3.25.26: Untitled 3 #17

   Ursula, i think, would be so unhappy if . . . my default narrator said.  But “if what?”  He finished his sentence, if she wan’t a politician  what would she do, for example?  She’d  probably be depressed all the time and unable to sustain a relationship.  but maybe . . . but no—no buts about it; she was doing, thankfully, what she was born to do, and I’m only sorry that everyone cannot experience that.  But we needed to usher in the future, and the future looked like most work was optional because we were already provided for; you might not get rich, but you could live, and marry, and raise a family.  AI was going to do everything else.  so I asked Ursula, “What kind of love do you expect?”  And I was hoping she’d say a slightly volatile one—that was my game.  I liked to push and pull a little—working through neuroses and inhibitions that got in the way of total, uncompromising love for another person—digging into their back a little and reshaping them in our image.

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Novels in real time

3.25.26: Poem Untitled 1 #8

A restless, lyrical meditation on desire, identity, and self-reclamation, this poem blends romantic intensity with intellectual introspection. Moving between surreal imagery and grounded emotional insight, the speaker navigates obsession, longing, and the tension between devotion and autonomy. Vivid metaphors—dragons, parades, and shifting realities—mirror the instability of infatuation, while references to literature and philosophy add depth and texture. The voice oscillates between surrender and restraint, ultimately arriving at a turning point: a conscious step back toward self-possession. Both intimate and cerebral, the piece captures the paradox of love that both elevates and destabilizes, offering a nuanced reflection on attachment, imagination, and the necessity of reclaiming one’s inner focus.

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Book-length poems

3.24.26: Poem Untitled 1 #7

This poem moves through a surreal, often disorienting landscape where identity, desire, and performance blur into one another. Mixing sharp, almost conversational fragments with formal verse, it explores the instability of voice—both literal and emotional—suggesting that communication itself can stretch, distort, and echo across time. The speaker shifts between irony and vulnerability, weaving together cultural references, dark humor, and moments of stark introspection. At its core, the piece examines the tension between authenticity and performance: how we construct ourselves for others, how intimacy becomes entangled with spectacle, and how memory reshapes truth. The language oscillates between the visceral and the lyrical, creating a rhythm that feels both fractured and deliberate.

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Book-length poems

3.24.26: Untitled 3 #16

    So I was basically just writing a math book at this point—everything you needed to know (and how you knew it) to prove that the Riemann hypothesis was true.  That meant, at times, it felt a little tedious, since I wasn’t doing anything new; but it was new to me—so it still kept me going for a couple hours a day, which, if you think about it, and you do it almost every day, is enough (probably) to accomplish your goals.  You also had to let things sink in if the material you were reading was kind of compacted, so, at times, it was best not to work more than two hours.  You’d risk getting ahead of yourself and forgetting everything much faster than you normally might.

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Novels in real time

3.23.26: Untitled 3 #15

    do you think you can keep up with me?  Well, no, actually, I don’t think I can; but that doesn’t mean i won’t try, and, if I can’t, i promise I won’t hold you back.  Ursula had this way of asking questions that she thought you might want to ask her; so she tricked me, a little.  My answer might’ve made her think that I wouldn’t wait for her; that I’d go on changing in some other direction without filling her in.  But i wouldn’t do that—and I was waiting for her right now, as she must’ve known, so I think she was being a little insecure.  A little insecurity is endearing; it’s as if people want to trust you, as if they believe in you.  But a lot of insecurity made the equations too heavy—there had to be a better way, and, often enough, there was.  But I knew that Ursula was only a little insecure—she couldn’t be the rising star that she is without having loads of confidence.

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Novels in real time

3.23.26: Poem Untitled 1 #6

This piece unfolds as a sharp, self-aware meditation on voice, identity, and contradiction, blending humor with disquiet in a way that feels both intimate and theatrical. The speaker moves fluidly between self-critique and defiance, using vivid, sometimes abrasive imagery to challenge conventional ideas of polish and performance. Lines pivot unexpectedly—comic turns give way to existential unease—creating a tension that keeps the reader alert. Beneath its playful surface lies a deeper inquiry into authenticity: what it means to inhabit one’s voice, to resist imposed roles, and to reconcile tenderness with volatility. The language is deliberately uneven, mirroring a mind in motion, while recurring motifs of judgment, love, and unraveling lend the work a cohesive emotional arc that rewards close, reflective reading.

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Book-length poems

3.22.26: 1 Album 10: Numbers to letters

The interplay between voice and guitar in *Numbers to Letters* reveals a carefully balanced dialogue between linear melody and harmonic grounding. The vocal line moves with a conversational contour—measured and rhythmically flexible—while the guitar provides a steady, articulated framework beneath it. Rather than competing, the guitar outlines harmonic motion with clarity, reinforcing phrasing through subtle alignment. This restraint allows the lyrics to come forward: introspective, fragmented, and conceptually driven, they explore the translation of internal states into structured language—“numbers to letters” as both metaphor and method . The result is a unified aesthetic where music and text mirror each other—ordered yet searching—creating an intimate, thoughtful work that rewards close listening.

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Songs

3.22.26: Poem Untitled 1 #5

This piece carries a restless, shifting voice that blends social critique with surreal, often darkly comic imagery. It opens with a moral claim—no one should be homeless—but quickly destabilizes into personal confession and fragmented address. That tension between ethical clarity and psychological disorder gives the poem its energy. Its associative leaps and layered density give the piece literary weight, while the diction stays immediate and rooted in lived experience. The imagery can be jarring, even grotesque, but it feels purposeful, reflecting an unsettled inner state rather than aiming for shock alone. The closing lines introduce a more direct vulnerability, touching on aging, finances, and delayed love. While the tonal shifts may challenge some readers, they ultimately define the work’s distinctive, intellectually engaged voice.

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Book-length poems

3.22.26: Untitled 3 #14

    No show  but I was here, at maximum.  Patience, friend  –  and i was all too pleased.  but my little dog kept passing gas—and, I thought: “How do I even have a dog?”  Ursula needed somebody to look after that dog while she was in DC, and, well, that person, given my work ethic, might not have been me—by choice.  But why was I looking for reasons to split us apart?  Because Ursula might stand in the way of some other aspiring young woman that I might dream into existence?  Because it made me look bad to crush over someone that I had no chance to be with?  But it was like going to heaven, I guess; we were together already, even if we never experienced our physical presence.  Maybe we wouldn’t even be together in heaven—but we could work with each other to probe the unknown and usher in an eventful future, one that prioritized family life—for each of us, no matter who our romantic other turned out to be.

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Novels in real time

3.21.26 Poem Untitled 1 #4

This expands the poem’s metaphysical reach, blending inner dialogue, theology, and identity into a fluid, searching voice. The opening image—hearing speech “across the portal…outside my skull”—immediately establishes a layered consciousness that carries through the piece. The language moves confidently between belief and inquiry, giving the poem a compelling sense of motion and discovery. Religious imagery feels personal rather than doctrinal, grounding abstraction in lived experience. The steady rhyme and cadence provide a strong structural backbone, guiding the reader through shifting ideas with clarity and momentum. The result is a voice that feels both expansive and intimate, balancing philosophical ambition with emotional immediacy.

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Book-length poems