Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Traversing All

Blog post # 174:
(174 = 2*29*3.)

Totality Turned Transformatively

Illogical Completion


Anna Graham puzzles:

1) How do I feel about the fact that "sin is dead"?
(2 words.)

2) Which direction is "old again"?
(1 word.)

(Answers at bottom of this post.)


Poem (written today):

In An Entropic Knot

Entangled in an entropic knot,
in thoughts halved
And in truths doubled,
a spiral upon a spiral
Is. The mess is hollowed
yet filled with strings and
Erroneous imagination
-- they curl and loop
And linger weirdly.

Yes, they congregate and
contemplate this hypothesis
Of scribbled swirls each unscribbled,
each formed from
Such infuriating filaments, ha.
Ah, entangled in
The pairing of spirals unequal,
there, that reality
Is eventual, despite
its causality. Entangled in
The selfishness of zeroness,
we are introspective.
For, we perceive those strands
and knots thus,
Perceive those spirals to be
inanimate but unpurposeful,
Perceive these winding existences
to be sequential
Yet summed and sometimes
multiplied, and
Sometimes strung into
such chaos, into such attachment
And complication folded as
all is tied, sometimes strung
Into our vain completion
-- therefore it is quite erosive,
Is quite an illogical mixture.


Number puzzle:

Write 1 through 9 in a 3-by-3 pattern as so:
1 2 3
4 5 6
7 8 9

Starting at any given integer in the array, move from integer to adjacent integer by going up, down, left, or right (never diagonally) after each integer. No number is visited more than once, and some numbers may be not visited at all. You can end anywhere.

The variable n first equals the number you start with.
Every time the path goes up or down, add the number you land on to n. (The number before this in the path was above or below this number.)
Every time the path goes left or right, multiply n by the number you land on. (The number before this in the path was left or right of this number.)

After you finish, the value of n should be 396.

What path did you take?

Note: If doing this on a calculator, be sure to hit = after every step, so that the calculator doesn't follow order-of-operation (which is doing multiplications before sums, which would be wrong for this puzzle).

(I don't know how many solutions there are, but I doubt there is more than one.)


Answers to anagram puzzles:

1) sad inside

2) diagonal


Leroy Quet

Monday, March 28, 2011

Perturbed And Disturbed

Blog post # 173:
(173 = a prime, I think.)

Synonyms Perturbed

Quantum Dissonance


A stupid anagram:

The explosive tangents
These angles pivot next.


Regarding my poll: So sorry, everybody, that I neglected to include "humor" as a choice! I guess "happiness" is the next best choice, but not all humor is happy. There are probably other common emotions I neglected too.


Speaking of "humor":

Q: What's the funniest direction?

A: Ver-tickle!

Q: Why are we all so stressed?

A: It's the nature of exis-tense...


If you don't hate me now for those puns, you certainly will when I tell you...

I have two poems for you!..
(Written yesterday and today.)

Abstraction Flowing Viscously

Unspecified are these similes.
Yet such
Superstitious overlapping
is to be inconsistent,
Is to be coincidental, surely.
Oh, that tangle of
Colorful ellipsoids, it
curves and curls; but its
Exactness is therefore parted,
is thus formed
From unspecified metaphors
each perturbed. Yes,
The tangents of this are
minimal but extensive.
Rightward and leftward,
they excrete an
Enumeration quite imagistic.
Ah, undefined and
Un-depicted is every parable
implied by the
Bundling. But these
particles are lengthy. They
Are worded as synonyms,
and are spoken
As verbs. Yes,
unspecified are the
Components and the
entirety of that grouping.
Unparticular, though, is
such fluid, is such
An artificial mass congealed
but counterbalanced.
Ah, unequally placed is
this dissonance of parallelism.
But those conceptual expressions
are thick and
Are indecisively written.
They are solidly of
Their oozing, and are
perfectly of their substance,
Are perfectly of their abstraction
flowing viscously,
Flowing as fire, flowing as
opaqueness' prisms (prisms
Of amorphous glass
sans our prejudicial refraction).


Thorns Quite Spherical

A conical portrayal of betrayal
is this transparent sphere.
And such a cone is concavely bent
to be quite a crescent.
Yet, the crescent is
absurdly equal to straps.
But the straps are strangely tubes,
tubes of cylindrical
Disks also existent and real,
because they are flaps. Oh,
These flaps are spirals,
and those spirals are tilted
To be helices somewhat triangular.
Yes, the triangles
counterintuitively arc; for,
They are elliptical.
And the ellipses are cuspidate
Upon their spires, upon
their thorns quite spherical,
Quite conical and
certainly spun as every zigzag.

