A Tangled Nightmare

Blog post # 214:
(214 = 2*107.)

Depletion Of Meaninglessness


Incorrectly Spilled


Tangled Virtue


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Anagrams return! (at least temporarily)


Looping Or Wrung
=
Our Long/Wrong Pi

--

Trance's Nexus
=
Scan next ruse.

--

Untangle Shreds
=
Lengths Asunder

--

I tangle.
=
Gelatin
=
A Tingle

(That last one is dirty. Snicker, snicker.)

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I am becoming more and more convinced that "reality" is only an illusion. How could it not be?
Everything is so horrible. Reality must just be some kind of joke.
There is no balance between good and evil in this world. No, evil predominates greatly. So, it all seems to me to be only a drama, a computer-controlled dream.

But still, I am concerned about the outcome of that dream/drama, as if all is actually real.
Should I put my energies into waking up instead of into trying to make the world a better place, since the world probably doesn't exist anyway?

Not that I invest much energy in making this world a better place, anyway.

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Two poems, written 2 days ago and yesterday:


Almost The Strangest Of Cones
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Imagination tapers to a
rightward apex. Stupidly,
Its underside is billowy
and bulbous. But its top
Is of flaps and illusions.
Ah, and both its bottom
And topside converge
therefore thusly -- yet in that
Point, all suddenness is foreseen,
yes. Yes, in that
Animosity coursing
against nothingness, all truncation
Is our abstinence, is
our dreams resented but
Never remembered.
For, imagination is surely
A narrowing thing,
almost the strangest of cones.
Otherwise, it is
narcissistic and meaningless, although
It is wrongly alphabetized
and correctly made sad.
Oh, the cusp is
thin and flat, but still
It widens unto the left.
However, it does not
Express its explosiveness.
Ah, it only becomes
Truthful then tempting,
then it tempers its
Triangularity; then it
transforms and remains halved;
Then it remains equal to
such clumping, equal to such
Plagiarism justifiably derived
from its own depletion.

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Askew And Diagonally Wrong
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A vile blob -- it rests askew
and is diagonally wrong
Above this angry void.
It tapers unto its pinching,
Rendering that flow
downwardly, rightward, away.
And the fluid spreads
upon such emptiness, becoming
Outward and beautiful.
But that beauty is evil.
It is vile, as a blob,
and an ellipsoid above.
Yet, into the substances
conveyed, all
Incorrectly spilled drink
is formed from quite a lobe.
Yes, from quite a tumor,
our human sap
Drips sideways and
distantly, betraying the
Orthogonality otherwise
nonconforming. Ah,
Dripping obliquely, such
syrup is drowned, is drawn as
It was, is drawn as
our tangled cliches now
Untied, now linear,
now vile and hateful and
Untrue but surely adored,
but surely moronically so.

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Leroy