Sunday, January 30, 2011

Worthless Integers

Blog post # 155:
(155 = 5*31.)

Permutation Of Theorems

Overlapping Torque


I read somewhere recently that most people are so under-skilled, it actually costs more to train them and to employ them than their worth as employees to a company or to society.

Ayn Rand -- whom I am no fan of -- said something along the lines of, only the "elites" (intellectual and wealthy) in our society move our society forward. All other people are worthless, or worse, have negative worth to society.

When you start considering all the resources even the elites use up -- which is actually more, on average, than what the common people use; and the common people use lots of resources -- then maybe it makes sense to say that most of us ARE worth more dead than alive. (I myself am even worth less than the average member of the hoi polloi, since I am on disability.)

Add to this all the carbon we each add to the atmosphere, and I am ready to give up. Thoughts?


But there is no reason to kill yourself.

Since we will all be dead soon, anyway...


Here's my purpose: Making up anagrams! (Yay! I AM somebody!)

An anagram:

Mathematics' Order
Dramatic Theorems


And, speaking of anagrams, the first of today's poems (written today) contains two anagrams. The first verse and the third verse -- those two verses each with 2 lines -- are both anagrams. (One of these anagrams you have seen before, the other is new.)

This Perpendicular Anagram

As it counts the abaci,
It is scant about each.

For, this perpendicular
anagram reveals
Its theses, reveals
the spiraled zigzags
Amongst those
mathematical words. But
It is as all such
permutations, symmetrical
But balanced by asymmetry,
equilibrial within
This arrangement of
phonemes written rectangularly.

Reality spins
Yet in spirals.

And yet again our
geometries are counted,
Are thus protruding as
protractors, outwardly
And arrayed into lines
and beads upon the
Frame numbered with
dreams of measurements.

Oh, I added these grids
onto these wires,
And then reformed them
laterally into the
Abaci. And from each abacus,
the partiality
Of the completion was
totaled and summed;
Yet its multiplication was
extraneous and
Excessively imagined. Yes,
such things count and order
The incremental abaci.
Then these accomplishments are
Perpetuated on the tabletops
of our truth erased
But varied by those anagrams,
anagrams shaped from
Causality, from purpose,
from matter signifying process,
Signifying an algebra
paradoxically deficient.


(Written today.)

Lepidopteran Inside The Knot

Unequal loops are paired
upon their overlapping
To be the torus beneath.
And two of this ring's
Arcs parallel and conjoin
within the
Concavity behind all,
behind that circularity
Of juxtaposed divergence.
There, within the
Hollow, a twisted and
glossy insectile thing
Rises and is concave
at its torso. Yet
Its wings bulge as
translucent lobes;

And they are paired
upon their overlapping.

Yes, this wispy bug does
ascend, yet it
Does not fly nor flee.
It is only placed
By my mind's hypotheses
unto the middle
Of loops and tori and
spirals halved
Then doubled.
Unequal are these wings
Of certainty's assumptions
and impediment. But
The lepidopteran
inside the knot does so
Levitate, despite
its containment. It does pivot
And torque and become
unequal to its own
Positioning. Yes, it is
free amongst its
Strangulation. It is
vastly angular amongst
Its artificiality, amongst
its surreal fluidity
Unequally without depiction.



Friday, January 28, 2011

Geometries Of All

Blog post # 154:
(154 = 2*7*11.)

Theoretical Ascension

Remorseful Trigonometry

Orthogonally Counterbalanced

Polymeric Intent

I like "Orthogonally Counterbalanced" the best of these. But it's title is too literal.


A new anagram!
(Get this.)

Reality spins..
yet in spirals.


Oh, I was going to write something about my feelings of doom. But I will just go ahead and finish this post up.

So, lastly, a poem.

Infinitely Dimensional

Infinitely dimensional is
tangential space derived from
The thoughts of my genesis
and nonconformity.
These inductive conjectures
arise and flow as quite
An arc: rightward, forth,
leftward, backwards, upwards,
Rightward, downward,
extending unto these circles each
Equal to spheres, each defined
via every possibility
Of freedom and distance.
Oh, such ellipsoids once
Ellipses, they rotate as
unimagined voids.
They spin as spirals of
angularity, spin as
Loxodromes upon
infinitely dimensional globes,
Outwardly, inwardly,
becoming the vanishing within.

Oh, those currents
of unreal circumferences,
They proceed to bend and
fulfill their dampening. But
This cosmos is alphabetized,
and it is formed with an
Algorithm of ascension.
And sometimes all exceptions
Are periodic. Yes,
sometimes the geometry
Of these helices is peculiar,
despite its
Regularity and fluidity.
For, the measurements
And directions are doubted
but pivotal. Yes, the
Dimensions are undercounted
and flat. And their only
Existence is their finitude
theoretically radiating,
Their finitude
metaphorically uncontained.



Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Convex Consequence

Blog Post # 153:
(153 = 3*17*3)

Anthropomorphic Causality

Misshapen Genesis

Otherwise Trapezoidal

I like Misshapen Genesis the best. I would have liked Anthropomorphic Causality more, but I plagiarized the idea for this picture.


Some humor:

Cain's and Able's wives were the...



The crushing insanity around us is the...



Breasts so large they crush you are...




This puzzle is both stupefying and stupid.

Word 1 = the name of a certain color.
Phrase 2 = an anagram of Word 1, a two word phrase.
Take the antonym of one of the words in Phrase 2 and the remaining word in Phrase 2 to get Phrase 3. Phrase 3 and Phrase 2 have the same number of letters.
Anagram the letters in Phrase 3 to get Word Combo 4. Word Combo 4 consists of two verbs (Word 4a and Word 4b), both with the same number of letters.
Anagram the letters of Phrase 3 to get Word Combo 5. Word Combo 5 consists of two nouns (Word 5a and Word 5b), both with the same number of letters.
Word 4a and Word 5a both end with the same letter.
Word 4b and Word 5b both start with the same letter.

What is the following sentence (which isn't true in reality)?..

[Phrase 2] or [Phrase 3], I [Word 4a] the [Word 1] [Word 5a]
after I [Word 4b] the [Word 1] [Word 5b].

Answer in the comments of this post.


And a poem, sadly. (Written two days ago.)

As Quite A Slot-Machine

As a disk -- as a cylinder
too narrow in our
Existence -- within the
paradoxical groove, truth
Rotates and descends
at the slant; it falls
Diagonally unto its
falseness amongst that
Machinery. Oh, in this
despised trough, all reality
Is truncated and made
into such a device.
And the disks are our minds
each predetermined
To roll and fail and yet
imply the cosmos'
Very workings.
Ah, as quite a
Slot-machine, truth is
randomized; and it regards
Time to be only
anthropomorphic. But time
Is a metallic knot within
these disks, falling
Towards fate's empty disservice.
Ah, downwardly,
We are transformed,
despite our transcendence,
Into simply chaos and matter.
We become
Only the very riches
we cannot procure.
Oh, we become those
metaphors of injustice
And science. We become
but the clanging
Of causality and entropy,
become the clanging of
Madness surely probable,
surely mechanical
And unlucky.



Sunday, January 23, 2011


Blog post # 152:

Entropic Bird

Erroneous Fulcrum

Insignificant Paradox

Immaterially Homogeneous

Protrusion Of The Collapse

You can tell by the names of my latest pictures, I have been depressed lately.
(And one reason I have been depressed is that my art has been sucking.)


I'm no connoisseur of anything, really.
I'm not picky... except when it comes to my scabs...


I would say that the majority, it seems, of my fellow Americans are actually more stupid than rocks.
You see, the typical rock has an IQ of zero. But most Americans seem to have NEGATIVE intelligence -- most of what they believe is actually the opposite of the truth.

For instance, despite what they believe:
No, President Obama is NOT a Marxist. If anything, he is the opposite, a corporate fascist.
No, Hitler was not a liberal/progressive (even though it has been promoted by some on rightwing talk radio and on Fox News that he was).
No, America is not the freest country on Earth. (Actually, in terms of the numbers of its citizens in prison, it is actually the least free country on Earth.)
And the God many Americans worship, well, "He" is actually the Devil.

Suck it up, Opposite-People.


No poetry today!! Yay!!!


A new poll!

Pick a random word out of the dictionary. Does this word (in your opinion):
1) Describe reality at least somewhat
2) Not have anything to do at all with reality
3) Describe the opposite of reality



Monday, January 17, 2011

Fateful Equality

Blog post # 151:
(151 = a prime.)

Periphery Within

Unto Quasi-Roundness

Unattainable Screams

I like "Unto Quasi-Roundness" most of these three pictures.
"Unattainable Screams" I liked right after I made it, but now I hate it. At least I still like its title.


An anagram!

Sadly grasped upon in dim night.
Hand-spin grim ugly tops and die.

Ah, this anagram is about fate.


Poll results: (5 votes received.)

Question: Which of these intrigues you most?

Answers and results:
A glossy brain -- 1 vote.
A butterfly with 3 wings -- 2 votes.
Blurry nothingness -- 1 vote.
Words of phosphorous -- 0 votes.
Paradoxical sewage -- 1 vote.
Semicircular immortality -- 0 votes.
Unsurreal radioactivity -- 0 votes.


