Until The Waning

Blog post # 180:
(180 = 2*3*5*3*2.)

Hollowness Not Aerodynamic


Agnostic Mistakenness


In Metallic Sap


Defiance Of Substructure


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

A science swirls me till...
=
semicircles still wane.


(That was an anagram, folks.)

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

By the way, it should be noted that these next couple posts here will probably be my last ever. For, I am seriously thinking about permanently disconnecting from the internet.
No more of this shit!
FU, internet! You're just a fad... to me, anyway.

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

Getting crazy... I'm mad at the politicians, mad at the God-Devil.

The politicians and the God-Devil, however,
want me to yell...
so that I'll go to Hell.

(And remember, GOP stands for "God's Only Party"!...)

---------

Let's be sane now...

In my most-likely correct opinion, the closest thing to a "God" in this universe is probably the zero-point energy of the vacuum of space.
Science meets religion.
But in any case, certainly this God of mine is not a conscious being.
And even if It (not "He") was aware, then definitely It doesn't have ANY superpowers, let alone omnipotent powers.
And surely It didn't create the universe.
It IS the universe, however.

But maybe even a diminished god does not exist. They say God transcends all. Maybe God does transcend all, by transcending existence itself.
You see, God is SO great, It/He/She is beyond and outside even the set of all things that exist.

God's holey/holy, you know.

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

Poem, written today.
(Can you believe that this is by far the best poem I have written since I wrote Odd Id?
{Odd Id sounds like a band-name, or The Odd Ids does, maybe.}
That says a lot about the poor quality of my poetry.)

Linearity Of A Psychotic Backbone
--------------------------

Of an algorithmic edifice, of
such tangential vertebrae,
These loxodromes soothe us,
yet they repulse us, yet
They imply our form
quintessentially quantal.
But it all is the fulcrum of all.
And it
Screams of Hell and
its virtues, yes. Though it still
Scribbles the linearity
of a psychotic backbone.

Yes, it is of that skeleton
made from illusion, made
From algorithms and
their divisors, and their multiples
Each subdivided. Ah,
the organism that is mine
Is calculated, as too is
this zigzagged game.

Yes, I rant regarding
cosmic politics and
Ramble regarding
my ineffectual geometries.
But my vertebrae ascend
and deny their toppling.
Oh, they compute the
defiance of brainstems; they
Compute the genius
of my stupidity, of my
Substructure once added
and ascertained and archaic.

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

Leroy