Monday, September 26, 2011

Oh, I Am Chasms

Blog post # 231:
(231 = 3*7*11.)

Approximate Nonexistence


Unfulfilling Lapse


Mathematics Without Vowels


Molten Thirst


Into An Interwoven Allegory


----------------------------

Dumb anagrams:


Nihilism sees.
=
Is in lies' mesh.

--

Ah, masochism.
=
Oh, I am chasms.

-----------------------------

No poetry! I hate poetry. Screw it all.

-----------------------------

Leroy

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The One Solace

Post # 230:
(230 = 2*23*5.)

A couple crappy pictures:
(I like the last post's pictures better.)

Undone And Undergone


Extraneous Absence


Unreal Pathology


Problematic Sanity


Certainty's Curiosity


--------------------------------

No anagrams today. No poetry.


I am failing. I am falling, descending.
My dreams are all dead, and I might as well be so myself soon.
The truth of anything is unknown to all of us. We are all delusional. We are all idiots. Our future is our doom, our damnation.

Nothingness is the one solace.
All else should only be greatly feared.

--------------------------------

Leroy

Friday, September 16, 2011

Loser's Awe

Blog post # 229:
(229 = a prime, I think.)

Although Not Asymptotic


Anomalously Sometimes


Imagined Forethought


Awaiting Stillness


-------------------------------

Just an anagram, then I am out of here.

Loser's Awe
=
Slow Erase

-------------------------------

Leroy

Monday, September 12, 2011

The Falling

Blog post # 228:
(228 = 2*3*19*2.)

Slivers Of Shards Of Flatness


Of Partiality Known


Oblique Balance


Horrible Enlightenment


-----------------------------

Anagram:

Sliced out
=
Lies do cut.

-----------------------------

I shouldn't write about 9-11, since almost everyone has had something to say about it. But I will.

I first heard about the attacks while I was taking a shit. Really. I was at a friend's house, and one of her roommate's told the other about the planes hitting, and I heard about it through the bathroom door. Later, the fact I first heard about the attacks while taking a shit seemed to be so appropriate, given what happened to America as a direct result of this "terror".

The morning of the attacks, before I heard about them, I wrote a poem about enlightenment. Now, this seemed later to me to be very INAPPROPRIATE, since America and much of the world had just entered an era of deception, an era we still have yet to exit, if we ever do.

I remember watching one of the buildings collapsing on TV. I didn't know if it was live or taped, but I told my friend as I watched it that the collapse was simultaneously one of the most beautiful and ugly things I have ever seen. Had I known that more than a 1000 people were in the building at the time, I likely would have felt it to be more of an ugly thing than a beautiful one. But whatever.

In the months before the attacks, I often wrote misanthropic poetry about the vileness and evil and sadism and cruelty of humanity. The attacks greatly confirmed my feelings.
However, in the days right after 9-11, Americans seemed to try to be nicer to each other. People from around the world showed their support for Americans.
But soon, my misanthropic feelings were confirmed again. Almost all Americans wanted blood. The Bush administration soon rushed to war. I knew that many innocent Afghanis, who were no more guilty for what happened to us than the very people killed in the attacks themselves were, would soon be murdered by America in my name. Next, to only compound the injustice, America rushed to war with another country that didn't even attack us. Lies were told. And the meager opposition to this unjust war was greatly marginalized and demonized.

American politicians on the right especially seemed almost ecstatic we were attacked on 9-11, since this meant that they could take cynical political advantage of the events for their own purposes. Over the next decade human rights have been violated, people have been tortured, many people have been surveilled without justification. It is no wonder many believe that the Bush administration was actually behind the attacks. The administration sure acted like it.

We may never recover from 9-11. America is no longer nearly as free as it used to be, not even close.
Trillions of tax dollars have been spent on this new military and security state. Meanwhile, America is crumbling.

I hate what we have become. The bigotry, the authoritarianism.
My misanthropy has only been confirmed repeatedly in the last decade. Greatly.

America fell like the towers on 9-11. Indeed. I'm sick of hearing about the "human spirit" over the last few day. Human beings do not deserve such praise. And you know what, we most certainly never ever will.

