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The Indian gentleman, Brahmagupta,
invented the zero, null, nil, and zip--
just for times like now:
You betrayed me, you broke my heart.

Zero, null, nil, and zip--
Rewind, erase, delete, obliterate.
You betrayed me, you broke my heart.
You are nothing to me.

Rewind, erase, delete, obliterate.
Brahmagupta’s wonderful cipher lets me precisely say:
You are naught to me--
And not just for now, but forever.
A pantoum.
Brahmagupta did indeed invent the mathematical concept of zero in India in the 7th century, CE.
The Indian gentleman, Brahmagupta,
invented the zero, null, nil, and zip--
just for times like this:
You betrayed me, you broke my heart.

Rewind, erase, delete, obliterate.
You are naught to me.
Brahmagupta did indeed invent the mathematical concept of zero in India in the 7th century, CE.
G E Sousa Oct 7
Revered echoes of fell ichor fester once more

Token of dehiscence, sharp sound of shattering,
Broken glass on senses, fractured images sing,
Winking light from above, monochrome sight and flood,
Through a crimson filter, bliss dove like loose lifeblood,
Hundred mirrors beneath, reminisce the abyss,
And picture what death seeth, veins of hazed liquorice

A thousand questions lay on the floor, unanswered

Lost more than in essence, stranded and more than scarred
There are myriad stars, still shining an age hence
Their glow burns too intense, for my eyes not to char
And yet they dwell too far, for me to know and sense

Whether they scream or not, despite their voice so loud
So while strolling I vowed, ne'er to pursue some plot
Or let the wander rot, for thoughts belong in clouds
So with words of yore sowed, I'll find what I forgot

I'll be swimming yonder, airborne in tangled dreams
I'll hang on my hopes' rim, sometimes stop and wonder
Whether I should ponder, or in upwards walks scream
At life's own enmeshed schemes, for my heart grows fonder

And yet the sky still sings, strong of its astral tones
Berceuses whose hues moan, and make welkins' tints ring
Acrylics quite soothing, tinges under the dawn
Like rain that once had flown, on thin roofs now falling

But something somewhere hums, and I can't quite tell where
Nor could I truly care, about faraway strums
For I feel a bit numb, despite their jocund airs
Caught wistful in the snare, forswear the world as sum

So for now I'll sojourn, and let thoughts for morrow
May winds for eons blow, for I won't be forlorn
There are myriad bourns, still for me to follow
For all that felt sorrow, and for all journeyborne

A clock ticks with moonlight, and betokens the night

And yet the sunrise approaches already
Stars vanish away from it all
Have they gotten bored of listening to me?
Such would be a sad fate to befall
Or perhaps must they lend ears to more souls with woe
Still, I'll have to thank them and the moon
But I'll head home for now
I hear it'll be raining soon
G E Sousa Sep 26
Once, electricity went off,
And silence woke up from its slumber,
It forbid even the faintest sigh or cough,
For both sound and light die when it is somber.

The blind struggle,
By seeing itself in a puddle, thinks itself all-seeing,
Has it confused conceived inner hurt for sight ?
Perhaps it heard bruised melodies through deceived flights.
But the further it may believe it sees,
The closer to what is under its eyes perceive,
Or the closer to the yonder for that matter.
But I hope the blind struggle
Does not bind itself to the sky, it would need greater ropes,
And the stars could never bother with such muddle,
Or so would another, deeper struggle think.

Swevens shine and define my nightmares,
Deep down my spine and up my mind's lair,
Urge and pulse, boiling within and in the air,
Purge and repulse, shrieking, for I shall one day dare

To dance and scream, all in a song,
Glance at the rim, all in a saunter,
In dim seasons I raptly meander,
Surrounded by the nonsense I long.

Distracted by the tick of my thoughts,
  (Refracted reflects)
Outside I peek and to depart I ought,
  (Belied beliefs)
Brain's seek, click, how I feel empty,
  (Migrained mirror)
Heart's weak, seek so that it shall one day foresee

  Fragmented echoes breaking free
G E Sousa Sep 23
An infinite hallway opens itself to them,
Every locked door a new path (There's no losing your phlegm),
For the curious to gaze at and walk upon,
Every new path a new hallway (Remember where joy first shone?)

