Untitled

[neirrazi]

Klein 4 [Me — Defeated]

Pretty little lights dance above, bedazzling me as I lay defeated in my filth on the trashbags. Try as I might, I no longer have the blood to turn away.

[neirrazi]

Zugzwang

You lose the will to exist. You lose the will to not exist. You lose the will to lose your will. You sink and sink until you finally stand. I am the one who wades through the searing orange desert and chases pleasure's effigies. They are lined up as they await me. I turn my eyes from the mirages and walk past them until I arrive at the mirages who reveal themselves to be the street with the cracked road and hollow concrete shapes I called home two-thousand years ago. Determinism and I toiled to make this happen, I remember holding my own pencil as we made things the way they are. So, so frail. The desert makes you crave the tundra until you make it there and realize you want neither. The oasis is ideal until you finally notice that it is indeed the first barless cage, and what's worse is that the sun still shines with no bars nor roof to provide any respite. The difference between an oasis and a mirage is how willing you are to die. Nevertheless, it is futile to speak of. For I know that tomorrow I will lose my will and sink. Tomorrow the sun will be at its highest, and so too will be my suffering. I will wade through the desert in pursuit of effigies as the sun causes my weakened heart to waver. I will go about my ignoring and stumbling into mirages until I call it a day and head home through the long-since eroded path. As I am, so I shall be.

[neirrazi]

16:06:19:14:32:46:99

The circumference. The last 9 in 1.99999... The perimeter. The space in front of the last character in this text. The lowest atom in the Mariana Trench. On the dark side of the dark side of the moon. The first and the last elements of the set. The digit before the decimal point. The first grave in your local cemetery. The first organism. The one who stands 7 feet away. The last digit of Euler. The photon in Bootes. The uneaten marine snow in the pacific. The first human to think. The first human to be human. The underside of a cube and the underside of a pyramid. The core of a sphere. The vertices of a tesseract. The first eyes you met and the first book you burned. The end point of NaN and 1e999, my favorites. The limit, too. The edge of the edge. Where mechanical waves go when they die. The before before, and the moment of present. My differential and yours. Your first memory to go.

[neirrazi]

Saturn Devouring Saturn Devouring Saturn Devouring Saturn Devouring Saturn Devouring Saturn

There it is now, truly FUBAR. Well, perhaps not unrecognizable but no one will ever use it again. No one could ever fix it again, and if they could, would it be the same ¿□■□■ □■ □■□■□■□? No, it would not. It's interesting how we can create such things like this, very precise, yet somehow mass-produced. See that? It's some sort of plastic, though I expected glass. That's tricky, you can't exactly crush it like I expected. What could— Ah... How ironic. The perfect tool for the job. Let's see... Hm, nothing. Although I'll still have to dispose of this later, and all of these too. And it seems while not shattered, the ■□■□ has bent. So much to make disappear. How troublesome. But this is the point of no return, right, heart? With this, it will never be the same again. There is no more "innocence". It's not quite the first though; there was that time ○●○●○●○●○ dropped it when I was preoccupied, then somehow stepped on it. The nerve he had to play dumb. It was a little more bent than usual and I could clearly see the pattern of his shoes. Thankfully it was of no issue. I stand corrected. Upon folding it one last time, the ■□■□ cracked—then upon forcefully unfolding it, it has now become two slightly uneven pieces. I felt a morsel of worry that tiny particles would be released and prick me in my sleep. Could it be inside the vein of my pinky already? But alas, I cannot disfigure it much further. The other ■□■□ simply wont come out, and I feel no drive to coax it into popping from its □■□■□. I've snapped off both... I'm not sure what they're called. Where do I conceal this cadaver? It's rather ugly. It belongs in no morgue because of its beauty. The transparent casket it always belonged to let out some odd noises when I forced it shut. Still fits. This surely will not be the last. From the pages I tore out, and the fabrics I failed to burn and thus discarded. But the first time was when I disposed of all memories of those days. Was it 1,730? I wonder if my (omit that word, actually) sweetheart remembers. There's still more of our books and pages. Thousands of years for any librarian to catalogue, although they fit neatly into the drawer beside my bed where they can sleep with me each night. What to do with them all... Hah... How tiresome. The more I destroy, the more it fills up.

