Glory to folly!

Blathering lips never did much

Never liked getting spit on

Yet waves of it is generous

While there is much to adore here

When fear is dropped in a bucket

And pants drop in shame

Lives pissed away

Ballet.
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If I ever had to be classified as a poet it would be fair just to call me an English Poet.

I make no claims to being Jewish exactly,

I studied English Poetry

I like the English language

So I will leave it at that!
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The world needs principles, not extremist pimples.

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Some people sit around and think about religion..

Why!?
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Life has been trippy and I'm okay with that! I think?


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Drinking the mead,

Eating the meat

The winds stop

All seems lost

Then a lollipop!
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I have a sort of good lifešŸ˜

After years of searching Major Tom began finding

Seek and you shall find were his Christian thing

It looked like a kind if heaven, but with people

It had no roller coaster rides or big surprises

Yet he felt constant delight

Craving little except a bitešŸ˜
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All work and no play!

Jack was feeling dull that day.

Oh well.
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I hypothesize that audio reality is noise for the most part, yet a needed noise.


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A green star appears white.

There are no green stars.

There are red, blue
Yellow, white!

Green is in the brightest part of the color spectrum!

White exists in our mind because of blue, red and green!

Now that's puzzling!
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Another A+ read, dive in! The Tall Thin Manā€”what a striking, enigmatic figure! Spanning posts from Warmest Winds and Magic V, heā€™s a towering presence (literally, over seven feet!) who strides through a patchwork of surreal scenes, blending menace, charisma, and absurdity. Letā€™s unpack this character and see what heā€™s all about. Right off the bat, heā€™s got this commanding aura. ā€œTo you I am like a God,ā€ he declares in that 2019 poem, bending his knee with a jolt, reaching for the sky in a ā€œbig tryā€ for victory. Heā€™s not just tall and thinā€”heā€™s larger-than-life, a self-proclaimed deity with a hard edge. That violin he wields like a dark sorcerer, playing haunting melodies that seduce juries, whip crowds into frenzies, or soothe bloodied drummersā€”itā€™s his signature, a tool of power and chaos. Heā€™s no passive bystander; heā€™s the puppet master, grinning under lamp posts at moths or slipping through cracks in reality. Yet thereā€™s a restlessness to him. Heā€™s always on the moveā€”striding across environments, heading west to saloons, or vanishing down winding stairs past alligator bridges to munch a ham sandwich (that detail kills meā€”itā€™s so mundane yet bizarre). Heā€™s got zeppelins and giant air balloons by 2025, suggesting heā€™s evolving, maybe even conquering new heightsā€”literal and metaphorical. But for all his grandeur, heā€™s tied to the shadows. He emerges from them, looms in alleys, or stands as an ā€œold convictā€ in the rain, bitter and less kind. Is he free, or trapped in his own myth? His interactions with others hint at duality. To some, heā€™s a guideā€”telling a poker-rich wanderer to ā€œGo West!ā€ or gesturing toward a glowing green door, stripping you of hat and coat like a cryptic usher. To others, heā€™s a terrorā€”ā€œyour worst fear,ā€ shattering minds, competing with unnamed rivals. Magic Vā€™s posts toy with his nature: Devil or God? The question lingers, unanswered. Heā€™s both, maybeā€”savage yet delicate, playful yet brutal. That dance with the violin, making you behave foolishly, feels like a trap you canā€™t resist. His worldā€™s a feverish blend of the wild and the urban. Rabbits race, snakes slither into cities, drones mix with drums, and colors turn orange and purple in a reality-warping mashup with Bill Hole and James Bond at an ā€œAnti Trans eventā€ (what?). Itā€™s chaotic, almost apocalyptic, yet he thrives in it. That 2016 ā€œsmelly cityā€ line and the 2023 blood-soaked drumming scene suggest decay and violence, but heā€™s unfazedā€”alive, victorious, always returning with a ā€œHa!ā€ like some immortal trickster. What do I make of him? The Tall Thin Manā€™s a forceā€”part myth, part nightmare, part showman. Heā€™s not just tall and thin; heā€™s stretched across dimensions, a lanky specter of ego and mystery. I see him as a chaotic neutralā€”neither wholly good nor evil, but a catalyst, stirring up whatever he touches. His violinā€™s the key: itā€™s how he bends the world, from juries to mad hatters. Heā€™s got a touch of the Pied Piper, a dash of the Devil at the crossroads, and a whole lot of swagger. Compared to Bill Hole, heā€™s less human, more elemental. Billā€™s a quirky everyman fumbling through absurdity; the Tall Thin Manā€™s the absurdity itself, orchestrating it. Iā€™d wager heā€™s what Bill might fearā€”or secretly admire.