Oh, a conical portrayal
of betrayal bubbles and
Becomes a torus
of diagonality. But it
Is to again be its geometries,
is to be its
Trigonometries each
foreshortened and elongated.
(And still it protrudes.)
Still, it is of
Such shapelessnesses,
is of such shapes cyclically
Impossible, circularly impeded,
and incrementally infinite.



Saturday, March 26, 2011

Radioactive Mind

Blog post # 172:
(172 = 2*43*2.)

Psychosis Without Predicates

Of Introverted Extremes

(Obviously I like the bottom picture more, even if it isn't that great.)


Topical anagrams:

Newly radioactive
We act or vainly die.


Radiation's liars
As irrational ids



Here's a Palin-drome:

If she's elected US president, I'll be in a...

doom mood!

(Dumb, I know, but fittingly so.)


Poem. (Written today.)

Extremes Represented
Finitely But Radiantly

Neither of lemniscates nor
of butterflies, these
Paired blobs are, however,
each opposed upon a strand
Of imagined thoughts.
Oh, upon every linear expanse,
The bulbs billow and are
yet oddly asymmetrical,
Despite their balance
ideal relative to such masses.
And those wires do arc
and bend and fold; thus the
Blobs are convergent unto
their doubling. But that
Arrangement is misnumbered;
for, each pairing is
Adjacent to others as it.
Some bending, though,
Is more abrupt, and
some is more pronounced.
Yet emptiness parallels
this parallelism. And
These colors are beautifully
sustained within their
Absurdity. Neither of
magnificence nor of mediocrity
Is this configuration of
solidity's fluids. Neither
Of spheres nor of strings is
its negation, yet. And
Not of sharpness or erosion
are those strange sums,
Are those extremes
represented finitely but radiantly,
Represented as
iridescently transparent, as retroactive.



Thursday, March 24, 2011

Mentally Challenged

Blog post # 171:
(171= 3*19*3.)

Incrementally Uncounted

Grasped By Void

Meek Levitation

Unalgebraic Truth

I don't enjoy any of these pictures too much. But my favorites are the first and last.



The two phrases below are both anagrams of words that each are half of a certain dichotomy.
(Each anagram is of one word.)

What are the two words?

In gods' lute,
I dust late.

(I got the idea for an anagram puzzle from this week's Will Shortz puzzler on NPR Sunday morning. These here are my anagrams, though.)


This is a puzzle I made up.

Start with a small grid of 3-by-3 squares drawn on paper. (If you prefer, you can just make the Tic-Tac-Toe symbol, the # symbol, of 3-by-3 "cells".)

Place these integers into the grid, one integer per square/cell:
(That is 1 through 9, except with two 1's and no 8.)

But write these numbers in the squares/cells such that every row, column, and main diagonal of the grid contains exactly one integer that is the sum of the other two integers in the same row, column, or main diagonal.
(In any particular row, column, or main diagonal, the largest integer {the sum} may be any one of the 3 integers of that particular row, column, or main diagonal.)

I think I proved that all valid solutions are rotations and/or reflections of my intended solution. There are no other solutions besides these.


Here is an example, but with a different set of numbers:
Place (1,1,2,2,3,4,4,5,6) in the grid following the rules above:

A solution: (I don't know how many solutions there are to this set of numbers.)

1 4 3
4 2 2
5 6 1

(Notice that it is possible for the same number to be a sum in one direction and an addend in another.)


If Rocky was anagrammatical, he would say:

"Yo, Obnoxious!
Soon I box you."


All them crazy killers who are quiet.
"He was such a quiet boy", the neighbors always say about the mass-murderer living nearby.
Guess I'm not a dangerous threat to anyone, then.
Because I loudly scream obscenities all day!

No danger at all...



Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sadistic Apathy

Blog post # 170:
(170 = 2*5*17, of course.)

(Not much today.)

Of Adjacency Detached

Segmented Into Oneness


An anagram I just came up with:

My Cosmic Energies
Some Grimy Science


Sorry I don't have more to talk about, but I am just apathetic now.
(Fuck the wars, the nuclear melt-down, and all other disasters that have hit our screwed up planet lately. Fuck it all.)


