Hopeless

Blog post # 222:
(222 = 2*37*3.)

Madness Withheld


Pathos Secreted


Inflected Levitation


Radioactive Tangle


Concavity Unremembered


(You can tell I was depressed when I made these, probably.)

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Only one anagram today:

Plural I times.
=
As multiplier

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I woke up last night freaked out and crying (and I am not one to cry).
I know there is no hope for the future. Things will only get worse and worse and worse.

The economy will totally collapse (it has just begun to). Climate-change will reach its tipping-point. There will be more wars based on lies. There will be more terrorism (also based on lies). There will be unprecedented disease and famines. There will be super-surveillance and mind-control. We will run out of energy. Fascism and genocide will run rampant world-wide.

Here in the US, the best we can hope for is that Obama is reelected, which is horrible because he has been almost as bad as Bush in so many ways. But almost all the Republicans running for president would be INFINITELY worse than GW Bush as president. Many of them would impose a far-right theocracy in America, where homosexuals and children who talk back to their parents and people who cuss are rounded up and killed. For certain, progressives (and atheists and and Muslims and Jews who don't convert to evangelical Christianity) will be literally rounded up and done away with. But Obama has pissed off so many Americans, I think ANYONE could beat him, no matter how frightening and evil they are.

I have no hope.

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Poem, written today:

In The Concavity Of My Sadness
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Inside the eclipse, inside
this ellipsoidal illusion
Of cones and circles and space,
there, a partiality
Is transcendent but hopeless.
And I too am
Empty. I too fear
the inevitability of an
Asinine fate.
For, inside that glob of void
And glassy superstitions,
I am withheld; I am
Afloat within such amnesia,
within such
Determinism. Oh,
inside the shadows each
Inept, I dwell
in the concavity of
My sadness.
And here I am oblivious but
Mentally afraid.
Yet in my stranding, I endure
The geometries.
Yet in my strangeness, I
Perish and then am uncertain;
then I hide
Inside an eclipse unremembered,
thus drowned,
Thus hated.

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Leroy