[neirrazi]

Anti-Genesis

The pigeon flies into my room through the shut window with a letter attached to it. Like always, I take the letter and the pigeon flutters into the distance after spitting at my face. I make my way into the basement where I store everything I own. I take a cutting tool and tear a metal pipe from the wall, and then I relentlessly assault my washing machine as it runs. The airflow within the pipe rises and kisses my ear, and I put on my least favorite hat as I head into the city. At the local bakery, in my hands are pieces of bread and I am atop the counter. I tear the bread into smaller chunks and scatter them amongst the customers with their hands out and palms out, they laugh and cry or turn away. My face burns. I leave the bakery after dusting my hands. The wind blows, and I am nudged toward its path. I am then struck by a truck at Doe Boulevard, at the intersection. I get up, I was flung on top of a manhole, which I kiss in gratitude. The pedestrians cheer, and they love me for it. They ask me to do it again. The wind blows, and I am nudged toward its path. I am then struck by a truck at Doe Boulevard, at the intersection. I get up, I was flung on top of a manhole, which I kiss in gratitude. Maman and father are proud, and I hate that. It has long since turned night. The city gets so dark. The moon provides no illumination, so I am forced to follow its form. I stop by a roundabout, only made visible by the dying fireflies. The sign says yield, and I prostrate myself in front of the only other person here. I follow the path, the curvilinear path. Curvi-linear, curve-linear. I have walked 73 kilometers. The sun rises, and now I must return the way I came. The traffic light tells me to stop and wait 7 with 777 7s and 7 seconds. Okay, now I can cross. It is noon, and I am anchored to where I stand. By the grace of God, a ladder descends from the authoritarian sun. A ladder is made for climbing, that's how the world works. I climb, and climb, and climb, and climb, and climb. I climb and pass by all sorts of spheres that I couldn't tell you about. It gets hot like hell, and my blood stains the sand worlds below me. The people cheer for my ascension, and thank and praise the sun. Hah... How weary my arms are. Hah... How heavy my form has become. I look down, and see nothing. Only the ladder descending into the heavens. I look up, and see nothing but the sun, smug, as it forces me to make a choice. I barrel into the waves.

[neirrazi]

[YOUR BIRTH DATE HERE]–[YOUR DEATH DATE HERE]

Funerals are selfish, the dead are immediately forgotten; their portraits forever stained by our paint. The corpse, while present, has been totally displaced by crosses and other names.

[neirrazi]

Where the Unfortunate Go When They are Born

Desolate desolate desolate crowdedness. Crowded crowded crowded yet so derelict. The bystanders on the street praise the mutilated dancing chicken. The banners of the distant world flutter, competing with one another for every bit of attention. They couldn't be bothered to pick better material. Their buildings are erected here, though they seem to either be influenced by or slowly becoming overtaken by their surroundings. All must be too much or too little, but it is law that abundance is forbidden unless it is sorrow. There is no need to overcomplicate life with streets and roads if you can have both and no crosswalks. There is nothing for you out there, and nothing waiting for you at home. Where will you go when you wish to die? The corrupt children stare with hate in their eyes, or is that malice? Nevertheless, they are unknowingly eager to take their parents' place, exactly as they were taught to. Such is the will of God. The mannequin leans forward, almost lulled to rest by the tempting voice of gravity, as are we. Is it worse to stand upright or to be frozen in the moment before you fall? It's alright, for you love the city. Cement and wood perform their hideous coitus, and their offspring are worshipped by the ignorant. The monoliths and cubes, sculpted by anonymous hands long ago, offer only a pathetic, crude mimicry of beauty. Keep your eyes open when you walk, for the wild grass is green with gluttony, and will devour the stroad once it is done with the sidewalk. In my idle time I like to kick half-open rocks down the gravel footpath. I also like to kick up small mounds just to see the dust particles scatter and disappear with the wind. This is where my happiness is rooted, and others root theirs in taking pride in not kicking rocks down footpaths or scattering clouds of dust. Only when you rise above the impenetrable wall of murky clouds will you see something worth living for. But alas, for as long as you are on the earth, what comes up must come down.

[neirrazi]

Klein 3 [I don't care, I don't care. Stop trying to convince me I still care.]