One poem today, that's all. Written yesterday.

Egg And Flower

Quite an egg resting
behind and askew from quite
A flower, a blossom overturned
and descending --
Upon the flatness, they
pose as such imbalance yet
Balanced, yet counterbalanced
by their truthfulness.
Oh, no, no egg became a flower;
but perhaps, a seed
Did once become this
in its uncertainty. Now the egg
Is to be its own mercy, is
to be the bird of its
Confidence and apathy.
In that tableau made
From oddity and foolishness,
juxtaposed is quite
The dichotomy of epitomization.
Oh, conjoined
Are the crumpled crumbs
of strangeness, of
Unimportant conceit
otherwise grouped. Yes,
The egg is fluid and fertile;
the toppled flower
Is horrendous but benign.
And they together
Are weirdly clangorous, are
quite a quantity
Of asymmetry; they are
the pairing made into
Plant, animal, and atrocity.
They are every inanimate
Fulfillment, are every
iridescence. For, this archetype
Is composed of rotation and
connectedness. It is
Complete within its appearance,
within its curvature
Of dissonant irregularity,
its dissonant curvature very
Irregular and dual,
irregular and equally so.


(Note: Yes, I know I just posted a poem about an egg a few days ago. I have actually written a number of poems about eggs, actually.)



Thursday, January 13, 2011

Suffer This Euphoria

Blog post # 150:

Just want to deal with it. No more.

Hypothesis Of Hypotenuses

Equilibrially Inconsistent

Segmented Derogation



Watching the news lately, I've noticed some people (such as Ms "Blood-Libel") ramble on in...



Okay, I don't feel like posting much else. All I can think to write today is this comment about how I can't think of anything (else) to write.

So, let's end our suffering now, shall we... But not before we all greatly suffer!

A poem!...

Written today:

Within Such An
Imagined Brain

Drawn are the fissures
and crevices within
Such an imagined brain.
Oh, drawn are those
Slots and grooves that
each determine somewhat
The truthful ignorance
of certainty.

In the transcendental mind,
all is eviscerated
Via its intuition, and
all is evaluated
Regarding its
equilateral placement amongst
The lobes of
scribbled hemispheres. For, yes,
The creases are but
random and unspecified.
Yet they are drawn
by the cutting
Of madness and intellect.
Yes, this childish
Imperfection is scrawled
onto the mass that
Is my mental thought...
Its science
Is hewn from those halves,
and it is conjured
In my corpus callosum,
in my limbic betrayal.

Drawn is the purpose of
my strangeness. And
Carved into my solidity
is every segmentation,
Is every glossy iridescence
uttered anew by this
Paradoxical thing,
by this wrinkled dream, a
Dream psychological,
hypothetical, and knotted --
And therefore it has become
a surreal doodle,
Has become a doodle
cursively aperiodic and
Amorphously curved,
amorphously conscious and
Convergent as to its
clamorous but reverberant



Sunday, January 9, 2011

Inertia Again

Blog post # 149:

Mysteries Of Such Repentance

A Yolk Absolved


I needed to post these two latest pictures above together, since one is yellowish on a purplish background, and one is purplish on a yellowish background.

Which reminds me...

Which color is my cat's favorite?



And what did I do when I wrote the joke above?


(Yes, I'm mature.)


Two poems, written yesterday and today:


Unrevealed is every answer,
is every riddle's
Absolution. Unrevealed is
every consistent truth,
Despite the repression of
entirety, despite the
Relinquishment of life's solitude.
Yes, denied is
Every mystery's wickedness,
is every puzzle's shape.
And unseen are all colors
of our apathy. For,
These apparent revelations are
false and inaccurately
Selfish. Yes, these theorems
are only the axioms
Of logic's blatant absurdities.
Within this cosmos
That we attempted to examine,
we are fools; we
Are just demeaned by
our own injustices.
Oh, never are we
knowledgeable as to any
Reality or temptation. Ha.
We will only be
Those idiots of our obscuration.
We will only
Remain negated in our
conjectures and
Their congruence.
We will never yet
Find the ugliness to be
exacting. Yes, our
Science is damning;
and our mathematics is
Erroneous; and our philosophies
are each childish
And superstitious. And
we are always wronged by
Every assumption, are wronged
by every bigotry
We never repent, by every
empirical discourse
That still equals
its certain invisibility.