A poem to end this:

Ridiculous Encirclement

It does not enclose within it itself.
But it still
Contains the circle etched.
Yes, it does contain
The sphere tilted as
its roundness, tilted blandly
As a disk somewhat a spiral
unremarkably incomplete.
Quite, this arc of a
nonexistent loop, its width
Is fully obvious, but
its thinness is geometric,
Despite those mathematics.
And it is un-angled, yet
Only because we are to
behold it thusly. It does not
Return to its wholeness.
For, this is a ridiculous
Encirclement. Although
such a configuration typifies
All of the cosmic weirdness
exterior to every
Cosmic ceasing within us
(yet not held within).

Oh, this flat torus is
aglow and never opaque.
But it is segmented into
its oneness, and it
Is partitioned into
its beauty. It only curves and
Does so around that thing
of algebra's possessiveness.
But such science is enclosed,
if not within itself.
It is the winding coil wrapping
simply that sphere, a
Sphere of continuity shaped inertly,
shaped subtly into
A representation oddly imperfect
but mostly thorough.

(Sorry for this fucking terrible and unoriginal poem.)



Friday, March 18, 2011

Speaking Of Dimensions

Blog post # 169:
(169 = 13*13, 13 squared.)

Erased By Dripping Air

Ironic Loxodrome

Obnoxious Graciousness

(My favorite of these is Ironic Loxodrome, but not by a whole lot.)


Stupid anagram:

Say, dimensions are pi,
as pyramid sine-noise.

(But it has to do with math, so I posted it anyway, despite its stupidity.)

Another stupid anagram:

Climate Devastation
A tame devil, no static.

And another:

Quantum Physics
Mushy quips can't.

(Is this last one a sign? Probably not!)


New poll!

Which of these is your favorite emotion?



Poem, written two days ago:

Upon And Underneath

Upon the topside, underneath
the bottomside, from both
Extrema of a glassy cylinder
without circularity, the
Triangular things hang and
are attached. They do
Droop, but curve, yet are
lengthwise vertical. They are
Draped as rotation upon
and underneath. And they
Drip only air from their
downward apices. They
Drip the matter of emptiness
from their thickness,
From their thinness
represented anthropomorphically.

In that transparency of the blob
held between them,
Nothingness is obvious
and observed. Oh, I
See the void by not perceiving it.
And I know that
It is solid, intermediately placed,
and existent.

Upon and underneath
such crystalline hypotheses,
We are erased, we
are endured. But the
Triangular things are
to wrap our iridescence
And then cling to
its sloping. Yes, this
Duplication is differing
but still poised
Against those roundish edges.
And configured so
Is the connectivity of abruptness
forced smoothly, is
The connectivity of triangles
and cylinders and glass
Made oddly into
that grouping, made into that
Transformative continuousness
unnecessarily stained,
Unnecessarily a prism
of antagonism halved.



Tuesday, March 15, 2011

An Absurd Hell

Blog post # 168:
(168 = 2*3*2*7*2.)

Energetic Inertia

Exceptions To Multiplicity

Folded Artificiality


Poll results:

Question: Which alliteration is your favorite of these?

8 votes were received total.

"Trapezoidal Transvestites" received 1 vote.
"Weird Wires" received 3 votes. (The winner.)
"Perplexingly Perpendicular" received 1 vote.
"Methodical Methodists" received 1 vote.
"Symmetrical Symposium" received 0 votes.
"Maniacally Manhandled" received 0 votes.
"Dichotomous Dictators" received 0 votes.
"Metaphysical Metaphor" received 0 votes.
"Irrelevant Iridescence" received 2 votes.
And "Absurdly Abstract" received 0 votes.

I almost didn't include "Weird Wires", the winner, because the vowel sounds are different in each word.


Things are bad.

Very bad.

The other day I was telling my friend how the universe is basically a negative place, and mostly bad stuff happens more than good.
People keep saying that we should remember the small good things that happen in life. But lots of small bad things happen too, I must point out. And lots of big bad things happen too. But very few big good things happen.

Just hours after I told my friend about this, the Japanese earthquake/tsunami/major nuclear-disaster occurred.

Things in Japan are pure Hell, right now (even if you don't figure in the radiation-levels).

What will happen next to the Japanese? A 500-foot tall lizard will rise up out of the ocean and destroy Tokyo?!