-----------------------------------

Poem, written 3 days ago:

Within That Awkward Wrapping
-----------------------

These semicircles amass
and configure as
A lumpy annulus of
wondrous overlapping.
And again, they are
slivers of shards of
Flatness. Yes, they
are propped unto this
Exception and are
thus protruding, quite.
The ring, however,
is somewhat of slabs.
And it punctures
its perpendicularity
Otherwise dull,
otherwise unlikely. Yet
These semicircles are
torn and placed
Into counterintuitive
counterclockwiseness
To be surely still and
stranded about their
Surreal rotation.
And they assume
To seem, and they
seem to curve
Within that
awkward wrapping.
Ah, such segmentation
is our conjoining.
It is our assemblage
sometimes never so.

-----------------------------

Leroy

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Unjust Truth

Blog post # 227:
(227 = a prime.)


Dire Relinquishment


Anger Frightened By Dreams


Euphoria Despised


Threatening Hallowedness


-------------------------------

A very appropriate anagram:


Vain Elite
=
In Evil Tea

-------------------------------

One poem, written today:


Injustice Is
--------

Injustice is demanding
of our thirst. But
We still adore its parables
and ridiculousness.
Ah, injustice is both
our memory and superstition.
And it fools and fails
our pathos as it damns us,
As it becomes our stupidity
quite narcissistic.

Yet we admire such illusions
of hallowedness.
We admire these
vile invocations of all.
And injustice negates
the truthful transcendence
That might have been
our remorse, ha. It
Then is tempting
but threatening. And it
Soon deprives us of
any equation, deprives us of
Any apparitions or
mathematics therefore justified.

---------------------------

Leroy

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Solitary Emptiness

Blog post # 226:
(226 = 2*113.)

Inept Slander


Aside From Infinitesimals


Violent Blandness


Displaced Crescendo


-------------------------------

Anagrams:


Tough Failures
=
His Future Goal

--

See Balloon
=
As Lone Lobe

--------------------------------

One poem, written today:

Its Fangs Oddly Not Of Teeth
---------------------

Solitary emptiness is hewn
from the concavity of
This partial sphere. Oh,
in the mouth among us,
A bulb ascends into
displaced crescendo, yes.
And again, the one cusp
equals that lip. Its
Angle is both vertical and
oblique, yet it obscures
Failing void with its protrusion,
with its breath.

For, here are these
two knives within. They
Are dissimilar but askew.
They rise from
Their floating unto
attachment. And the mouth
Is to dream of its shards,
of its fangs
Oddly not of teeth.
Throughout this jutting,
Thoughts do become
such a teratoma, do become
Such beautiful superstition
overtly chewed.

------------------------------

Leroy

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Wretched Futility

Blog post # 225:
(225 = 3*5*5*3 = 15*15.)

Strangely External


Vindictive Temptation


Defiance Refuted


----------------------------

An anagram:

Cylinders coil.
=
Ids only circle.

----------------------------

Two poems, written yesterday and today:

Asinine Death
----------

Death is weirdly wrapped
about my torment.
And its evil dream encases me,
permeates me.
But I will soon die and fail.
I will be
Vanquished from all
transcendence. Yet
Asinine death will be
my violation. In this
Rape, I will be eviscerated
by every obscenity.
And virtue will betray me,
quite. Death,
However, will be
my enslavement. It is
To become its hatred
for me, for us. And
It will destroy us
and our purposes, yes.
Oh, death is the victor
of our destiny.
It is the damnation
we fear and the
Futility we vindicate.
Ah, death is
Its sicknesses and its poisons
each implied
By the extremes of
our ignorance. And its
Triumphs are eternal;
its temptations
Are fluid within our corpses;
its injustices
Are insistent and hideous
and nihilistically rotten.

--------------------------

Wretched Geometries
----------------

Wretched geometries
enshroud my thoughts,
Then they puncture me sadly.
But they demand
My fear, and they
deceive my suffering.
Yet in their negation,
they are conjured.
But such shapes never
refute their denial.
They surely endure
that calm, however. Ah,
Those wretched geometries
are my suicide.
They are my
meaninglessness maligned. Yes,
I am only inferior within them.
I am
Their illusion and
their stupidity both
Soon to repulse me
amorphously, defiantly.

-----------------------------

Leroy

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Wondrous Condemnation

Blog post # 224:
(224 = 2*2*2*2*2*7.)

