Thursday, April 28, 2011

Truths Overlapping Lies

Blog post # 184:
(184 = 2*2*2*23.)

Overlapping Divisiveness

Gaping Sidewaysness



And oneiromancy's one lie dims;
as I am only more conned inside.


Oneiromancy (divination via dreams) is the search for truth amongst the lies.

I wonder what is the search for lies amongst the truth, then?
(Could be the search for the "Climate-Gate" smoking-gun emails, perhaps.)


A much worse anagram:

Horrors of it, its thoughts
for hot shit or guts or this.


An anagram puzzle:

"Pow! Round" you go, if you can't make up your mind whether to go ....
(3 words)

(The answer is in the comments to this post.)



(I hate the last email I sent so much,...
I actually RESENT it.)...
har har


A poll: A challenge. Not for everybody.
What time is it kiddies? The time it ALWAYS is:
Time for high-stakes testing!

What is the number of positive integers (in base 10) where each such integer has no two or more digits with the same value?

(For example, we would count the integer 6254109, because each digit is unique; but wouldn't count 726281, because 2 occurs twice as a digit.)

A 172625
B 7267250
C 8877690
D infinity

No cheating!


And what is the one thing people hate more than math!?...

My poetry!

(Written yesterday.)

Wrapped And Overlapped

Wrapped and overlapped,
this torus (a withered ring)
Is thicker before us and is
distantly thin. But upon
Its top, overhanging its
penetration, the flaps flee
And flow and extend
and are outstretched.
Ah, they ascend and
course downwardly within
Such a configuration, but
they do cover and enclose
Their embrace. They do
conceal that circle -- that
Circularity not quite spherical
-- beneath. Yet they
Are opaque and extraneous,
quite. Yes, they are
Of strands and cloth and
knotted diminishment.
Ha, these things curve
closely unto their
Flight, unto their imperfection
perfectly amorphous,
Perfectly of my
thoughtful malformation.

And that wheel underneath
is placed here, then it
Bulges from vain
eggwhite spilled, eggwhite
Round and flat and
mandalic. But above
And abutting, this
pivot is the tangent; it
Is the dissimilarity of
matter and matter.
Yes, wrapped and overlapped
are reality's loops.
And therefore, these truths
are scrawled within every
Obviousness, within every
mathematics. They are clothed
In the tilting of convergence
returning and encased,
Are clothed in the tilt
of fluids and of glass and of
Abstraction ignored, in the
tilt then grasped and held;
For, it is winding, and it
meanders irregularly against
Divisiveness' abrupt proximity.



Tuesday, April 26, 2011

More Fun Than Funnels

Blog post # 183:
(183 = 3*61.)

Today's pictures; made by me over the last few days, of course:

Woven Inside Semi-Coils

Disorder Of Symmetry

Theoretically Specious

(Note the title of the middle picture, "Disorder Of Symmetry", and how its name forms a dichotomy, sort of, with the name of a picture , "Equilibrium Of Asymmetry", from my last post.)


A semi-religious and mathematical anagram:

This Numerator Of Pi
For His Permutation

(Sorry for the religion... and for the math. By the way, pi has no finite numerator. Either its numerator is said to be infinite {eternal}, or it can be said not to exist at all, much like what has been said about God.)


An anagram puzzle:
(I post the answer in the comments of this post.)

Someone might benefit from "clues and clues" if that person ever...
(2 words, 5 letters and 8 letters.)


Bad joke:

What are the lips of an eel shaped like?...

An eel-lips, of course!...