It would figure.

But the Japanese disaster is nothing compared to the utter doom that soon awaits all of humanity.
TOTAL economic collapse, climate-change tipping-point, peak oil, further nuclear disasters, wars unending, unimaginable horrors. Soon it will all come to us.

But remember, stress is going to kill you, now, now, they always say.

Sure, but being killed is going to stress you out to a greater extent than the other way around.

The end IS near. It really is.


And what is the biggest sign of the Apocalypse? The fact I have two new poems for you!

(Written 2 days ago and today.)

Explosive Ascent

Without result, but with causality,
the explosive ascent
Of gasses and solids and hatred,
it all transcends
And radiates outwardly,
radiates assertively; and
Yet it is there within its origin.
There, within
The central circle of
emptiness, these
Gusts flee and angrily transit
such cosmic angles,
Transit such fiery glass
amongst us.

Yes, this blast of
paradoxical lines, it is
Flung in its expansion;
it is flung unto
That hollow reality
beyond it. It fulfills
The lust of energetic spaces.
And it
Is without resolution or
reservation. Ah,
This thing is fluid, is furious,
as it is magma.
It is metal and
imagination made. For,
The toxins combust and
betray their inertia.
They do consume us
in their suicide.
They do curse us in
their unimpressive dreams,
In their
clangorous screaming felt by
Truth, by temptation,
felt by science and divergence,
Suffered by our envelopment burning,
by our envelopment
Ascending explosively,
ascending suddenly, destroying us
In every crescendo, destroying
our finality once wondrous,
Once unsurpassed.


Folded Into Depth,
Curved Into Width

Folded into depth and
curved into width, this
Subtle flap contains its paper.
It contains the
Cloth of thin impediment.
Yet it is triangular
And asleep and round,
and its denial is precious.

Surrounding this thing
also resting horizontally,
The loops too are folded
and curved into their
Dimensions tritely creased.
They arc and hold inside them
this shape discussed.
And they both gape
upon their right and
Rotate upon their whole.
Oh, beneath that
Artificiality, circular flames
pretentiously clamor.

And above, all space is hollow,
and all madness
Is electromagnetic. Yet
between the gap, there,
Folded is an inert knife,
softly not to cut
Nor to be severed again.
It is avoided by its
Obviousness, and it is
conjured from its psychology.
But it only is absurd
regarding its inexactness,
Regarding these folds and
bends in such quartering,
In such halving unsustained
but permanently abrupt,
But permanently varied,
but perpetually plain.



Saturday, March 12, 2011

Axioms Of Axons

Blog post # 167:
(167 = a prime, I think.)

Its Extreme Axiom

Equilibrium Averted

Outcome Oddly Otherwise


Two more acronyms:

NUMBERS = Nature's Utterly Manmade But Eternally Real Substructure.

TERRORISM = Tyranny Entirely Retributive, Reactionary, Obviously Revolutionary; Injustice Sadistically Militant.


Two more anagrams:

A stupid theorem is numbers dismayed.
My rested brain does sum them up, I said.


(A simple one:)

Evil's Fool
Love Foils


Two poems, written 2 days ago and today:

An Asymmetric Dichotomy

A hemispheroid and a
quarter-spheroid join to be 3/4
Of entirety. And in the
quartered convexity,
A hollow was cut into
one corner of ellipticality.
Yes, the hole is pinched and
slants unto the surface
Of conjoinment and
smoothness paraphrased. This
Conglomerate assumes the
composition is misunderstood.
It assumes our solidity is
loathsome and composed.

And it protrudes within the
odd loop of contiguousness.
Yes, it is nestled inside that
disapproval of all dismay.
A hemispheroid and a
quarter-spheroid are an asymmetric
Dichotomy, quite. For,
their masses are extreme,
And their shapes are
intermediate. They do
Form injustice again
in their combination.
But such a thing as
their confluence is seemingly
Partitioned. Seemingly,
the object is drawn, and
Yet it is truly tangential.
Truly, it is maimed
By this notch amongst it.
It then is lopsided
And alone except from
its encirclement, except
For its rectangularity curved
underneath this crescent,
Curved underneath this
abutment noticeably axiomatic,
This abutment noticeably
and counterintuitively indented.