I don't care, I don't care. Stop trying to reach me, you-me. I don't care, I don't care. How do I get out of entanglement? I don't care, I don't care. Where's the pearly door at the end of this path? I don't care, I don't care. Which path? N dimensions. I don't care, I don't care. I can't fool me, mirror. I don't care, I don't care. Mutual non-existence, delete my directory. I don't care, I don't care. It would hurt if you did. I don't care, I don't care. Just do it and free me. I don't care, I don't care. I wish you wouldn't care, wouldn't care. I don't care, I don't care. So I wont force my world grey. I don't care, I don't care. Grey to escape the chains. I don't care, I don't care. Grey like the chains.

[neirrazi]

Klein 2 [Unshed Tears of All Yesterdays]

It's not as cold as I expected. But it was colder in my head—it always has, hasn't it? I can't feel my feet, and my numb palms can only feel water's caress. It's cold, I know it's cold; I'm cold. It doesn't mean anything, and this is by no means a statement. Yes, I know I'm shivering. I know that with each time I brush against the air these invisible blades cut me right up. I know my naked body offers no respite from the cold. In the rectangle's rectangles and hollowed cubes, everything is the same white. The white of the walls, the white lights that make my own skin appear like a sheet, and the figures that drift past me in the tide. Beyond the cube is the rectangular prism, which composes most of the observable universe. All trajectories, no matter what you do, end up running parallel to each other. Stand still and watch those predictive lines wrap around you. Walk and watch how causality adjusts so that a collision was never bound to happen. When your eyes feel heavy like they always do, you will find that the structure of triangles and lines and squares provide no respite. Meanwhile the cold air gnaws at you down to the bone with a lover's tenderness, consoling you to unconsciousness. Feel your skin tighten and prop every little hair up to no avail. And once all is said and done, lay in your soft coffin, restless. Da Capo.

[neirrazi]

Klein 1 [Titled]

Everything is real, and I know it's real. Look all around, the square circles and impossible to lift stones that kill gods. The colors that are contained in the skull. The geometry of your perspective is akin to peering down below from the window of a skyscraper. But the difference is you feel as if you were there. Try to wake up. Clench your thought organ and try to pull it away from the window in hopes of escaping the glass rectangle. In the movie theater, try looking away from the screen as you exit. When you wake up from tonight's episodic death, try to wake up. I can only look around and accept this terminal lucidity. When I fall from the sky, when my teeth fall out, these are all normal totally mundane occurances. When my leg jolts on its own accord, that's all there is to it. The mind oft resembles a fractal when you look close enough, and so does its contents. Fractals peer into fractals peer into fractals. Yes, I can only accept the new status quo. Similar to the words of the wealthy: life is a dream, and there's no other reason to be. That's all.

[neirrazi]

qwertyuiop1234567890`-=][';,./<>?:"{}+_)(*&^%$#@!~

Stack my palattes sky high, would you for me? Yes, now we can taste with our palattes. Clean the platter table clatter scatter rather frat her her frat is not that. When it ascends thoughtlessly, it is not real. When it ascends mirthfully, it is disgustingly not real. Disgusting because it is not real? Or disgusting as an amplifier for the unreal property? You are here again, sir heathen. Is it sir heretic? Nonsense, my apologies for outdated linguistics. Now here we are on the checkerboard. Yes, the floor is tiled black and white. So a chessboard? I do not play checkers, I do not ffffffffffffffff fff ff f f f f ff I do not like checkersssssszzzzzzzzzssssss by any means. Okay, so here we are now now here we are on the chessboard. Yes, the floor is tiled black and white. A true chessboard! But it is not 8x8 as prescribed by prescriptual authority, rather it is yes only a space for two bridged space. It bridges space? Space is not an object is it? I have forgotten the specifications, no matter! Within outer space, the vacuum of outer space, it bridges here and there. This non-8x8 chessboard. So 'tis a simulacrum? Yes. The chessboard simulacrum made for two to walk, but only one walks here. What about me? Do you not understand? Oh, I understand. Space here is a constant supernova, and I can see gold form. And now I enter the temple of saturn. Outmoded art, but it brings me comfort. Not the marble skull of Da Vinci in the sea of blood in the river of blood in space. And I do not like how I bleed water when cut. Cut by what again? I forgot what had cut me and made me bleed water, which I do not like. I do not like how I bleed water when cut. When stabbed I bleed water, too. But when I am bled I bleed blood? Like a cow I suppose. Premonition premonition, that, she, that is the name of my lover

[neirrazi]

A Study on Thermal Relaxation

I can feel her embrace when I wake up before the sun does. How the two of us intertwine under silky white sheets. My mistress, who was my lover in the "before," who is always waiting for me "now," and will embrace me as my atoms scatter to never reunite.