Technological Regression

Okay, back in the old time days, we had what was know as a "telephone". People could talk on it and chat and tell jokes. Plus there was no need for emoticons, because most of the time (although not always, admittedly) people could understand what was meant by what was being said. ... Then some uppity scientists came along and invented "e-mail", which in a lot of ways was actually a step backwards from the telephone. E-mail was nothing more than a glorified teleprinter, after all. (And crude teleprinters predate the invention of the telephone.) Then later some more scientists came along and invented "texting". Texting was much more difficult to type than email, and it was much more expensive for the user to use. Hence, it was another backwards step in technology. Then came along the ultimate, so far, in backwards-marching technology, "Twitter". This was like texting, but with an somewhat arbitrary limit set on the number of characters one could type. So, of course it became an instant hit. What next? Will scientists in all their gall move us backwards yet again as they move us forwards, maybe invent a type of Twitter with an even smaller number of characters allowed, and, oh yeah, you have to type in Morse code? We can only dream of this brave new future so far... but not for long, I bet..


Coming up with math theorems is a lot like reading the celebrity gossip magazines (except that with math there is very little cleavage). When I discover a new math theorem, I see connections that were not obvious. I see truths that relate one thing to another in often unexpected ways. And celebrity gossip is like that too. (I admit, I read my female friend's celebrity gossip magazines on occasion.) You can see who is dating whom, which star is marrying or divorcing which other star, and which stars are in the same upcoming movies together. Yes, genius = stupidity. Who would have ever thought that?


Finally, a poem, written yesterday.

Thus The Funnel Is

A funnel ascends and flares
as it tapers; for, it
Is a strange cone abutting
that rounded triangle.
It indeed foils the
fluids' spilling, and it too
Foils my own percolation
and such purposes, ha.

Thus the funnel is remorseful
of our exaggeration
(As I am also to murder
the youthfulness of my
Own ridiculousness).
But still, this conical tube
Does converge, and
then it condenses these
Droplets into one strand
vertically falling.

Oh, I taste not the drink
flowing within it. Yet
The quenching is poisonous,
and so, it would only
Soothe my hate. Yes,
I am to kill all reality
With my waking.
Then the grand glee
Of water forced inwardly
would deny you
Any of your mirth;
it would deny me
That halted fulfillment
of its wetness or of
Its villainy curved and cursed,
as it is edgewise
Made into this, yes,
a desired but arrogant mishap.



Saturday, April 23, 2011

Unbalanced, Surely

Blog post # 182:
(182 = 2*7*13.)

Dissipation Of Convexity

Equilibrium Of Asymmetry

Distinctive Blandness

(Somebody may like my art in this post anyway, but I myself am less than euphoric about any of it.)


Anagram puzzle!

If you suffer from the "din, scant rest", then you should ...
(2 words separated by a comma, 3 letters and 9 letters)

I publish the answer in comments to this post.


[Dirty! Dirty! Warning! Warning!]

The old man is lamenting, "I keep hearing about these so-called hand-jobs. What are hand-jobs? Hand job, hand job. Is that like ... manual labor?"...


Again the old man laments, "I keep hearing about this 'sexual orientation'. Sexual orientation, sexual orientation. Is that whether the man is on top or the woman is on top?"...


Okay, the poem, and them I am out of here for today. (before I get hit upside the head for my jokes above)

Written yesterday:

Inside Palindromes
And Antipalindromes

Composing the progression
of 1's and 0's, of
Oneness and zeroness
intermingled and interwoven
Unto such lengthwiseness, ah,
I and my counterbalance
Draw both palindromes
and antipalindromes
Within the squares aligned
-- and so we are imagined
By our intent, are imagined
in an obvious game, a game
Surely horizontal and undreamt.
Oh, in that row of
sameness and opposition,
Reflections and rotations are
not to be alphabetical,
But they are numbered
as the flatnesses. And so,
They are labeled as
truth's bifurcating meaninglessness.

Yes, composing the enumerations
minimized yet diminished,
We only compute
our aggrandizing triumphs
And our essences via
the equilibrium of asymmetry, via
The disorder of symmetry
Sustained inside every
ineffectual array, sustained
Inside every palindrome
and antipalindrome
Each finitely extraneous but infinite
There aside those distances,
aside those components
Of circumstantial fulcrums
and their revelations,
And their plural repetitions
aperiodically appended.



Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Thinking Of Tongues

Blog post # 181:
(181 = a prime, perhaps. Never can be too sure with those primes. They're tricky sometimes.)

