#quantumpoetry
__________________________________
The blank page is a loaded gun, dangerous,
full of beauty's entropy and combinatory dreams.
It's open source ethos, fidgeting with splendor,
with that momentum white of the sea at morning.
It's not a desert, for whoever's sake, is not a cliff,
neither where your mind goes make snow angel ideas,
nor a mute inbox that you keep refreshing:
The mind is just filled with horror for the void
when there's nothing else.
The blank page is a loaded gun,
a uranium mine field waiting for a chain reaction,
where the feelings will collapse upon themselves
and hurt the reader by wounding the page,
the ink bled a testament to the violence
of the rapture always waiting to be born.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
You can't see how many minds
have exploded due to
it does not matter now what amazing
methapataphorical event,
and you will never know,
no matter what blew shattered
disbanded your mind
because after the explosions
the pieces started traveling
at light speed away from you until,
nearly infinite Doppler Effects afterwards,
all you can see from where you stand is
infraredness, for which you'd need
of course, special equipment.
But then again, your mind had exploded,
so it would be of little use for you
on your present situation.
Unless,
you are yourself some kind
of Schrödinger's cat person,
and can enjoy
some superposition state,
because till this point
no one but you has found out about
your mind explosion.
Or maybe not just yet.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
Photosynthetic void—walls bereft of chroma,
No photon cascade, no serotonin spectra.
A chamber of entropy,
Where mitosis mourns in monochrome.
Chrono-displacement:
We arrived at 8:20,
But spacetime dilated—
A tachyon chase beneath scalpel orbit.
Dual patient states—pre-op/post-op—
Entangled in Schrödinger’s queue,
Their vitals suspended
In probabilistic purgatory.
The medic? A quantum migrant.
From outpost to outpost,
Clinic to cloud,
A baryon of ambition, unbound by Hippocratic gravity.
Washroom:
A microbial biome of neglect.
Fee:
A kilojoule transaction for placebo empathy.
This isn’t care.
It’s thermodynamic collapse
In a coat of sterilized prestige.
He holds the scalpel,
Yet forgets:
The heart is not a ledger.
And time is not his to hoard.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 10:06 AM UTC