20190228.0430

Perhaps in Stupid God’s advance
It’s seen that fighting has no chance
If it’s done by those like me.
Fearful, hiding, I don’t see
A way away from how things stand--
Yet better things do they demand
Who have lost to folly yet,
And I esteem those I have met
Who fight the fight from which I flee.
I know I will never be
Such as they are, to such effect
As can the Stupid God reject
When, with hateful pantheon
And hordes beside, it marches on
Its goals and puts them to the siege,
Making more call it their liege
As it it crowns with world’s delight
And torments others with the sight
Of things that might have once been good
Be put to purpose understood
As ruin and unending wrack.
There is no answer for my lack.

20190227.0430

I strive to be no centerpiece,
Made decoration for a feast
Or of that feast made the entree,
As too often is the way
That matters go, but I confess
That I do not strive as is best,
As is made clear from what is done.
I labor much, but just begun
The labor is that I must do;
I doubt that I can carry through
Those tasks that to me tend to fall.
With one I struggle, and so with all
I must fare worse, or so I fear.
I know the Stupid God draws near,
The frightened smell catching its nose
As its stultification grows.
It draws on as I run away;
My coward self avoids the fray
In which I should be full enmeshed.

20190226.0430

Will you be such a flower grown
As will be by Stupid God known
As beautiful, with pleasant smell,
Ready-made to bouquets sell--
And knowing of Stupid God’s taste,
To other purposes but a waste?
Will you be content to adorn
Stupid God’s table, to be worn
As ornament upon its brow,
Seen in only a brief now
And soon forgotten, cast aside
On trash heaps that none can hide,
Filled as they are with devotees
That Stupid God looks on and sees
Not, save as statues to its deeds?
Is it such treatment your soul needs?

20190225.0430

Crops are made to grow in part through spreading
Manure upon where they will lie and on them as they
Grow. They take it in, coprophagically incorporate it into their
Fruits, which others eat, and if we are what we eat,
And other things are, as well,
Then they are shit and we are shit
Grown of shit and making shit,
And somewhere, the Stupid God looks upon prized gardens and smiles.

20190224.0430

Such sepsis as starts in such circumstances
Infects all those who settle in their stances
And will not move, despite how data dances
And shows them how they can filth leave.
Their brains grow tainted; they cannot believe
That other ways exist. They can’t perceive
That they can clean themselves of putrid flow
By learning things they don’t already know,
By learning things they thought are not just so,
But other than they had once been taught
Or had learned far less well than they had thought.
But many will not wash themselves for aught,
And so perhaps deserve gangrenous end;
Who can others from themselves defend?

20190223.0430

The thought that things were better in the past
Is not a thought that should be ‘lowed to last,
For they were fools who rendered “have” as “hast”
No less than later speakers who say “lol”
Or speak of how they’ve just pwned noobs, and all
The other things that elders stupid call.
Those elders were abjured by theirs, in turn,
And it may be that memories thereof still burn
Within them, drive them to their pride re-earn
By throwing shade as they had shaded been.
But doing deeds done badly yet again
Does not towards better ways to move begin;
Instead, so doing keeps folks in their place,
Stutifying, fest’ring in small space.

20190222.0430

A pantheon of horror and of strife
Has risen in the heavens, given life
By those in whom great folly is run rife,
And, seeing it, too many bow them down
And hope by bowing so to win a crown
When they, instead, each make of each a clown
And, bowing, serve to each their ass present
For kicking as each one is over bent.
They do not see, and so they think it sent
From those who thought to warn them of that fate,
And so it is on those that they turn hate
As those who warn them find only too late.
Yet still must those who would give warning speak,
Though doing so may others’ anger pique.

20190221.0430

The Stupid God works not alone,
But with gods other seeks to hone
The skills to leave all reason prone
And easily defeated.
The Hungry God, it stalks beside,
And as it does does woe betide
Those who cannot from those two hide;
They are soon defeated.
The Angry God it partners, too,
And with that partnership can do
Much that many come to rue
As they fall down, defeated.
The Stupid God by others yet
Of deities unpleasant’s met,
And they collude to matters set
As leave us all defeated.

20190220.0430

Cunning, too, the Stupid God can be,
Cloaking its intent that few can see
The ill effects of things, from which they’d flee
Were they not obfuscated by dire need.
It is through such and the demand to heed
Such things that Stupid God can often lead
Unwary desperate people to ill ends,
And on that misdirection it depends,
Else people would themselves better defend
Than seems to be the case that they will do.
It’s not for nothing they have cause to rue
The path they’ve taken, what they have gone through.
They offer warnings that few others hear
Until, too late, they’ve paid their prices dear.

20190219.0430

An interruption in the passes-for-normal progression of entries into this webspace is in order. For it is the case that, five years ago today, my beloved daughter joined us in the waking world. I am grateful, indeed, to have Ms. 8 in my life, to have seen her grow as much as she has in body and in mind. And I look forward to seeing much more of both across many years to come.

I love you, kiddo.