Schizoid

Blog post # 148:

Of Smoothness' Thorns


Apex Of Neurons Impeded


Thrice Quadruple


Object Of Metaphors


(Notice how, in the picture "Of Smoothness' Thorns", the lower hemi-spheroid is both inside and outside the hemi-spheroid on the left.)

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

Two simple, much too simple, yet intriguing anagrams:

America
=
I camera
=
CIA-mare

(A CIA-mare is a nightmare where the CIA does horrible things to you.)

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

Part of my brain is evil.

Every now and then, I "hear" a voice -- just a loud thought, not a hallucination -- that tells me things such as that the problems of the world are all my fault. Then it tells me that if I do something (like vote for Obama in 2012), horrible things will happen, but if I don't do those same things, horrible things will also happen. Then it blames me for doing the wrong thing, whatever I did or will do, even though I have no choice.

It fills my mind with delusions and disturbing thoughts.

Then I angrily scream at "God" -- who I blame for putting the thoughts there -- to go to Hell, since it is God's fault, not mine, that the bad things exist and happen to us all.
But then the evil voice goes, "No, it's YOUR fault, all your fault."

But when I realized that the anger and the delusions and the evil voice all exist just to make life difficult for me, I realized:

Hey, they are the *Republican* inside of me!

You see, the Republicans -- being my ultra-conservative arch-nemeses -- are the cause of so many problems in my life, in America, and in the world today. And their only purpose, it seems, is to be an impediment to all that is good.

So, that little vile voice in me, all of my psychoses, are now considered by me to be themselves worthy of scorn.

I will try not to be angry anymore like I used to be -- since now I am angry at my anger.
I will try not to behave OCD-superstitiously anymore -- since this is like the superstition of the ultra-religious right-wing.
I will try not to be overly afraid of the frightening things in the news anymore -- since being afraid is what Republicans do best.

Even though Republicans have found new popularity and power in today's America, now "they" will find the opposite within my own mind.

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Two poems:
(Written two days ago and today.)


A Proboscis Downwardly
And Rightward
-------------------------

A proboscis courses downwardly
into that diameter
Before the very circle
amongst it. And the
Protrusion courses rightward
and diagonally, tapering
To a spiraled zigzag
smoothly abrupt. It is remembered
Via such a brainstem, true,
and it is seemingly
Roundish and looped and
spun as humanity's minds.
It is of withered neurons, yes.
And they each
Course downwardly and
rightward unto their
Meandering destiny.
For, the proboscis is
Shaped as every lobe of probability.
Yet its anger
Is formed as these
problematic polygons.
Yes, its temper is
its thoughtfulness, and its
Praise is its curvaceous imagination.
But this
Slender elongation
inside our mental dreams, it
Rotates only semicircularly,
and it flows
Simply as those radians.
It flows as the causality
Of counterclockwise apices,
downwardly and rightward,
Recreated as the perpendicularity of
psychotic probosces,
Probosces all illogically impeded,...
recreated as the
Linearity of psychotic prongs
all ironically tangential
And prolate.

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

Nothingness Is Rendered
------------------------

Nothingness is rendered
within such poetry. Yet
I saw amongst it these
spheres and spiraled cones,
Saw inside it these
coils of randomness each
Entropic but
ironically not plagiarized. Oh, I
Inscribed nothingness again
upon paper formed
From shape and thickness
and mentality. I
Inscribed this entire object
of metaphor
Unto what is an atrocious game,
surely. And
Nothingness is abstract
and absurd. It is
Scrawled as scribbles
into the weirdness
We inhabit. There,
such damnation is our
Pleasure; and such
amnesia is only our
Timepiece devoid of shadows.
Oh, in nothingness
We are despised by
our own lust. Yes, here
We are insignificantly immortal
and are tritely
Dead. Here we are
beautifully impaired
By that flatness;
here we are condemned
Via our assumptions of emptiness,
by our assumption
Of void magnificent
but forgotten, but repressed,
But meaninglessly extreme.

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

Leroy