Aphorisms XXV

There’s something cleansing about watching old papers burn, something similar to watching a big long delete bar progressing on the screen, things being overwritten with randomly generated strings. The process of scrunching up letters, and then seeing them turn to ash, the randomly generated strings of the earth. Like we will!


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The worst are full of it, and the
best are kinda preachy, you know?
The crack of bones upon repeat
creates emotional flashpoints

and the general conflagration
begins with a cringy subtweet.
Memories like Beatrician
moments in our childhood, are weak.

The endless image stream is strong
and overwhelms us daily such that
regret is forgotten and starts
to take out essential support

groups and systematically fails.
Walks of palmers, romers, pilgrims,
pass past us and help us forget
a grief well marketed, help us

see the path to the sea is free
and paths across land boundaries
are free. While youtube does its best
to suggest videos likely

to send me literally insane.
That said, if you find a poem
does not help you live, jettison
it as soon as you can, my friend


The problem is that things just aren’t
rational. Words become less real
the longer time drags on. The long
day and night cycle is looser

at every moment. Ignoring
the background static the trolls, death
the concept of evil and more,
Love came at me across the nine

heavens. A miracle, fashioned
just for me. A real perfection,
numbers, herald of the motion
of the heavenly spheres, said no

one, ever. The chaste vibrations
of the universe continue
to deny allegations of
insidious intent. Mostly

by refusing to comment more
even when pressed up against by
hordes of fallen angels. Never
mind – this sorrow produces verse,

laments, the pulp fiction of our
human poetic sphere. Pain just
whips across the page. Give me more!
It’s what sells, darling, it’s what sells!