Within The One Egg

Magnificent within the one egg,
solitude envelops
This lone bird, a bird not yet
expressed, not yet
Diminished. Its darkness is
lit brightly by hunger.
And its anger is
counterintuitive, ha. Within
This singularity composed of
only agony, the
Bird is afloat but unturning.
It rests introvertedly
Against its umbilical --
that strand of lines.
And it feasts on an
ambivalent yolk. Yes,
Of yellow and temptation,
the syrup becomes such
Substance, becomes the
salve for the single fowl
Alone inside its own depiction.
For, this cocoon
Is quite the calcified ellipsoid,
surely. However,
These fluids swallow
all reality and
Make it into inertia.
This oily selfishness
Courses into the
bird's abdomen, then
Transforms that avian grub
as every saltiness does.
Yes, magnificently within
the one egg,
The animal is to be infinite,
is to be metamorphic.
And it grasps upon
its coming extraction from
Its transcendence.
It grasps upon its
solitude fulfilling
In such magnification,
in such desired development,
Such development unto
that absolution, unto that
Emptiness remembered
via its destined infancy.



Friday, January 7, 2011


Blog post # 148:

Of Smoothness' Thorns

Apex Of Neurons Impeded

Thrice Quadruple

Object Of Metaphors

(Notice how, in the picture "Of Smoothness' Thorns", the lower hemi-spheroid is both inside and outside the hemi-spheroid on the left.)


Two simple, much too simple, yet intriguing anagrams:

I camera

(A CIA-mare is a nightmare where the CIA does horrible things to you.)


Part of my brain is evil.

Every now and then, I "hear" a voice -- just a loud thought, not a hallucination -- that tells me things such as that the problems of the world are all my fault. Then it tells me that if I do something (like vote for Obama in 2012), horrible things will happen, but if I don't do those same things, horrible things will also happen. Then it blames me for doing the wrong thing, whatever I did or will do, even though I have no choice.

It fills my mind with delusions and disturbing thoughts.

Then I angrily scream at "God" -- who I blame for putting the thoughts there -- to go to Hell, since it is God's fault, not mine, that the bad things exist and happen to us all.
But then the evil voice goes, "No, it's YOUR fault, all your fault."

But when I realized that the anger and the delusions and the evil voice all exist just to make life difficult for me, I realized:

Hey, they are the *Republican* inside of me!

You see, the Republicans -- being my ultra-conservative arch-nemeses -- are the cause of so many problems in my life, in America, and in the world today. And their only purpose, it seems, is to be an impediment to all that is good.

So, that little vile voice in me, all of my psychoses, are now considered by me to be themselves worthy of scorn.

I will try not to be angry anymore like I used to be -- since now I am angry at my anger.
I will try not to behave OCD-superstitiously anymore -- since this is like the superstition of the ultra-religious right-wing.
I will try not to be overly afraid of the frightening things in the news anymore -- since being afraid is what Republicans do best.

Even though Republicans have found new popularity and power in today's America, now "they" will find the opposite within my own mind.


Two poems:
(Written two days ago and today.)

A Proboscis Downwardly
And Rightward

A proboscis courses downwardly
into that diameter
Before the very circle
amongst it. And the
Protrusion courses rightward
and diagonally, tapering
To a spiraled zigzag
smoothly abrupt. It is remembered
Via such a brainstem, true,
and it is seemingly
Roundish and looped and
spun as humanity's minds.
It is of withered neurons, yes.
And they each
Course downwardly and
rightward unto their
Meandering destiny.
For, the proboscis is
Shaped as every lobe of probability.
Yet its anger
Is formed as these
problematic polygons.
Yes, its temper is
its thoughtfulness, and its
Praise is its curvaceous imagination.
But this
Slender elongation
inside our mental dreams, it
Rotates only semicircularly,
and it flows
Simply as those radians.
It flows as the causality
Of counterclockwise apices,
downwardly and rightward,
Recreated as the perpendicularity of
psychotic probosces,
Probosces all illogically impeded,...
recreated as the
Linearity of psychotic prongs
all ironically tangential
And prolate.


Nothingness Is Rendered

Nothingness is rendered
within such poetry. Yet
I saw amongst it these
spheres and spiraled cones,
Saw inside it these
coils of randomness each
Entropic but
ironically not plagiarized. Oh, I
Inscribed nothingness again
upon paper formed
From shape and thickness
and mentality. I
Inscribed this entire object
of metaphor
Unto what is an atrocious game,
surely. And
Nothingness is abstract
and absurd. It is
Scrawled as scribbles
into the weirdness
We inhabit. There,
such damnation is our
Pleasure; and such
amnesia is only our
Timepiece devoid of shadows.
Oh, in nothingness
We are despised by
our own lust. Yes, here
We are insignificantly immortal
and are tritely
Dead. Here we are
beautifully impaired
By that flatness;
here we are condemned
Via our assumptions of emptiness,
by our assumption
Of void magnificent
but forgotten, but repressed,
But meaninglessly extreme.



