
Loops bents twice and
twisted once and
Angrily wound then fulfilled,
then configured,
Then contemplated
as to our apathy, as to
Existence and its
absurdly labyrinthine theories.



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