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.
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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
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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.
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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.
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Leroy
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