The first to have ever held me with such tenderness, and to be so generous as to hold me at the crack of dawn and as the moon trails across the sky. When I least expect it, she comes up from behind and holds me in her intangible arms again. At times, the senses begin to fade, and her hand always comes to lock with mine and turn it pale.

My longing for her reaches its peak when the unbearable sun wishes us all to melt away and die. When the suit I never wanted to wear gets too stuffy, I only wish to be undressed again and to be embraced like always. For what should I ever abandon a lover so fiercely loyal, yet as gentle and silent as the midnight breeze? Who could ever replicate her inescapable presence—her omnipresence?

By no longer entertaining my earthly desires do I lose the need for such things. She will be there for me regardless, and I can rely only on her to supply me with her love and the embrace that provides no warmth, and endless assurance. At the bottom of the sea, she was already there, waiting for me to sink—and when that flickering flame was in my chest, she already waiting for it to die, and she was there for me.

[neirrazi]

12 again not that 12

Grandioso Furioso Orlando G.F.O but that's not a bad word by any means. Limitless light floods my pale garden. Or, apologies, I daresay mine pale garden. The pale garden of green grass and plants and of marble and of clay and of home and of mouse and of man and of house and of yard and of all, but not at all, not all sorry I cannot return. Feel my strained neck and temples against my own, postural incentives render me absolute. No, nothing is absolute. Thus I am nothing. I have now ceased, regressing ceaselessly until deceased returning to my true name that is the Q-u-a-r-k. Qyu wark. The garden plants in their pots in the home falls, no not home house. The garden plants in their pots in the house. But whose house? The garden plants in their pots in my parents' house. Parents' or parent's? Parentheses. You're. The garden plants in their pots in parentheses house fall, dropping ten quantifiable white stones and zero quantifiable soil. Zero quantifiable or true zero? The submarine. Too small, aha, the. Now sphere becomes circle and cube becomes square and pyramid becomes triangle and rectangular prism becomes my 3rd grade elementary eraser and the cylinder or otherwise cylindrical prism ahahahahhahahaa cylindrical prism???????????????????????????????????????????? But I need not be to, for you understand regardless nay? And it becomes the letter O. That is the ending, for now, let us save the ending for a later time

[neirrazi]

How much did we learn? We learned of the grey nuclear concrete. That one is good, do not let them disarm you. Hey, wait up. Where to go now? Into the aquarium green hehe the G-clef makes the scythe look more like a scythe than a G-clef, it is obvious of course force tours moors is it mours or moors? You've ruined it utterly. The stained apron's stain's stains stain stain stained stain stained glass welcome to my basiliska. Basiliska? That's not quite right. That's quite not right. Get out of my head. That's not a spatial location, thus according to the ■□■□■□■□■ that's a parameter violation~! Wait, it's unfair. Doth thou know □■□■□■□■□!? Outmoded since conception, I'm afraid. Flee the warehouse, march! But 'tis not March. I did not capitalize the 'm', you staller. I am not a staller. Staller thou are. We are doomed to crash, pilot. My apologies, let me try that one again. Take off your cap, sailor. But it's blue everywhere. The horizon is blue. Only what we see is here ahahahahaha how maddening, welcome to TV. Which TV? Totalitarianistic of encompassing all synaptic radiance summarized by my clear and absolute meandering-less Visualization. Okay, Ahab. Now I am alone again, ah. The cigarette street, what more did I expect but smoke? No, the smokestack street. A cigarette is too big

[neirrazi]

