Inadequate Failing

Blog post # 166:
(166 = 2*83.)

Malleable Parallelism


Semi-Transformative Doubt


Obliquenesses Pertaining


Sums Of Amnesia


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Now, some acronyms! (That's "acronyms", not "anagrams" this time.)

LOVE =
Longed-for Over-Valued Emotion.

HATE =
Humanity's Asininely Typical Emotion.

MIND =
Mental Intellect's Nasty Deceiver.

IDIOTS =
Ideological Dolts Idolize Old-Time Superstitions.

Post your own acronyms in the comment section if you want to.

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I'm such a loser. I should change my name to ...
inade-Quet...

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Two poems:
(Written yesterday and today.)

The Disks Lean Onto
--------------------

The disks lean onto their previousness.
They tilt onto
Their roundness thinly cylindrical.
One lies upon
Another, and that upon the leftmost.
And this rests upon
The flat wall near an edge
grasping the floor. Yet
From those circles of relinquishment,
angles and spikes
Rise and are level with
their diagonality. A single jag
Ascends in the forefront
from intermediacy. But
It is not to truly obscure
the upper disk, nor does
It pretend to be also hidden
by such looping. For,
Each shape progressively slants
irregularly. They
Each wiggle as their strands,
ha. And they
All become the grandness
of this uselessness.

They are not to exceed
those circumferences.
They are not to proclaim
those obliquenesses, those
Obliquenesses within
imagination's slender inaccuracies.
Ah, they are to juxtapose,
but simply, at their uncertain
Topsides almost central.
And they do hold such
Oxymoronic slopes
against their mania, against their
Depressive hopefulness
arranged partway.

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This Foolishness
-----------------

The unwieldy idiocy I imply,
it is my ludicrousness;
It is my hexagonality and
insignificance. Ah,
This foolishness that imagines
my unremarkable self,
It is my weirdness summed
and added to 3/2. Yes,
I am only an idiot,
am only the very gunk
That contains such neurons
of obviousness and
Amnesia. I am the sap,
sticky with thoughts;
They each course onto
this odd illogicality.
They tell me of my stupidity,
and they convince my mind
of its waste. Yet I think
Of these permutations of all;
and such anagrams
Are perplexing but flat.
However, I am dumbfounded
By my own mental
malnourishment. For, it is never
To be quenched.
It is never to be satiated. It
Is never to imply
the knowingness of reality or of
Superstitions plagiarized,
or of superstitions placated,
Or of subliminal enlightenment
ignored and
Thus perhaps made into my
faulty consciousness, made
Into my failing form impeded,
unmotivated, and exact.

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Leroy