Sunday, January 2, 2011


Blog post # 147:
(147 = 7 * 3 * 7.)

Amongst Bland Circumferences

Dissatisfied Glass

Counterintuitive Convexity


My goal appears today to be to scare away readers!
Only the coolest among us can withstand this trial by puzzles and poetry.

But first, something that is perhaps stupid, if not scary.

An advertising slogan for a 'palindromestic" cleaning-solution:

"Dirt? Egg? Get rid!"


Speaking of palindromes...

Here is a puzzle. I don't know how many solutions there are, but there is at least one (plus its reflections).

Take an 8-by-8 grid, such as a chess board.
Place 8 stones on the board somehow, each stone in one of 8 different squares, such that there is exactly one stone in each column and exactly one stone in each row.

Make a list, called the "column list", of 7 numbers this way:
The mth number in the list is the number of rows difference, either upwardly or downwardly, between the stone in the mth column and the stone in the (m+1)th column. (m is an integer between 1 and 7.) So the mth number = the absolute value of the difference in the vertical coordinates between the stones in the mth (vertically running) column and the (m+1)th column (lined up left to right).

Make another list, called the "row list", of 7 numbers this way:
The mth number in the list is the number of columns difference, either leftward or rightward, between the stone in the mth row and the stone in the (m+1)th row. (m is an integer between 1 and 7.) So the mth number = the absolute value of the difference in the horizontal coordinates between the stones in the mth (horizontally running) row and the (m+1)th row (lined up top to bottom).

Now, the stones are placed in such a way upon the grid that:

*The first three terms of the column list form a palindrome.
*The last three terms of the column list form a palindrome.
*All seven terms of the column list form a palindrome.
(The middle condition above is redundant.)

*The first three terms of the row list form a palindrome.
*The last three terms of the row list form a palindrome.
*All seven terms of the row list do NOT form a palindrome.

*And, finally, the sum of the terms in the column list plus the sum of the terms in the row list is 48.

(Remember, all terms of the column list and the row list are positive, whatever the directions the stones are from each other.)

How are the stones placed?

Any solution that fulfills all of the requirements is considered valid.

As an example, here is a solution where the sum of the column list's terms plus the sum of the row list's terms is 45, but all conditions above involving palindromes are met:

. * . . . . . .
. . . . . . . *
* . . . . . . .
. . . . . . * .
. . * . . . . .
. . . . * . . .
. . . * . . . .
. . . . . * . .

The column list is:

The row list is:


And if the numbers above didn't frighten you, the words below certainly will.

Two poems!

Circumferences Around This Egg

I will decline to describe
such circumferences
Around this imagined egg.
They are to be
As multitudinous straps
of varying widths but
Of uncounted finitudes.
They are to be quite
Aglow and, so, despised
by cloth and truth's
Antagonists screaming.
And this egg is
Plagiarized from randomness.
Yet it is made
Of mental metals
all existing clockwise. It is
Blasphemous as to its
glossiness. But it is
Poisonous in its hexagonality.
Is partially encased
in the wrap of
Introspection and scrawl.
It is enclosed
In an exoskeleton
surely weird and
Certainly within it.
Its shell is
Its dreams; and
its pulp is its reality. And
I will never explain
its visions shown unto me,
Despite the egg's
bland saltiness, that
Saltiness that is tasted
then sharply severed
From such circumferences
wholly demanding
And each unpurposeful.


Certainty Of Uncompleted Riddles

Yes, the certainty of
uncompleted riddles
Does confuse those grids
redrawn and reiterated.
It does confound my
selfish game of palindromes,
Palindromes marked within
their uniqueness, within
All columns and rows
of solitude, of singularity.

It does consider the
progression of differences
-- Halfway symmetrical,
wholly so again,
Yet perpendicularly
halfway reflected,
Wholly asymmetrical.
... Ah, quite
A tempting angularity
is drawn against
That diminutive minimization,
because it
Is multitudinous and
plurally distinctive.

Yes, the puzzle is implied
in every permutation
Upon those penciled edges
written with pen.
Yes, the thoughtful screams
of my inertia
Do contemplate these
configurations each
Scattered among
my own disregard. And I am
Neither adroit nor fulfilled
by such rectangles,
By such certainty unjustified,
such certainty
Un-alphabetically presumed,
surely, by my
Prideful and
mathematical questioning.


(Did anyone read through this entire post?)