Artificially Traversed

Neurological Clove


Here's a joke only those who know some math will truly get.

The infinite set of natural numbers is the...


Okay, an anagram related somewhat to the above "joke":

Prime, Cosine, and Nautilus
I see spiral and continuum.


So, I may stay on the internet -- and therefore validate my existence in this universe -- after all. But maybe not, still.
[See my last post for background on this continuing saga.]

Maybe I will continue to have internet, but not have email. Or maybe I will break down and upgrade my operating system and browser so that I can continue to use the same email service I have been using.
But nothing is for certain now.
Stay tuned!... Even if I don't...


Two poems today.
(Written over the last two days.)

Of A Spilled Swirl Spun

The petals of a spilled swirl spun,
they are of both
Flesh and water. Their
imagination is multi-chromatic.
Oh, their thoughts are artificial,
as such shards manmade,
As such dangerous glass
traversing clockwise. And they
Transition through their
smoothness unto their madness.
Yet these fluidic prongs
arc as globs, arc as
Jutting droplets of
threatening juices. Ah, spun
Is the swirling returning within
its lower-right.
But its lower-left is
its fulfillment, is its yolk
And poetry dreamt. Yes,
the counterexamples of
Rotation are swallowed
and exceed entirety.
And nothingness also swirls,
also is as existence.
Yes, these petals of a
churning flower are
Weirdly typical. They
do become their evolution,
Do become that nautilus of
vanity and of circularity
Halved then formed to be
satisfyingly hemispherical.


Tricuspid Clove

A tricuspid clove is there
upon quite the disk.
It is relevant yet perhaps
plagiarized. Dismayed,
Its beauty is both
triangular and spherical,
Is either parabolic or
stagnant but tapering.

Ha, it is maybe of
metal or vegetation.
However, its skin is abrupt
and neurological.
And edgewise is this clove
within us; edgewise
Is this chunk of
madness flatly bulging.

Ah, a tricuspid clove of
oily clockwiseness, it
Exists in intermediacy and
is unexpressed
Here in an inert rotation.
But it tastes
Weirdly acidic, and
it protrudes as such
Crescents. Yes,
it is savory, and it ruptures
Inanimately. Willfully,
its flavor is euphoric
Although bland. For,
it does smell of fluids. It
Does feel of cusps tripled,
surely. It does
Imagine all to be
but a salve;
It imagines everything to be
But unreal and overlapping
as what is vague, as
What is only our
human satiation once culinary.


Stick around! in case I do.


Monday, April 18, 2011

Until The Waning

Blog post # 180:
(180 = 2*3*5*3*2.)

Hollowness Not Aerodynamic

Agnostic Mistakenness

In Metallic Sap

Defiance Of Substructure


A science swirls me till...
semicircles still wane.

(That was an anagram, folks.)


By the way, it should be noted that these next couple posts here will probably be my last ever. For, I am seriously thinking about permanently disconnecting from the internet.
No more of this shit!
FU, internet! You're just a fad... to me, anyway.


Getting crazy... I'm mad at the politicians, mad at the God-Devil.

The politicians and the God-Devil, however,
want me to yell...
so that I'll go to Hell.

(And remember, GOP stands for "God's Only Party"!...)


Let's be sane now...

In my most-likely correct opinion, the closest thing to a "God" in this universe is probably the zero-point energy of the vacuum of space.
Science meets religion.
But in any case, certainly this God of mine is not a conscious being.
And even if It (not "He") was aware, then definitely It doesn't have ANY superpowers, let alone omnipotent powers.
And surely It didn't create the universe.
It IS the universe, however.

But maybe even a diminished god does not exist. They say God transcends all. Maybe God does transcend all, by transcending existence itself.
You see, God is SO great, It/He/She is beyond and outside even the set of all things that exist.

God's holey/holy, you know.


Poem, written today.
(Can you believe that this is by far the best poem I have written since I wrote Odd Id?
{Odd Id sounds like a band-name, or The Odd Ids does, maybe.}
That says a lot about the poor quality of my poetry.)

