Sunday, February 27, 2011

Viciously Viscous

Blog post # 163:
(163 = a prime!)

Dream Of Zeroness

Multi-Angular Sap

Counterbalanced By Calculus


Ha! NO anagrams today!

But I DO have poll-results.

Question: Which of these numbers is your favorite?

5 votes total.

"3/2" received 1 vote.
"Pi" and "infinity" were tied for first place, with 2 votes each.
Receiving no votes were -1, 0, 1, 2, 3, and 2pi.


New poll!

Which alliteration is your favorite of these?

Trapezoidal Transvestites
Weird Wires
Perplexingly Perpendicular
Methodical Methodists
Symmetrical Symposium
Maniacally Manhandled
Dichotomous Dictators
Metaphysical Metaphor
Irrelevant Iridescence
Absurdly Abstract


One poem today. Written yesterday.

Trigonometric Syrup

Trigonometric syrup strays
almost from its variation.
It curves and courses into
such balanced asymmetry
Otherwise aperiodic,
otherwise globular. And yet,
Its repetition is round.
Yes, its rotation is
Formulated from this
sweet gunk. But that fluid
Flows through temporary annuli.
It is strung
Through the inner hollowness
of our sidewaysness.

Within the sine-waves
each wound weirdly, this
Syrup is spun from waxy ash
and composition.
It is spun from
mathematical emptiness made as
Agile sap. And it pivots
around its oddness, around
Its secretions drawn to equal
hopeful hypotheses, yes.

It spins around its finiteness
extensively forever.
And it fluctuates and
becomes purposeful, becomes
Recurrent and glassy.
It is to transform and
Taper and taste of
vain waviness. And it will
Complicate its resting,
because it is massive, it is
Sticky and inconsistently cyclic,
as it is perhaps
Also inconsistently



Thursday, February 24, 2011

Negative Zero

Blog post # 162:
(162 = 2*3*3*3*3.)

Introspectively Excreted

Lingering Oscillation


Intermediately Opposed

Inflections Partially Inert

I only really like the last picture.
But I posted the others anyway.


(Did I publish this one already?)

Some Imagined Minds
Dimensions' Dim Game


We're all savages. We're all monsters.

I fear the future; I intensely do.
I can't give details of what I fear about the future, but just know there is a lot to fear... for all of us.

The opposite-people are attacking. They may win. They may never lose again.
I don't hear the voices. No, they hear the voices. And their voices say they must oppose all that is good and just.
Their voices say it is time to violently take control, and keep that control, no matter how atrocious the means to do so.

They will enslave us, if we are lucky. They will torture us to death, if we are not.

They are us, they are you.
And they are them, the very same 'them' that justifies all our paranoia.

They are savages. They are monsters.

They are our death
and the death of all we cherish.
They are ignorance; they are idiocy.
They are liars.

And they are coming for us. They are coming. Now, they have arrived...


No poetry today!


Saturday, February 19, 2011

Unstable Smoothness

Blog post # 161:
(161 = 7*23.)

Syrup Becoming Clouds

Prehensile Flatness

Grotesque Remorse

Into External Radii

Actually, each one of these picture almost didn't exist. Every one of the last few days I really felt like not making any art, but I made it anyway.


(Well, this anagram isn't worthy of an exclamation point. So, "anagram.", then.)

Sum Of Those Multiplications
It is some plus much, if not a lot.


The new "It'll happen when Hell freezes over":

It'll happen...
..when Justin Bieber grows facial-hair.


This will warm almost every American's heart...


Ah, how sweet. Makes ya' patriotic, doesn't it?

Sorry, pissed about stuff in the news, as you probably have guessed.


No poetry today!!!


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Illiterate Alliteration

Blog Post # 160:
(160 = 2*2*2*2*2*5.)

A little alliteration...

Unto Coarse Cosines

Theoretical Trapezoid

(... I know. The phonemes don't match, but the letters do.)

Tangential Transposition


An anagram!

Reality's Obvious Plan
Vain Trouble Is As Ploy


Nothing more,... except a poem! (Damn it.)

(Written yesterday.)

These Theses

These theses are
theoretically theological, yet they
Are configured amorphously as
their cursive depiction
Of rust and blubber.
Yet they are counterbalanced
By equilateral equations
each formulaic and
Uncertain and
unilaterally multiplicative. Ah,
These theses are as
the paradoxical tautologies
Implied by indentations and
incantations, implied by
Imagined metals of
colorless unobviousness. But they
Presume to be the very riddles
they rid from our
Dreams of intellect. Yes,
they seem to apathetically
Remark regarding
every puzzling topology
Appearing within my vantage,
appearing so
Mysteriously as all miniscule
and hypothetical
Writings scribed in
invisibly plaid notebooks, surely.
For, these theses complicate
their alphabets and
Compound their numerals.
But they will soon be
Ascertained then perceived.
Yes, these parables of
Algorithmic algae and asymmetry
will soon denounce
Those trapezoids. And we
will thus be conforming and
Comfortable regarding them,
regarding such
Atrociousness of genius,
regarding such atrocities of
Truth doubtfully downward
in its sidewaysness.


Loser Leroy

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Outside And Inside

Blog post # 159:
(159 = 3*53.)

Inanimate Apex

Limbic Spinning

Somewhat Non-Palindromic


A super-duper anagram!
(It rhymes!)

Foolish liar!
Our oneness sees the ruse.
Oh, these sins'
erroneous failures lose.


New poll!

Which of these numbers is your favorite?

3.14159... (pi)
6.28318... (2 pi)


Two poems. Two poems.

(Written yesterday and today.)

