History always repeats itself And we find ourselves once more On the banks of the Red Sea Under extreme duress To put it mildly

When we say something is infinite Say, the universe What we really mean Is that it is unfinished

Give thanks to God For we are much obliged

AI didn’t write this poem; it wrote the algorithm that decided whether or not you would read it

The struggle to become an individual in no way implies the need to be unique

A poem is worth A thousand pictures A life is worth A thousand paper cuts So, if I were to

The arts say What can’t be said While agitprop tells us What can be said In a game of

If you pursue any vice long enough you’ll either become bored or addi… scratch that– you’ll either become bored and qui… or bored and addicted

In the movies they always guess right when it’s time to cut the blue wire or the red wire on the ticking time bomb

In the first half of life I tried it your way and succeeded which is how I got over you In the second half of life I did it my way and failed

You’ll know you’ve weathered their gaslighting if you feel dazed but not confused

Death and danger are our lot Look at what my kid can do is what’s been wrought

The new day will dawn When, at last Everything is clear as day And since that fateful day Of October 7th

When all politics were still local to exert power you were required to go where the people were gather… In cyberspace all politics are nod… and to exert power you require the…

Don’t fear death– Time is the chisel With which we sculpt the infinite Or if, like me, you work with word… Each day is a first edition