Linearity Of A Psychotic Backbone

Of an algorithmic edifice, of
such tangential vertebrae,
These loxodromes soothe us,
yet they repulse us, yet
They imply our form
quintessentially quantal.
But it all is the fulcrum of all.
And it
Screams of Hell and
its virtues, yes. Though it still
Scribbles the linearity
of a psychotic backbone.

Yes, it is of that skeleton
made from illusion, made
From algorithms and
their divisors, and their multiples
Each subdivided. Ah,
the organism that is mine
Is calculated, as too is
this zigzagged game.

Yes, I rant regarding
cosmic politics and
Ramble regarding
my ineffectual geometries.
But my vertebrae ascend
and deny their toppling.
Oh, they compute the
defiance of brainstems; they
Compute the genius
of my stupidity, of my
Substructure once added
and ascertained and archaic.



Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Ponder This Consciousness

Blog post # 179:
(179 = a prime.)

My pictures for this post:

Inadequate Viciousness

Submersion Of Balance

Laughable Selfishness


Stupidest anagram first:

As dimensions in prayer
A sinner's noise-pyramid


Fist to head
It's of death.


Anagram puzzle:

If you are thrown in the ocean, it would show "wisdom" if you...
(2 words.)

(I will forego giving the answer, since this is so easy.)


My two poems first, then a numbers puzzle below:
(Written yesterday and today.)

Configuration Of Our Ambivalence

The lower-left curl is
floating above its descent.
It is a semi-spiral contained
in the exaggeration
Of tangents. And it flies,
but hovers,
Before the circularity
beneath and left
Of the halving of this duality.

And the upper-right curl
is slanted; yet its
Thickness is round,
and its cusp is turned
Only once. Oh,
it does not float,
Yet it rises as
such contradiction. Yes,
It bulges as such
semi-spirals counterbalanced
By protrusion,
by equilibrium and exception.

There between them, though,
the strings and strands
Droop and are absurd.
Three spikes of such
Extend unto their sequences.
But there below,
Intermediacy is intermittent.
And a triangle and its
Liquids fall from reality's
one juxtaposition, fall
As flaps, as adroit
summations once mathematical.
Alternating is the configuration
of our ambivalence.
It is positioned within that
leftmost and rightmost
Coiling, within those
still loops, ad infinitum.
Yes, inwardly, the
binary forms cease this
Asserted parameterization.
They cease this
Topological defiance of
bisections, this defiance of
Balance arcing as curls,
arcing as our metaphorical
Configuration's idealistic gimmickry.


Odd Id

An odd id is this limbic corpse.
Such a bulb of
Conjured science contains
its droplet, contains the
Unbent spike jutting
into beneath, unto between.

Oblivious is that grasp
never seeing viscous visions
Of these superstitions or of glass.
But the id is my
Abstinence, and it holds within it
its parallelism; it
Holds within us its
algorithms all ludicrous.

Oh, an id oddly of our
denied minds, it is
Derived via a
pretentious psychology. It is
Derided in its sickness,
and is damned in
Its purposeless flesh.
Yet this anthropomorphism is
Anti-transcendent, indeed.
And it renders those
Fluids damp. For, such knots
of nothingness and of
Imbecilic psychoses are
quite selfish but laughable.

And odd is the id,
despite its conformity. Ha,
Odd are these inexact instincts
of our immaturity;
Odd are these inexact ids
of our entropies becoming
Unthinkably maniacal but
temptingly morbid, becoming
Odd but clangorous,
as do our brains each weird
And methodical or somehow crazed.


A numbers puzzle/solitaire-game:

Make an 3-by-3 grid on paper.

Fill the grid with UNIQUE positive integers, one integer per square of the grid. The numbers need not be consecutively valued necessarily.

Your score is the largest integer m such that integers 1 through m all occur as sums within the grid (without missing any positive integers <=m).

A "sum" is of any number of addends (3, 2, or just 1) that are all *consecutively placed* within a row of the grid or a column of the grid. (No diagonals in this variation.)

