Incorrectly Real

Blog post # 95:

3 pictures, made over the last 4 days:

Limbic Arrhythmia


Irrelevant Asymptotes


As An Introverted Corpse



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So, the latest poll-results are in.

Question: Do you think that your existence is more likely to be mostly real or completely an illusion?

"Mostly real " received 5 votes.
"Completely an illusion" received 4 votes (2 votes of which were my own).

Mostly real wins! Which means people have been suckered by The Dream.

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A little politics.
(psst. whisper- warning warning - whisper.)

First, with all the BS being spouted by fake political "movements" such as the Tea Party, I just got to say:
It's all a bunch of BULL MOVEMENT....

Bull movement -- noun.
1) Bowel-movement from bulls.
2) Something that is false or incorrect.
3) A political movement based upon false beliefs.

---

F*** the "2-party system" in America!

Every single election, if there is more than only one choice anyway, the choice is ALWAYS between:

[x] The candidate who is PUREST EVIL.
And
[x] The other candidate who is INFINITELY WORSE!

(Don't forget to choose only one, now now!)

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Okay, a poem. Sorry. (I wrote this yesterday.)

Game Of Illegible Machines
--------------------------

Initially -- these edges are made into numbers.
Then those integers are shaped into substance.
Oh, we concocted the prisms from arpeggios
And inflection and reflection... But refracted
Was their overlapping. And we described
The un-alphabetized sequences of consecutive
Amplitudes thus existing. And again in this game
Of illegible machines, we collected our
Subsets from origination and juxtaposition.

Oh, we explained those processions as if
They could not halt, as if their infinitude
Was adjacent to their ceasing. Initially
And henceforth, these weird prepositions and
Predicates were concurrent in increments.

But we did neither obtain nor create
Such enumeration. For, it was
Formed from truncation and abruptness, yes.
It was formed from magic and music and
From phrasing otherwise sudden. And those
Prisms were wondrously scribbled as vowels.
But the consonants were numerical. Yes, they
Were illegible as sour games, each labyrinthine
Upon an oxymoronic abacus surely informative.

----

Every poet is his/her own biggest fan. But I actually hate my own poetry. So, you all must REALLY hate my poetry! F*** you. I will keep posting some of it anyway.

---------

Leroy

Labyrinth-ia Minora

Blog post # 94:

Made recently:

Aperiodically Asserted


Vicinity Of Sigmoids


Looming Extrapolation


Violent Refraction


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[Note: I have just come up with a dirty anagram. I am warning you all if you are easily offended, I put it at the end of this blog-post.]

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Here is a very short number poem:

(4-3)-2-1-(5-3)-2-6-5-
(4-3)-(4-3)-6-(4-1-3)

-

Speaking of number poems: I have said before that solving a math problem, and coming up with a mathematical proof, is a lot like solving a maze. (Many possible paths, some leading to dead-ends, etc etc.)
But creating a mathematical proof is also like writing a poem.
Line-by-line, all that follows in a proof is derived from what went before.

And if A = B, and B = C, then A=C. So, maybe writing a poem is like solving a maze.
At each step in the process, you can have plural possibilities to choose from. Which choices you make determine the ultimate shape of your path through the literal labyrinth.

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Okay, a WORD poem I wrote today. (Then as promised, a dirty anagram! Stay tuned.)

[This poem is based on the picture above, "Looming Extrapolation", somewhat.]

Tangentially Detrimental
--------------------------

As a triangular square, this squarish triangle formed
The one isolated and imperfect corner of iridescent
Wood, of violent glass. Yes, it is but a theoretical
Shard coming unto its orthogonal cusp centered.

And as a flow of feathers and imagination,
From that central jag came refracted colors of
Ambivalent amplitudes, of certain flatness.

Oh, as a spiraled ghost, emptiness turned and
Narrowed to be near this vertex. Yet such
Vicinities were upwardly placed as clouds, as stars.

Ah, the shadows beneath were unimpressive. But
Drawn within these loops of duplication, I saw
The visions die and the geometries resurrect. As
An existential sleep, we traversed the
Parameters of human dreams. And as our
Equilibrium -- it is thrust through time -- we were
Triangular; we were squarish. For, such injustice
Is our blame and our shapely analysis: Disembodied,
Diagonally tired, tangentially detrimental.

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[Warning: Dirty anagram!
Warning! Dirty anagram!]

I just whipped this up in little time just a few minutes before posting.

