Only two pictures today, but I kind of like them both. (Should I not?)
Inert Mania
Screaming Of Tableaux
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I had a dream the other night about the goth Albert Einstein telling a court room that the case must be thrown out because "everything is an illusion...".
(Then we all started to swirl around and fly in a circle within the room.)
So, I was thinking that goth Einstein would be a good Halloween costume, except... everyone would think you were Robert Smith of The Cure.
Goth Einstein, like me, is a nihilist.
He says: E = MC^2 = 0.
There are really no atoms, no light, no relief from the lies of madmen and imbeciles all masquerading as our gods and leaders.
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Poems. (Yes, I hate poetry. But I will inflict my poetry on you all, because I hate you even more.)
Bidirectionally Inanimate
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An inanimate chunk -- almost a sphere,
Almost amorphous -- upon its midsection, a
Leftward protrusion wraps its half then
Extends and tapers in its roundness to that
Tip unimportant but still made inanimate.
Inanimate is a wiry thing upon the
Upper top; it, however, protrudes rightward
Unto its reach, becoming a slender knob. And
This thing is curved in an inconsistent arc.
But that arc is consistent, if not paradoxical.
Oh, behind this thickness, matter is yet
Nonexistent. But before it, it swirls,
If bidirectionally, and betrays such oxymora.
Yes, it is both inanimate and chaotic; it
Is grandly of glass and of prongs. But surely
It is asymmetrical and inert within this
Manic universe of mental facades, of
Certainty thus mad and irrationally wounded.
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Uncertain Of Helices
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An uncertain helix spins only once, lifts but
Slightly. And its matter is curved and cutting.
Yet it does not impress us. For, that is its
Counterbalance.
From oblate egg, this gouge is thrust. Ah, its
Fins are lengthwise. And its pathways are
Multi-dimensional. But I am uncertain of
Helices and demeaning thoughts implied cursively.
Yes, I write of such typography. Yes, I
Rotate amongst squished spheroids sans their one
Wedge; rotate amongst substances metamorphic,
Metaphoric, and metallic. Yes, I am the unspecified
Idiot of my solitary course, counterclockwise,
Upwards, clockwise, counterclockwise. And this
Shameful dream is shaped as string, is
Shaped as helices each partial, each implicated
In this carousel of resentment and tangents,
Of reverberation and translucency suspiciously
Truthful.
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Leroy
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