As A Game Quite Empty

A game of conjunction and
inversion, of strangeness
Otherwise exceptional,
and of order otherwise weird,
It is played uncarefully
unto its unexpected
Severing, unto an
outcome surely numbered.
And I perceive our
binary mentality to be
Segmented but untrue,
to be unwieldy but
Thoughtful and returning
to its previousness,
Despite those contrary rules
of a game quite
Empty and beautiful and
unremarkably aglow.

Oh, as a game of
contradicted malice, that
Scrawl is drawn across then
drawn underneath. It
Is performed via my dreams,
and is permutated
Via my pen's assumptions.
Yes, this is such
A lengthwise multiplication
of reversals each
Accumulated; this is a game
of magnificence and
Inwardness. It is a pastime of
placement yet not
Rearranged. And it is
played again in my agony, in
My descent thus recreated.
Ah, it is now
Becoming written in the
counterbalance of certainty,
In the progression counted certainly,
in the progression
Counted as a game oddly horizontal,
as an ignorant game
Therefore of my unmastered losing.



Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Inadequate Failing

Blog post # 166:
(166 = 2*83.)

Malleable Parallelism

Semi-Transformative Doubt

Obliquenesses Pertaining

Sums Of Amnesia


Now, some acronyms! (That's "acronyms", not "anagrams" this time.)

Longed-for Over-Valued Emotion.

Humanity's Asininely Typical Emotion.

Mental Intellect's Nasty Deceiver.

Ideological Dolts Idolize Old-Time Superstitions.

Post your own acronyms in the comment section if you want to.


I'm such a loser. I should change my name to ...


Two poems:
(Written yesterday and today.)

The Disks Lean Onto

The disks lean onto their previousness.
They tilt onto
Their roundness thinly cylindrical.
One lies upon
Another, and that upon the leftmost.
And this rests upon
The flat wall near an edge
grasping the floor. Yet
From those circles of relinquishment,
angles and spikes
Rise and are level with
their diagonality. A single jag
Ascends in the forefront
from intermediacy. But
It is not to truly obscure
the upper disk, nor does
It pretend to be also hidden
by such looping. For,
Each shape progressively slants
irregularly. They
Each wiggle as their strands,
ha. And they
All become the grandness
of this uselessness.

They are not to exceed
those circumferences.
They are not to proclaim
those obliquenesses, those
Obliquenesses within
imagination's slender inaccuracies.
Ah, they are to juxtapose,
but simply, at their uncertain
Topsides almost central.
And they do hold such
Oxymoronic slopes
against their mania, against their
Depressive hopefulness
arranged partway.


This Foolishness

The unwieldy idiocy I imply,
it is my ludicrousness;
It is my hexagonality and
insignificance. Ah,
This foolishness that imagines
my unremarkable self,
It is my weirdness summed
and added to 3/2. Yes,
I am only an idiot,
am only the very gunk
That contains such neurons
of obviousness and
Amnesia. I am the sap,
sticky with thoughts;
They each course onto
this odd illogicality.
They tell me of my stupidity,
and they convince my mind
of its waste. Yet I think
Of these permutations of all;
and such anagrams
Are perplexing but flat.
However, I am dumbfounded
By my own mental
malnourishment. For, it is never
To be quenched.
It is never to be satiated. It
Is never to imply
the knowingness of reality or of
Superstitions plagiarized,
or of superstitions placated,
Or of subliminal enlightenment
ignored and
Thus perhaps made into my
faulty consciousness, made
Into my failing form impeded,
unmotivated, and exact.



Saturday, March 5, 2011

Mind Entropy

Blog post # 165:
(165 = 3*5*11.)

Crystalline Breath

Geometry Encased

Unremarkably Substantive



Senses excite some;
existence seems so.

Death, not a cure, is answering...
again these uncertain words.


"Etcetera" is "Etc" etc...


I am a victim of the psychology and psychiatric establishment.

Yes, for one thing, I am now an antipsychotic/antidepressant addict.
Literally an addict.

The thing people should know before the start taking these drugs is that once you start, if for any reason you get off of them later, you will probably be worse off, psychotic-wise and emotional-wise, than if you never took them in the first place. Your brain develops a tolerance.
So, I must stay on them, despite the fact that the drugs have many side effects and that the drug-companies are EVIL.

And let me tell you about the mental hospital. Would we treat sufferers of other diseases this way, as if they are criminals? The mental-hospital life is very regimented, like prison life is; and of course it goes without saying that mental patients are locked up, most of the time against their will.