I EAT MOIST LASS.
=
IT STEAMS AS OIL.

(Okay. Okay. So that didn't live up to expectations. Sorry. But what if I did not give the warning, then all of you were confronted by my anagram? What if you were a puritan? What then?)

----

Leroy

Laterally Nonexistent

Blog post # 93:

Equilateral Perfume


A Fluid Configuration


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Here are some words I associate with truth:

Science. Mathematics. Theorems. Conjectures. Logic. Paradoxes. Everything. Nothingness. Matter. Space. Time. Universe. Uncertainty. Ambivalence. Coincidence. Transcendence. Existence. Hallucinations. Imperfection. Information. Intelligence. Wisdom. Stupidity. Consciousness. Solitude.

Notice I didn't say "love" or "hatred". That is because love and hate are almost always based on false assumptions.

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Here is an anagram:

EVIL USES BLAB
=
BIBLE'S VALUES

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Here is a riddle.

What color is the ozone?

(Answer after poem below.)

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[Poetry Alert! Poetry Alert!]

(Wrote this today.)

Complicated Wedges
-------------------

Instilled within these distillates, a complicated
Wedge lies against adjacency, against arrogant
Reality placed flatly. And yet this thickened
Triangle is dull and opaque. It weighs of
Its imperfection quite ideal. And it is simply
Horizontal and directed rightward. It is
Surely coarse but smoothly cut from coils
And clay and matter.

Beside that and above it, placed sideways onto
Its flow, oh, a complicated wedge, secondly,
Grasps the first; and then it thinks of
Configurations. And, yes, these two forms are
Angular and congruent. Oh, they each do
Transpose -- via direction and rotation and
Their dimensions -- against and into such
Counterpoint. Ah, this compromise of the
Drama made from stagnancy, it is aware
Of these amalgams and isotopes unanimated.
Yet the wedges cease their composition.
And they again are laterally nonexistent, as
Are those distillates solidly passive, solidly
Coincidental and exactingly reactive, particularly.

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Riddle answer:

The O-Zone is O-Range, of course!

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

Leroy

Off-Center

Blog post # 92:

Not much today.

An Alkaline Syllable


Cater-Cornered Causality


Placement Of Radii


Transcendent Tapering Overwhelmed


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[Politics Alert! Politics Alert!]

I'm such a "bleeding-heart" progressive,...
that I am a member of the TEAR Party!...
Boo hoo hoo, whine whine whine.

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[Poetry Alert! Poetry Alert!]
(Written yesterday.)

Of Disks Upon Disk
-------------------

Off-centered is the center of that loop, is
The middle of that asymmetrical lemniscates,
A hole, a partition.
It swallows the depth of this thick disk. And
It swirls as to its hollowness within both
Circumferences and radii, within that mess.

Oh, within that imperfect flame abutting all,
There the imagined vagueness is quite such
Colorful and laterally flowing ejecta.
And it encloses the disk that encases the hole.
Yes, it supersedes its superstition; yet it is
Surely surreal in its arrogance.

And the fire is 3/4 round. Its completion is
Tapered and flaring. But in this circle, the
Disk is obtained from its duplication --
Twice these lines curve into loops, into holes
And steam and origination. Yes, upwards
Then surrounding, this object appears as a face,
As a caricature of nothingness expressed. Ah,
In the placement of disks upon disk, their
Thicknesses explode. And the emptiness defined
Via an asymmetrical lemniscates, it is yet
Horizontal. But it spins diagonally, and it
Descends vertically, and it burns as gaseous air
So as to seep, so as to sip only stone and mud
And their tempered permutations.

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

Leroy

Mean Dream

Blog post # 91:

Pictures I made since I last spoke to you all:

Contiguous Vagueness


Mentally Illegible


Each Entropic Dream


Gyroscope Demeaned


(Forgive my unoriginality.)
--------------------------

Is it selfish to not care about other people at all, but only because you think you are dreaming reality and they don't even exist?
I mean, I suspect it is possible that reality is real, and that those people I hear about in the news who are suffering are real. But I also suspect that I am just dreaming, and that those people who are suffering don't even exist.
On the off-chance that this is real, then maybe I should be concerned for those who suffer.
But if this is an illusion -- and I highly suspect that it is -- then all that really matters is if I myself suffer. Who cares about some illusionary people?

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On the above note, let me go over the next poll question: Simply: Do you think that your existence is more likely to be mostly real or completely an illusion?

