an argument with logic and not feeling too good

so i’m thinking my blog sucks and my poetry sucks but i still want to keep posting my sucky poetry. i am thinking every time i post a new . whatever, i will delete all previous posts from before that were pre-existing.
i might even do that right now!
if i can stay awake long enough to initiate the plan.

update: i cannot. a deep exhaustion haunts me at every turn. i chase the shadows of rest at every corner, but that peace eludes me by my own movement alone. i must stop.

mind change option one reenactment for real this time initiated.

option one selected.

get back to it later. override confirmed and elephant ride rescheduled for tomorrow.

sleep tight. as is a side effect of options one, nineteen, twenty-three, seven, seven seven, seven-five, seven-five, three-seven point 93.

full systems reset coming up pretty soon hopefully. 


the worst,

learning curves are
bending down the edge
of the graph.

inevitably there are
overseers of the makers
of our line makers.

warp past the walls.

the rulers stretch.
time retreats into
a ball.

a son of suns will
not imply
or conform
to a lack of rules.

Philosophical Blob

in what dimension
resides the mind?
is it a shadow of the fifth?
or the fourth that they call time?

is a thought just a point
unaware that it’s moving
through all four dimensions
believing nothing’s to be doing?

and why do our five senses detect
but the measly four realms?
are we congealed in an eternal dance
between the heavens and a hell?

there’s ana. there’s kata.
but which way do they go?

can a sixth sense feeling
be the same as to know?


eleven stitches.
little snowflakes of regret.
none will ever pull me back
to make me whole again.
only needed a tug
because this wound is rotten.
there is no skin.
a few
made their homes in
the scabs
and were scratched away.
that calls for ten.
let’s call it over,
the doctor’s in.
but a scar’s
not healed
by time




p’raps if i could laugh myself,
the joke that is me would be innocent.

surrounded by;

then internalized;

derivative half-wits
and absence of character.

I am walking with fraud because
Freud sees it better.

Epistolary efforts:

tombs of letters
haunt the daydreams of
a solitary storyteller.

Just Like Jack (Cherry Blossoms)

true magic lends itself
oft times to fleeting winds.

She took to wing and
brighter colors took liberty
to descend.

like cherry blossoms in the spring,
but as all seasons, a transitory thing.

that moment’s gradually been

in experience’s wake,
should you try to hold on?

time for crestfallen warriors
ticks the seconds all wrong.

how is reverie genuine?
no more a moment after all.