So, for example, if we have the following 3-by-3 grid:

2 9 8
3 1 10
7 6 15

...the sums 1 through 19 all occur in this grid. So, I get a score of 19.
(Notice that some values of sums occur more than once.)

For example, the number 4 = the 3 plus 1 in the middle horizontal row. And the number 14 equals the sum of all three terms in the middle row.
And 5 = the 2 plus 3 of the leftmost column.
And the 1 is just the number 1, while the 2 is the number 2, etc.
And 10 occurs as just the 10, and as 3+7 (in left column), and as 9+1 (in middle column).

Note that the addends must be consecutive in the grid, however. 3 + 10 = 13 would not be allowed, because they are separated by the 1 in the middle. (Although, 13 occurs as a sum somewhere else.)

All numbers from 1 through 19 occur as sums. But 20 doesn't occur. That is why I get a score of 19.

You can "play" someone else by both of you trying to score as well as you can on same-sized grids. Just try to outscore your opponent.

Note: I personally scored a 20 with another grid, but someone using a computer scored a 26, which I think is the best score possible.



Saturday, April 9, 2011


Blog post 178:
(178 = 2*89.)

Extrema Thus Interpolated

Exaggeration Of Water


An anagram puzzle!

Even a dumb person might "be smart in" their...

(Answer below.)


The way I see it...

In the beginning, Lucifer created the heavens and the Earth. Then Satan shat upon that Earth; and from that shit came man and woman. Lo, they were made. And man and woman begat, and they and their children and their children's children tormented the Earth for eons. Oh, so it has been and will continue to be.


In my youth I loved to write music and to listen to music and, more so, loved women.
So, I wanted to become a musician, or at least a song-writer, so as to obtain groupies, because there was no hope of me getting a date otherwise.

But now I actually dislike music in general. I only listen to it rarely, and I don't write songs hardly ever any more. I don't even own any CDs.

I have thought that maybe I should become a musician anyway, especially since the only hope I have of being loved by a woman is to play or write music.

Maybe the fact I dislike music can be my gimmick.
A musician who hates music! Come and see (and hear) the freak!


Poem, written yesterday:

The Arc Almost Possible

Almost an arc of
billowing geometry, almost a
Crescent of glassy reverberation
(a crescent of
Eruption and weirdness
curving upwardly then
this loxodrome within our sky
Is oddly aperiodic,
despite its
Thorough trigonometry.
And it is
Chunky and chaotic
amongst its cliches. Yet
Its winding is itself
spun into such an arc,
Into such an ascent
and descent once realistic,
Once real.
This thing is colorfully
A semicircle thickly knotted
and intermediately
Strung. However,
its extrema are internal,
And its interpolation
is serpentine. Yes, its
Roundness continues
and is interwoven with that
Madness. But the arc
is almost possible.
It is almost ambivalent
regarding its shape,
Regarding its unlikely refraction,
regarding its
Unlikely defiance
surely unbalanced, surely
Malformed, but thusly suffered
via its churning,
Via that progression
of its wayward adequacy.


Anagram puzzle solution:




Thursday, April 7, 2011


Blog post # 177:
(177 = 3*59.)

Sleep Then Imagined

Rigidity Spilled


Stupid anagrams:

Everything is souls.
Give yours this lens.


Peculiar trendy pi


Anagram puzzles!

1) What kind of wager is it where you "bet a soul"?

2) Who serves up "shit tea" to the Tea Partiers during any debate they might have?
The ___________.

(Answer at bottom of this post.)

If there is something you REALLY don't want to do, you can say,
"I'd rather eat Chinese-made bologna!"...


This Bug Without Matter

This bug is subtly without matter,
is without mind or
Torso or impracticality.
But its wings are bidirectional.
Ah, it wings do lie both
forwardly and backwardly, and
They are transparent but colorful,
Are but ludicrously aloft.