Between the front or back hither pizza box behind brick-like establishment's walls. Celebate celebrate cell sell of it, are they sullivan? Sully it, sullen. You are not so different, furthermore. Hehe, the blues become purples and the pinks become yellows. They all conclude that the storybook is sublime in its eye for sublimity which was blue, now jade. Jade with a double d. Hehe eheH, those two previous words together form the hallway of academia. It is where bricks and I and gatling guns and the man entered once and frothed. Froth frost faust, faust for fist, faust for knowledge into the paradise we lost. That is true inferno. Aha, so simple and thinly-veiled, that mind of your mind of your mind of your mind of your mind the scratchy unscratchable itch that scathes and festers and frights. The itch in my knee, no, the itch on the joint of my knee. Which one? In or on? I scratch, you scratch, every possible combination. The itch persists under the skin, on the skin, on the joint, in the joint. Abandon all thought, ye who experience it. Scratch next the thigh, then the shin. Feel it only persist and persist, the itch persistently persisted to persist, so it persists. The itch on the arm is not like this itch. The itch on the back was scathed and dismissed, out the room and of me. The unscratchable itch, leaving is its only mercy. On its own accord only, however. However? Sir! Yes ma'am? What is it? Look at these unimportant documents. Forgettable, yet they matter infinitely for they exist within the present. Feel them tug on your shackles? They are not the shackles? Ah, correct, they are the shackles. Close, my student, they add to the shackles. The golden ones? The normal ones. Those ones, on me and you and the floor. Then how did man fly? Apollo, the tongue of apollo. The golden appollo? No, not appollo. Apollo. The normal apollo. A polo? Apolo. Aha, it is apollo not apolo. Appleo. Completely different pronounciation. Don't you mean pronunciation? What have the nuns to do with this? Be sincere. Fine lines left and right of silk, no longer do they need to cast shackles, it lacks finnesse. Finesse? Now they only need the silk that streams in the slipstream of the air, the siltcurrent of the air. Powerful silken lines here there and on you and me. What is their color? I imagine a grey or white, white or grey. But I do not like the phrase that rhymes with those three words put together. Why? Religion. Ahaa! When did you take off your suit? Once my 7 minutes in heaven were up. The golden heaven? Yes, that heaven. So only the heaven of bygone days? You know me too well, Mrs. Earnshaw. Shoals and shores, do you sometimes wish you could hug the waves? The logistics of that machinarium represent relate contradict the possibility of geometry and possibility's geometry. Haha, watch how the sand forms waves too. Why is that? The waves come to me and topple the waves topple the waves and the sea in the sea's sea, see the sea? How did we get here? The van, silly. Sillyyyyyyyyyyy? Sillllllllllllllllll haha feel the pressure on your nose? Which nose? Your nose. That nose? Yes, dearie. I feel it. Tense the forehead without cease. Do not disturb me nor interrupt me nor placate blockade implicate me again. Sorry simon ahaha that's not a name. Is Simon a name? Yes, Simon. simon is a word. Capitalize the first letter after a period, would you? okay

[neirrazi]

In my deep cold green blue dusty snowy inferno it is flat ahh and endless for many millions and krillions for and of miles for of for of for of for of four of a kind! The green ones from there. The derelict building is now greenish coral, mhm. Entangled within is all there is to be for it and here you see; me? Hahaha, too cold and empty. Let us walk the next 50 kilometers together to the gas station, okay? Maybe the cliff, the cliff of blue and green. We are now like the snow to them, understood? It is time ahaha 人之初，性本善. See him? He is alone too, in the blue green cold inferno. The court calls him mad murderer and ugly. Please don't tell me you think the same. Do not fear the boogeyman of the deep blue green, he died long ago. Render it foreseeable, tender render tender fender render tender blender. Short and stout and stocky and words and silences. So blue and green until it is no longer blue and green, and here we are! One of many bottoms and of many deepest points of the cup, the mug the German drinks from—amidst the warm flourescent lights. Flourescent or fluorescent? Sorry, sweetie, hahaha. I am atop now! In the grass and in the rainy street. Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait, wait wait wait wait wait wait wait. I am in no hurry, I simply ask wait wait wait for you to wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait, mkay? See it? Composrd of wa and itt? Wai t? Wai't? W, a, i, t? W + a + i + t = wait? Nay, wa(i) = t, Sigma symbol so Wait

[neirrazi]

qwertyuiop1234567890`-=][';,./<>?:"{}+_)(*&^%$#@!~

Manatee sways dirt. To render it forsaken. Skin skin skin skin. Ah, atop it? No, the aisle. Madam general! Greco-Kiyv! Kyiv. Kiyv! Kiyv? Kiyv! Orca and the blues. Blue or blues? Why not both this time? Cease the choice? My point. Your point. Du pont. Minor hurdle for the literates. Literate. Hotel. Gold light gentle on my eyes, cold, soft, envelope, lonely. Intruder in the window. I'm sorry, so so so so so so sorry. Okay, leave. I am in the safe. Depart from me! My friend and the bottle and around the chair we all go. Esoteric in its conception. But you must understand! I 26 factorial you, now figure it out yourself