They wonder what it is that lies hidden in the end,
Nothing - except another row of paths and hallways (And this century's friends),
Another heap of locks and doors, what a mess,
And the walls speak of keys, meaningless (Isn't sloth the sourest caress?)

The theme of reflection
Brings a chill all over my body,
Glacial orchestra of outer serenity,
Its tranquil notes altars of introspection.

In limbo, the tempo whispers of innuendos

I'll dive into matters of self and purpose,
Thoughts of desires and prospect,
And greet a naught I've learned to expect,
An inner cold whence emptiness rose.

As if locked up behind walls that I alone built,
Lukewarm intentions that I myself begot,
I could feel the feeble links and strings, the knot
Of my very existence, drowned in sound and guilt.

Symphonic bounds woven and intertwined,
Not that tied in journey, but in destination,
Much like the universe: entropy in motion,
Like droplets of rain mirroring the sky, isn't a mind
But twisted, nonsensical threads knitting aloud
Whose meaning is null and none,
Unless I try and write down
the false lines I see in the waves and clouds
If six were nine
And Jimi Hendrix a nun
Would nine be none
Null and nil ?
And if sixth were ninth
And Jimi Hendrix a ninja
Falling like a sun into the sea mountains
on Ninety-null street
The world famous Quatre-vingt-dix-nullième rue
Would you mind ? Would you mind ?
Would you mind if September stopped to exist
And all the dead of September came back from Null None or Nil
And Jimi Hendrix were seventy-six.
sushii Mar 19
What we spent?
How we wept?

Was it all null?
Was it all nothing?

What I said?
The time before it was dead?

Was it all absent?
Was it all missing?

How we held
In a still moment such as this
How we suffered for the sun
And how we rejoiced for the rain?