Themselves Almost Stale


Worsening Godliness


Haunting Obliviousness


Narcissistic Minima


---------------------------------

No anagrams today.
I do have poll-results, though.

Question: Which of these do you hate most?

"Injustice" wins with 5 votes.
"Deception" comes in next with 3 votes.
"Stupidity" gets 1 vote.
"Crookedness", "Disease", "Bad Luck", "Violence", and "Hatred" each get 0 votes.

----------------------------------

Two poems today, written yesterday and today.

Of The Oculus With Occlusion
-------------------

It is not an eye
within this sphere. It is
A hole of colors
all descending beneath it.
And before that egg-like thing,
a smaller sphere
Of transparent glossiness
hovers upon the right.
But it too obscures
such imagination. It too is
The eclipse of
ambiguous haunting. Oh, inside
All juxtaposition of
the oculus with occlusion,
Never are these paradoxes
to invoke their illusion.
But the geometry itself
is misinterpreted, yes.
And it is not an eye,
yet it is seen again
By its own vantage.
Ah, in the purple
And yellow and cyan,
this conjugation is
Formed from its obliviousness.
But it remains
Blind and asleep, quite.
And it becomes such a
Wound of our swirling,
becomes such a gash
Of our utmost observation.

-------------------------------

Of Our Condemnation
----------------

Of our condemnation,
we are quiet and despised.
Oh, in our hateful annihilation,
we will be
The very evil we suffer.
Yet our ignorance and
Atrocity is the damnation
we are to excrete.
Yes, of our condemnation,
we vanish within
Such minima. And
that evil is to become
A dream of falsehoods
and their
Authoritarianism.
We have been cursed
From the sins of
our tormentors. Thus
We are surely to die
in blindness and horror.
We are to be destroyed
by that unjust resentment.
And we are to be
murdered by the idiocy
Of all minds.
We are then to be
Condemned, are then
to be but only bigots,
Are to be but only fools
of this narcissism
We concede to our
unworthiness itself incapable.

--------------------------

Leroy

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Coming Hell

Blog post # 223:
(223 = a prime, maybe.)

Illusion Of A Curlicue


Imprecise Nuance


Something Intermediate


Insistent Poison


Extroversion Invoked


-----------------------------

No anagrams or poetry today. Screw that.

My mood is better. But I still feel hopeless whenever I have small moments of sanity.
This is the fact: Either you are totally depressed and anxious, or you are totally psychotic.
Anyone with any intelligence at all and who knows the facts has NO hope for our future.
We ARE doomed.

Well, the most evil people amongst us aren't doomed. They will do quite well, thank you.

But anyone with any sense of justice will be rounded up and tortured in the coming world.

Society has already achieved a dystopian state, I know. (With the bad economy, overreaching surveillance, wars based on lies, mass-stupidity, grave injustices, nuclear accidents, etc, etc.) But things are about to get much worse, infinitely worse.

Then we will all kill ourselves, and then go to Hell for doing so.

-------------------------------

Leroy

Friday, August 19, 2011

Hopeless

Blog post # 222:
(222 = 2*37*3.)

Madness Withheld


Pathos Secreted


Inflected Levitation


Radioactive Tangle


Concavity Unremembered


(You can tell I was depressed when I made these, probably.)

----------------------------

Only one anagram today:

Plural I times.
=
As multiplier

----------------------------

I woke up last night freaked out and crying (and I am not one to cry).
I know there is no hope for the future. Things will only get worse and worse and worse.

The economy will totally collapse (it has just begun to). Climate-change will reach its tipping-point. There will be more wars based on lies. There will be more terrorism (also based on lies). There will be unprecedented disease and famines. There will be super-surveillance and mind-control. We will run out of energy. Fascism and genocide will run rampant world-wide.

Here in the US, the best we can hope for is that Obama is reelected, which is horrible because he has been almost as bad as Bush in so many ways. But almost all the Republicans running for president would be INFINITELY worse than GW Bush as president. Many of them would impose a far-right theocracy in America, where homosexuals and children who talk back to their parents and people who cuss are rounded up and killed. For certain, progressives (and atheists and and Muslims and Jews who don't convert to evangelical Christianity) will be literally rounded up and done away with. But Obama has pissed off so many Americans, I think ANYONE could beat him, no matter how frightening and evil they are.

I have no hope.