Oh, this bug's lift is
insignificant and paradoxical.
Yes, it rises and does not
transit such permutations.
The bug is stagnant,
despite its levitation, however.
Yet it flees the
ground's injustice, and then it
Becomes its own falling.
And upwardly, this insect
Creates light and space
from illogical science, ha.
But the bug clings to
the arcs and crescents
About it, amongst its
nonexistent limbs. Yes,
It is not of any species
or classification, nor is
The bug wrapped in
its imagined thoughts. For,
It flies then tires
unto its sleep. Then it is
Imperfect; then it is
but a bug impaired by its
Unexpected and
intellectually vicious


Anagram answers:

1) absolute
2) atheist



Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Vile Tangle

Blog post # 176:
(176 = 2*2*11*2*2.)

Inadequate Periodicity

Often Yet Never

Excessive Supposition



All Positive
At love I slip.

(That wasn't too clever, but get the following one...)

All Negative
A Vile Tangle


I don't care about anyone anymore. It has truly become too painful to be concerned for all the people and animals who are suffering in this evil world.
There is just too much suffering -- and so it has become easier for me to pretend that no one else even exists. This IS all an illusion, right?
There is just too much villainy and sadism, also. There is no possibility that this evil exists; it resembles too much a dystopian fantasy, an angry fiction written by madpeople.

Anyway, remember. If you are suffering, I don't care about you.
You don't exist.
You don't exist.


Poem. (Written yesterday.)

Semicircular Wheel

This semicircular wheel is
to spin just inwardly
Unto a distance somewhat
halved. Yes, it is to spin
Only into a length quite minimal.
And then it is
To die despite the promise
once of its progression.
Ah, its optimism was as
its emotion, was as its
Circularity mistakenly hoped
to be entire. It
Thus will rotate simply
then cease, not to
Live such a course
otherwise elongated. No,
This semicircular wheel
must pivot in its
Fraction, then it will never
more flow as
Wheels often have.
Yes, it is diminished and
Doubtful and denies the
psychoses of its shape. But
That wheel may fulfill
its suicide, however. It
Perhaps will be grand
within its half turn,
Within its malformation
made thorough, made
Semicircular but unbalanced
by this halting,
By this halted asymmetry,
by this nonconformity
Unsustained and repressed,
by this nonconformity
Truncated and yet
magnificently excessive, supposedly.



Saturday, April 2, 2011

Revelation Relatively Of Realities

Blog post # 175:
(175 = 5*7*5.)

Obtusely Round

Untouched Ascension

Reality Only Ambivalent


First, poll results.

Question: Which of these is your favorite emotion?

9 votes total.

Happiness wins with 3 votes.
Love and concern get 2 votes each.
Hate and sadness get 1 vote each.
Anger, fear, hope, and apathy each get 0 votes.
And, oh yeah, humor gets no votes too.
*Because I didn't include it as a choice!*
(So, suck this, humor-lovers. I only accidently forgot to include humor.)

As for the emotions anger, hate, and sadness; if these emotions make you happy, does that mean you like anger/hate/sadness or like happiness more??


Anagram about The End:

If universe hot...
Eve of this ruin.


Initialism inspired by real events:

Controlling It All


Okay, finally a poem (written yesterday):


In 2/3 of a sphere cut inwardly,
an inadequate loop
(Made into partial string)
completes its circle.
Yet that circle is diminished
by the space within
Such a hole, is diminished by
the gap intersecting
Sphere from string.
And again, a smaller loop
Does not abut the
intermediacy before it. But it
Protrudes through the
emptiness inside the previous
String's enclosure. It
passes into the simplicity
And is knotted upon
its completion. Oh, then
There is a string held by void;
and beyond that,
A string also held so.
And the 2/3 sphere is afloat
Above a tabletop;
yet the table is ambivalent.
Yes, the table ascends
as the room too flies,
Flies in its rising from
our earth never in
Cosmic juxtaposition.
Only gravity is the
Strings between us each.
Only electromagnetism
Is the connectivity of
our atrocities, of our
Existences cut inwardly,
cut circularly,
Our existences held
(by void) but untouched.