A day similar to this and ones past
When we were together
And we held fast?
Mortecai Null Nov 2018
I was forced to sit upon a bench before a marbled statue in an art museum. Through patience and boredom, I traced over the figure before me. It was a woman. Her skin appeared so smooth, and her existence so intentional. She was draped with sheer fabric. How one carves sheer fabric from marble stone, I would never know. She looked so beautiful and at peace. Was I at peace? I mentally scanned over myself. I felt the nervous pumping of my heart and heard the carbonic shuffling of the toast I had eaten prior. I glanced, but not too obviously, at my fingers and the hands they were attached to. I could see the tangled roots of blue crawl between each other and the millions of cross hatched lines overlaying. I looked back up at the marble person. She had no pumping or shuffling. No crawling or cross hatching. She was silken and at rest. I tried to mimic her. I held in my place. Unmoving, unthinking, just being. But the more I tried, the worse I heard my heart and the worse I felt my stomach. I heard my thoughts and my chest rise and fall. I was cursed. I wanted to be like the woman. But my homeostatic existence forced me to continue. I held my mind as I stared at the statue with envy. What an existence to live. Pure, uninterrupted stasis. True stasis. She only moved when moved by others. And even then, she was at rest within herself. No knowledge outside of her oneness. I looked inward again. I was forced to be here. I was forced to be brought here and forced to be taken away from here someday. No one even thought to ask me about the matter. Time is so limited. And here I was. Forced to be here and forced to be here, looking at this woman with more than I could ever have. She was beautiful, spending everyday within a single place being praised by liberal art students and school children who pass through this atrium, even though she did not exist for them. She existed for herself. She stayed within herself, her own scope. Unbound by time or place in her mind. Yet, we all were lucky enough to have witnessed her within her unboundaries. After brushing over her several thousand times, I noticed a chip within her pedestal. I became silently aggravated at the prospect of some lazy dolt who was given the honor of moving her to only do so uncarefully, or an ungrateful adolescent bored amongst the halls of everlasting pieces of geniuses’ minds. But that was just it. They weren’t everlasting. Not really. Not even she, as her perfection captivated for millenia. For the first time, I felt I was her, and she was me. As she has been idolized for her beauty, such as I for the people who loved me. She had a history, as did I. We both have texture and features of difference, but we were to lie in the same bed someday. I would fall asleep much sooner than she, but all things must lay to rest. Even if she spent her entire worldly being in protection, she would still be brought to a close with the setting of the Universe. Two immaculate sisters saying farewell, both so vastly different yet frustratingly the same. Though for both, the daughter of mass and the daughter of time did not cross each other’s paths. They merely felt one another through the beings within and around them that occupy the other. Mass felt time around her, as time felt mass within her. And thus, were one, with no knowledge of the other. I took the first breath I had acknowledged since I first sat on this bench. My eyes attempted to adjust to farther focal points of the rest of the building once I finally pried my gaze from the woman. So many other beautiful beings existed in this singular space that I had no idea about until now. I wanted to spend my time with them, before they had no more time to spend with me. A woman came out of the door to my left. She asked me if I was here to interview for the security guard position. I nodded. She invited me to follow her into the room, and I did just that.
Mortecai Null Nov 2018
Lines of scar tissue trace from the edge of your lips back to the end of your teeth. You run your tongue from one corner to the other. Right to left. You can’t be the only one to have this. Your desire to probe another’s orifices has close to overwhelmed you in the desire to relate to other people. Was this normal? When the fan runs wind over your skin it crawls to create peaks and divots. As they fade, one patch remains on the outside of your forearm. You pick at every little one until the whole population turns red to purple to green. Was this normal? Your teeth poke holes into each other. A corner of a molar no longer holds up a roof and with your tongue’s help you can just barely make out the inner cavity. It felt like porous webbing. It reminds you of the animal skulls you looked at in your biology class and their delicate nasal cavities. Looking at those cavities used to make you very sad. Was this normal? You once had a hangnail on your hallux. They had to numb your foot to break under your skin and pull the left section of it out. It took twice the amount of anesthetic for you to not feel it. It felt good to know you were being mutilated.  Was this normal? You always felt a dip in the upper back of your head. You once heard that newborn babies had a soft spot in that area of their skull, but that the hole closes as they get older. Pressing on yours incites headache. Was this normal? You once formed a cyst on your thigh. It did not want to be drained like its smaller companions that littered your back and face. You are determined to remove the blemish. You dig around the outsides and press inward to find the source. It seems deeper than you thought. You continue to scratch away at the layers of skin as you start to bleed. It doesn’t really hurt. You just want to find the cyst. After about thirty minutes you give up. You’re not really sure why you couldn’t find it. You must have took at least an inch into your leg. Was this normal? For weeks you slipped in and out of lucid dreams. You only got up to use the bathroom, check the news, and take your medicine. Some of the dreams were enjoyable and others less so. You almost started to forget which world was more real, but it all started to become unsettling. Even when you didn’t care where you were, every state felt as if it were decaying around you. And when you did care, the panic caused you to start to shake. In quiet, disabling anxiety, you spun counterclockwise to the world around you. You grabbed the razer from your shower. You gently rubbed the blades against your forearm. Erratic slices cut through the outermost dermal. There was no blood, just redness. It was only to make sure you were still there. But it wasn’t quite right. Your arm was there, but maybe the rest of you wasn’t. You had to make sure. Was this normal? You raced the blades up your arms, over your chest, down your torso, down and down. Certain curvatures ran strange and caused blood to pearl to the surface. Others barely upset the dead layer. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You always felt like your face didn’t look quite right. And right now, it was the face of some sort of estranged family member. Was this normal? You gently glide the razor sideways across your face. It’s the most sensitive yet. You remember some random piece of trivia about the temples on a human head. You start to slide the hand razor to the right side of your temple. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You experiment with more and more pressure until blood starts to arise. The little bit of it running down the side of your face made you feel the most comfortable in your skin for a long time. You start to rotate from your forearms and your temples and your stomach and again. You’ve forgotten about the dreams. You’ve forgotten about the world. You’ve forgotten about the trivial division between reality and non-. You’ve forgotten about normalcy. You feel good. Was this normal?
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