--------------------------

Poem, written today:

In The Concavity Of My Sadness
--------------------

Inside the eclipse, inside
this ellipsoidal illusion
Of cones and circles and space,
there, a partiality
Is transcendent but hopeless.
And I too am
Empty. I too fear
the inevitability of an
Asinine fate.
For, inside that glob of void
And glassy superstitions,
I am withheld; I am
Afloat within such amnesia,
within such
Determinism. Oh,
inside the shadows each
Inept, I dwell
in the concavity of
My sadness.
And here I am oblivious but
Mentally afraid.
Yet in my stranding, I endure
The geometries.
Yet in my strangeness, I
Perish and then am uncertain;
then I hide
Inside an eclipse unremembered,
thus drowned,
Thus hated.

------------------------------

Leroy

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Fatal Becoming

Blog post # 221:
(221 = 13*17.)

Audaciously Unidirectional


Unsubstantially Massive


Fatalism Slanted


Sad Grandiosity


---------------------------------

Anagrams:


Spit rays
=
It sprays.

--

Turning a cool wicked screw
=
Drawing counterclockwise

--

Mortal stone shouts hate...
=
as lost hot meteor haunts.

--------------------------

Two poems, written yesterday and today.
The second one ("Unobtained Butterfly") reflects the way I feel today.

Fiery Stone
-----------

Slanted, the fiery stone
is mortal. Yet
It fulfills its thunder,
and it fails its
Carelessness.
But its explosion is eternal.
And its hatred is whole.
It flows, yes, from
The upper-left unto
such slanting, unto such
Tilted space.

And it is implied by
its oneness. For, as that
Spherical truth, it is
both dangerous and endangered.
But it slants, ha,
within its descent, within
Its fall otherwise entwined.
However, it is quite
Unequal to its own inertia.
Yet its poison
Is this damnation;
it is this injustice becoming
All fate, becoming
all fatality of sorrow and
Flame and forcefulness
thus made in these
Geometries' fantastic colliding.

-----------------------------

Unobtained Butterfly
----------------

Death implies its psychoses.
It encircles and retakes
Our sorrow, yet it becomes it.
And death has
Rendered this larva
amongst a sad cocoon as
Nothing. Surely, death
has denied the bug its beauty
Otherwise to be.
Ah, the butterfly is nonexistent,
Yes. And its abstinence
is its loss. For, never
Are such wings to
transcend their grandness.
Never is the redemption
of this insect to
Obtain its realization.
No, the caterpillar has died.
And its silk and sickness
are its only solace.
Perhaps that lepidopteran
was to achieve its
Godliness. But it failed.
Yes, it has unjustifiably
Been betrayed by
its mortality. It has wrongly
Been frustrated by its fate,
despite its irradiance,
Despite its apparition
almost its destiny. And
It is of emptiness now, quite.
It is but finite
And diminished and
demented and tritely lacking
In its sleep; it is lacking
in its dreams forgotten,
In its life unexpressed
and viciously stilled.

----------------------------

Leroy

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Perpendicular Globs Slide

Blog post # 220:
(220 = 2*11*5*2.)

Geometry Undergone


Partway Irreconcilable


Counterclockwise Archetype


------------------------------

The anagram for today:


Perpendicular globs slide.
=
Or spilled cube angles drip.

------------------------------

Poll!

Which of these do you hate most?:

Injustice
Crookedness
Disease
Stupidity
Bad Luck
Deception
Violence
Hatred

-------------------------------

Or maybe you hate my poetry most!

One poem, written today:


Violent Semicircle
--------------

Halved is this
irradiant process:
outwardly
Unto only the right.
And it is a violent
Semicircle; truly. But
its globs are projected
As such injustice, as
such hatred wronged by
Everything. Oh,
that imbalance is divisive
And imagined, yes.
Yet its gloss is made from
Crescents, from archetypes.
It is propelled
In severed rotation partway
and thus
Sideways and therefore
weirdly but uglily.

Halved is this spray,
is this spit of quite
An explosive crookedness.
Then it flees
Into counterclockwise
nonexistence, ha.
It flies very
asymmetrically, and so
It is bent by its
unusualness. And so
It is lost to its reality;
it is lost
To its inequalities
each protruding
Divergently and
irreconcilably as these
Finite hemispheres
of our differing,
Of our careless biases
(maybe halved).

----------------------------

Leroy