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Speaking of polls, let me go over the results of my last poll. One person picked red. One person picked green. Three people picked bluish green. And two people picked reddish purple. But about those results... When I first voted for reddish purple, it marked my vote as bluish green. I know for a fact that two people at least voted for bluish green. And I was able to vote for reddish purple twice. So what I suspect are the REAL numbers are: One for red; one for green, two for bluish green; and one for reddish purple, which is my vote.
In any case, bluish green probably wins.

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I really really don't want to have children. I hate humanity so much, and why would I want to be the father of yet more assholes?
And since I don't want to get a vasectomy (ooo, gross!), I am glad I can resist my urges to have sex.
I am really lucky about being able to resist my sexual urges, indeed. Because some people can't: Like those men who kidnap young women, rape them, kill them, then cannibalize them. Yeah, I'm glad.

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One last thing: The worst for last. A poem! (Written today.)

A Congruent Curl
-----------------

A congruent curl, a translucent swirl; tilting,
Bulging, spinning, propped in its balance; quite
A gyroscope encircled by metaphorical loops, by
Glass made from mud... Oh, it flatly protrudes
And then exists. Its meaning is in its
Meandering. And its meaninglessness is in the
Tantrums of truth's ghosts. Ah, it flies but does
Not flutter. And it floats, but it does not
Flow or sip the fluids of this graceful drink.

It demeans its dimensions, the angles drawn by
Those conclusions of everything. And it turns,
Yet it interpolates its mind as a bulb; and it
Intersects its focus with its fulcrum upon
The one center of intermediacy. Oh, and so
The form levitates curvaceously. But it thinks
Of shape. It thinks of mathematics otherwise
Real, otherwise ascending and geometric and
Vertical within the diagonality of diagonals
Becoming torqued, becoming a congruent curl
Oblately winding, obviously wispy,
Offensively and oddly wrought by the pleasures
Of breath and grandiosity.

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

Leroy

Willingly

Blog post # 90:

Aesthetic Screaming


An Imprecise Fist


Troika Of Loci


An Aperiodic Sphere


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I have only one item today.

The question: Do we have free will?
(Or are wills selling at 2 for the price of 1, at best?)

I would suspect that the answer is most likely "no".
Because every little action or thought we engage in is motivated by outside influences, I would guess.

I am thinking that free will exists only if the soul exists. We need our souls -- each the essence of the individual -- to be the un-manipulated motivation for our actions and thoughts, if free will is real. I guess what I am trying to say is, how can there be free will if we don't act and think from our own individuality anyway?

But I find the existence of the SPIRITUAL soul to be somewhat offensive to an agnostic/atheist such as myself.

So, what would be the next best thing to free will if we do not possess souls?

I think this would be the ability to act randomly.

Quantum physics does allow for perfect actual randomness unaffected by any outside influences, luckily.
(Ha, perfect randomness is lucky...)
If the mind, the brain, incorporates quantum physics when constructing consciousness, then maybe, maybe, perfect literal randomness may be one of many motivations for our actions and thoughts.

But I guess I wonder if it is possible to use this randomness in a way that IS influence by one outside (inside) thing: the most individual nature of one's own mind.

But if I act crazy because my mind has a chemical imbalance, and my mind has a chemical imbalance because the CIA fed me LSD years ago, then acting according to only the nature of my mind and randomness is NOT free will. The CIA is behind my actions, even if only tenuously.

So, I must dig deeper to find that part of me that is not influenced by outside forces.
Where is it? Must the soul exist for there to be true individuality?

Or can I construct pure individuality from randomness alone?

Your thoughts? (Hopefully your OWN thoughts...)

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

Leroy

Cheers

Blog post # 89:

Jaggedness Betrayed


Thus A Blurry Integer


Regarding Exaggeration


Thicknesses And Thinnesses


Of these four pictures (made over the last 4 days), I myself mostly appreciate the bottom two. (Which is another way of saying that I least like the top two.)

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Okay, in my last post to this blog I was sad. Now I have the antidote to sadness in this blog-post!

You know what I found helps me with sadness, such as a broken heart? Surprisingly, it is mocking my own sadness. Like singing fake violin music and going, "Boo hoo, little Leroy[your own name here] is so SO sad, poor poor him," in a mocking and sad baby-talk voice. This gives you control over your emotions, I think is why it worked for me after a women rejected me. I haven't tried it yet in regards to other things I have been sad about, but now I will. Also, I liked listening to some old blues when I was going through that heartbreak -- so this standby does indeed help, too.