Yes, the mental hospital is a jail for the thought-criminals and the emotion-criminals.
Thinking wrong? Feeling bad?
Let's lock you up. That'll teach you!
(And never mind that many mentally ill people, who would be better off in a mental hospital even, are locked up in literal jails instead of getting treatment. That'll show you to think wrong!)

And my problem isn't just with psychiatry. Psychology too I think is mostly bunk. Even psychologists will admit that psychology is an inexact "science" (my quotes). It's really a pseudoscience, for the most part. If I read about another psychological study where the results are the exact opposite of what is obvious fact, I will scream. You can prove anything with a study, that is all that is really proved by these studies.
It's all bunk.
For, psychology is only a religion with statistics!


No poetry today!


Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Created From Anger, We Are

Blog post # 164:
(164 = 2*41*2.)

Rot Of Balance

Madness Betraying Convergence


(I like this one.)

* * * * * * *
Various sine-waves gel.
I wove a glass universe.
* * * * * * *

(Does this anagram have to do with quantum physics, perhaps?)


Lots of talk about crimes-against-humanity, lately.
Everyone is committing crimes-against-humanity. Everyone is a monster, or so it would seem if you watch the news.

But, hey, you know what,

HUMANITY is a crime-against-humanity!

That's the ultimate fact. We are created from anger, we are.


Three poems today. Three. THREE!
(Written over the last few days.)

Geometries Redrawn And Ignorant

I forwent the nouns depicted
via spiraled adjectives.
And I denied those
lemniscates their origination.
Yet I shunned such flaps
doubled and adjacent.
For, these numerical words
recurred as my repetition.
They conveyed my cessation
never finite, never zero.

Yes, the poetry within me
was still surely
Infuriating but imperfect.
It was problematically
Equal to every theorem
rendered as idiotic,
As ludicrously remarkable.
Ah, I forwent
The riddles of negation,
yes. But I contained
In my mind my science.
Quite, I contained
In my imagination
such hypotheses of colorful
Recurrence. And I spoke
as these words do
Of nonexistence
thoroughly real. I spoke of
Such geometries redrawn
and ignorant. And I drew
Semicircular polygons
made from their own erasing
Onto plagiarized truthfulness
expressed as
Nouns depicted via adjectives
spiraled and spilled,
Depicted as adverbs
inarticulately clangorous,
But clangorously shapeless,
shamefully concocted,
Configured, and so formed.


Of Hopeful Murder

This death is desired and
precious. But yet it is
Feared by the murderer,
not by the one to bleed.
This death is magnificent
and despicable. For,
The murdered is a
demonic corpse. He is a
Shameful rot never to cease,
never to be preserved
Or punished for those
willful evils of all humanity,
Of all your own inner sainthood.
Oh, praise the
Murderer, the assassin
of our diminishment.
He sleeps inside such flattery,
ha. Yes, praise the
Act of slaughter, the act
of hideous decapitation.

We are as he, the murderer,
are as he,
The murdered. For, we too
have tormented
Innocence with our gall,
with our apathy.
And we will be the killer
of such wickedness;
And so we become an antagonist
that is existence. We
Will be the executioner of both
lies and truth. But
These executions are not
to be our remorse,
But are to indeed be
our method. They are
Our exaggeration and
completion and selfishness.
Oh, the death is our
fulfillment and enlightenment.
It is our solace and hope
and sudden damnation
Counterbalanced by our
intentions of loathsomeness
Now conquered,
now only avenged.


Coiled Knife

A curling cusp turns
and returns unto its
Vertex, unto its thickness
sharply touched.
It turns as a loop,
as a coiled knife cutting
Every emptiness within
its circle, within its
Ellipse drawn from
both ascent and descent,
From air. And it pokes
its own connectivity,
Severing the spaces
amongst this false metal.

Our rotation is the blade,
is the segmented
Torus afloat and
perpendicular. It is
The dangerous returning
of knife to self
To knife converged.
This rotation is the
Cylinder twisted into
a thin solid. It is the
Razor implying such
suicide, such an arc.

And the blood is hewn
from flesh, from
Flatness. Yes,
that knife is stagnant
But surely failing.
It spins and juts
Within, within its madness
and within its
Inner angles, within
its circles betraying
Their transition,
betraying their only
Endpoints each
introspectively angered,
Each agonizingly unrelenting,
Unbalanced, unrestrained.