Tangled Hypotheses

Beauty's knot becomes
The outside of its consciousness,
Becomes the mind containing
all oneness and
All zeroness otherwise globular.
Yet, these
Lobes theorize regarding
inaccurate numbers
Each counted but alone and
subdivided still.
Yet beautiful loops defile
this game of
Bidirectional conformity.
Ha. I am
Absurd within my
brain's zigzags, yes.
But the iridescent temptations
From my limbic deprivation,
they become
The outside of my
conscious conception,
Become the exterior of
everything nullified
But only asymmetrically
and asymptotically.

Yes, beauty spins the
ribbon from transition.
And it thinks of
that mental wheel
Turning as cloth, turning
as strings into
An elliptic cursedness
winding and wiggling
And becoming the
outside of such a
Neurologically drawn
arrangement arranged
As its inflections, as
its inferiority truly


Inside The One Circumference

Inside the one circumference
of a spheroid somewhat
And sometimes oblong,
the flatness (a strand)
Implies a curve. Yet
it bends downwardly
As it is horizontal.
Then it vanishes as
It is diminished, and
it is strung as a
Semi-equatorial reality,
as the one circumference
About its own truncation
folded and overlapping.

Inside the blob (an
oblong-like spheroid made
From pathos and gel and
glass and falseness),
There the wrapping annulus
is denied.
There, the prejudice of
such a curve is
Foolishly speaking these
voices of dictatorial
Syllables. Yes, inside
the gap between
Ovoid and thin matter,
space within is
Never compelled to be
described. And here,
I am semicircular
and 3/4 so. Yes, here,
The circumferences are
erroneous but
Exceptional, are entropic
yet eventual
And held inside this
mental thought, inside
This encirclement
partway complete, partway
Intermittent, partially and
grandly not palindromic,
Not anagrammatic or
alphabetized, but surely
Crescentically formed from this
Continuous certainty's erasing.



Wednesday, February 9, 2011

A Universe Without Desire Or Truth

Blog post # 158:

Methodically Unbalanced

Amongst Cylindrical Overlapping

An Extremum Wrung

Failure Of Circles

Unrelenting Facade


Let's review the poll-results, shall we?

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

I only received 4 votes total. (And one of those was my own.)
But every vote was for option # 1.



Religion faces the ends.
Lies forcing death seen.


Okay, let me bitch.

EVERYONE, without exception (Hey, even the little babies are "sinners", according to Christianity), is a fucking asshole who deserves to burn in Hell, even I.

As I said in an earlier post, maybe this is Hell, and we are all damned to it.

I don't know why I am here. Maybe it is because I am lazy.
But some people still deserve worse than even this damnation. Some people here are so vile, they must not even exist. They are such over-the-top villains, I can't even believe they are real in any way. For, people must basically be good, right? (Or so they say.)
If this IS Hell, then that would explain why the evil antagonists are here. This world possesses the worst of history's criminals and dictators and extremely asinine idiots and other monsters that were not fit for even Purgatory, let alone Heaven.

What did YOU do to deserve to be here? I know you did something. Fuck you, you evil asshole. Welcome to the fire.


No poetry today!


Friday, February 4, 2011


Blog post # 157:
(157 = a prime.)

Matter Comparatively Equilateral

Magnificent Ash


Not much today.


Some doctors and others say that antidepressants are only placeboes, really. I know these pharmaceuticals are indeed. Because if they really made you happy, then they would be illegal!

(I might have heard this before.)


One poem, written today:

Nova Of Such Waking

Overwhelming fire of
black flame explodes
Outwardly from a
decisive sun, from that
Star of abstraction and
absolution. Yet
This flare is expressed
truthfully; it is
Made into the
heated emptiness, into the
Heated void eviscerated by
these violent cusps
Of exceptional crescendo.
Yes, never impeded are the
destructive shards
Of supreme conflagration.
They overwhelm
All the cosmos and
vanquish it, and damn it.
But in the subsequent soothing,
ash is surely our
Condemnation. For, reality is
to be encompassed
By such hideous flame.
And in this hell,
That hydrogen will be
its process, will be its
Methodical fusion of
atoms into fire, into
Carcinogenic magnificence
containing all,
Swallowing all,
drowning us each in this
Remarkable infrared,
in this gamma and light.

Then the nova of such waking
will subdue
Our purpose, and so the fire
will be existence.
The heat will be the
savagery and authoritarianism
Pondered by selfish theorists
now illogical
And ignorant in their cessation.
This moltenness
Will finally be flowing still
within its confusing
And burning opaqueness,
within its radiation
Justifiably evil. It will
be flowing still unto
Our own villainy profound,
our own villainy singed
By this ejecta, by this
star certain of its thunder,
Certain of its intentional inertia,
certain in its
Outburst to be screamed,
to be maniacally overwhelming.



Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Enlightened By Damnation

Blog post # 156:
(156 = 2*2*3*13 = 12*13)

Enlightened By Divergence

Disheveled Periodicity

Grand Intermittency


An anagram:

A sane androgyny...
as Yen and/or Yang.



Gaze. Good zen bliss.
Blood zigzags seen.

(Well, the two halves of this last anagram are kind of the opposite of each other.
Maybe this one is an... antigram.)
... (Unless bloody zigzags give you peace, of course...)


I sometimes suspect that I have already died, and this is the after-life. Actually, I think this may be Hell, albeit one of the less-grave levels of Hell.

Bad things happen all the time here. Although good things do happen too, the bad is overwhelming the good.

I came close to death when I was a teenager. Maybe I died then. Anyone else suspect what I suspect about the after-life being "reality"? If so, how do you suspect you died? Is this Hell for you, Purgatory, or Heaven? (One person's Hell definitely could be another person's Heaven.)


No poetry today! (Yay!)