Just thought I would spread the wisdom.

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* Do Jesus-fish walk on air??....

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You know what is funny? The word "ding".

Take this example, after a minor fender-bender:

"Hey, jerk, you DINGED my car!
Hey! You DINGED my car, asshole!"


It is all in the context.
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One last thing today.
I have stopped trying to maintain my weight. And I have definitely stopped trying to lose weight.

I figure this:

1) Even if I was thin, I would not get a date. I don't really want to date, anyway. And I am ugly for lots of reasons, whatever my mass.

2) I sincerely believe that I am about to die within the next few years somehow. Either I will loose my "socialized" medicine government insurance, which is already puny in substance, and die from an untreated disease or condition. Or Sarah Palin will become president in 2012 and then kill us all in a nuclear war she starts to bring about the Apocalypse.

(Side note: How does Sarah Palin end the world? The Apoca-LAPSE, of course!...)

[Update: I forgot to say why feeling like I am about to die leads me to care less about my weight. Two reasons: The obvious reason, why worry about my health if I am going to die soon anyway? And the fact that if I don't have long to live, then I should enjoy life. Why suffer by dieting when I can be free to eat as I please instead?]

So why suffer anymore, when eating even just the amount of food I am hungry for leads me to gain weight? What is the point of worrying about food? So what if I get fat!?

----------

Leroy

Smashed Down

Blog Post # 88:

I don't have much to post today, but I thought I would post anyway.

Reverberant Again


Almost An Egg


Upon Tangents Drawn


Yes, "Reverberant Again" looks a lot like the picture from my last post, "Reverberant Froth". Truth is, I took Reverberant Froth and did something really quick (taking just seconds) and simple to it that resulted in the picture in today's post.

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Smashed down against the cosmic floorboards...

I just read that those-in-the-know think the economy, here in the US anyway, is about to turn sharply downward again. Things could get REALLY bad. Then there is the climate-change tipping point. Peak oil. Problems (possibly nuclear!) with Iran, North Korea, etc. The never-ending wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Terrorism. The coming disease pandemics. The rise of fascism. People dying in the streets and others feasting upon the corpses for nourishment and sexual arousal.... Well, you get the idea. As you can tell, I am gloomy. But are you?

Every day for the last decade -- every single God-damn day! -- there are every single day at least a few new reasons revealed as to why we should be TOTALLY depressed. Every day it has been something else. AND I AM SICK OF IT!!!

And it is about to get even *FAR* worse!!!

We are about to enter the deepest HELL! Abandon all hope, as the story goes. I have already abandoned all hope.
There is nothing to live for any more. No, I don't want to kill myself. There is nothing to die for, either.
Heaven is a myth. But Hell is coming to us all really soon.

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Leroy

Bugs A'Plenty

Blog post # 87:

I know I just posted to this blog yesterday, but I felt that this post couldn't wait.

I just made this picture:

Reverberant Froth



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The following is more prose than poetry. So, don't fret. A true story.

Eulogy For The Bug
---------------------

I killed a bug yesterday, probably many.
Poor diminutive bug -- it was just walking along the tabletop, keeping to itself, not trying to disturb anyone; being sort of cute, I think.

It did not realize it was about to die.

I swept my hand over it -- although my intention was to only brush it from my life; but, alas, I was careless. I unemotionally smushed it quickly into a bug-colored streak.

Poof. It had always been a grand bug. But now, as its body evaporated, its soul had been released via a metamorphosis into purity, into a pureness more magnificent than I will ever know myself.

For, it had never killed, as I have. And it was not to be bothered by its own death; yet I am bothered by my own impending demise.
I should have understood the sudden and unexpected pain the bug felt as my hand crushed it and smeared it across the Formica. Oh, I should have known what it had known. And someday soon I will know, we all will know. But then we will be mourned. We will be considered great.

But the bug, it had only failed at impressing us. Yet when it died, it damned me and my human denial. Yes, and that made it great, just as it made me...
insignificant.

...............
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One final note today. The recent poll seems to be acting buggy, speaking of bugs. I myself originally voted for one particular color, then it recorded my vote as being for something else. Please comment here to this blog-post if the color you vote for is not the color that is displayed as being your vote. Maybe things are working again and the bug has been fixed-- but maybe not.

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Leroy