We meet again.

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Why do people trust me when I write poetry? That is for people who assume that poetry is an expression of insanity. In reality a hard to write poem is one if the most brainy things to write.

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What I think about abortion is not important. We have a new law of the land and that is what we will live with. It is not up to the world to agree with me if I think women have the right to choose. It is a controversial subject even if it doesn't seem like that for some people, especially those women who aren't down with this. I am not down with this either. Yet I can accept that now for the time being it is the law.

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Here is an example of time: 1 day or 24 hours is infinite hours in both directions. But the odds improve in 48 hours for the 24 of causal things to occur. But the Double arrow of time could effect these also. Therefore time remains strange or twilight zone.

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All around me are fixed gaze people going deep going deeper, its a black hole white hole screen and it's getting colder, even bolder, there is a reason to fear as the brains are lost and trembling, that sleep won't do the trick as the system is set for failing.

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Blue Print for a Better World; Costume Improv Near Busy Streets: This could be a fantastic way to bring art and joy to everyday life. Street performances can capture people's attention and make art accessible to everyone, fostering a sense of community and cultural appreciation. Finnish Model of Education: The Finnish education system is renowned for its emphasis on holistic development, less standardized testing, and more teacher autonomy. Implementing similar practices can help create a more nurturing and effective educational environment for children. Books, Pen and Paper, Free Time from Screens: Encouraging people to disconnect from screens and engage in reading, writing, and other offline activities can enhance creativity, reduce stress, and improve overall well-being.

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How is the AI revolution for me? Obviously humans are often too stupid these days. If we can't use AI then it is largely a wasted technology.

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A world fraught with trials, so weary and confined, Left behind for moments where the heart can unwind. In this realm of dreams, where burdens are light, I lose myself, in an endless flight. Yet, within the wonder, a yearning does arise, For a beauty transcending what mere dreams can comprise. Though these visions are sweet, they whisper of more, A longing for treasures beyond this dream's shore. Palm trees sway under a sky of twilight blue, Stars glimmering like diamonds, in night’s silent dew. Golden sands stretch where gentle waves reside, An ocean of dreams where my heart can hide. In this land of wonder, I yearn for a place, A secret haven, where dreams interlace. A cottage by the sea, with windows wide, Where reality and dreams forever collide. From cobblestone streets of Portland's old town, To the lighthouse beacons, casting shadows down. Sea salt in the air, and the call of distant ships, A harbor of dreams, where my longing dips.

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If you want to be fragile and weak then fear the ultra male with big balls and laser guns. This could be Lord Strong Meat who is learning within his cave of wisdom.

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Your new world order!

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Sing, O Muse, of the land of Oceania, Where the mighty Party reigns supreme, And Big Brother's gaze, ever watchful, Pierces the hearts of men and women. In the city of Airstrip One, where shadows Dance upon the walls of Victory Mansions, Lived Winston, a man of quiet rebellion, Whose thoughts dared to defy the iron rule. The telescreens, like the eyes of Argus, Saw all, knew all, and whispered lies, While the Ministry of Truth, with its serpentine tongue, Twisted the past to suit the present's needs. O Muse, tell of the forbidden love, Between Winston and Julia, bold and fair, Their secret meetings in the golden glade, A fleeting respite from the Party's snare. In the darkened corners of the city, Where the proles lived in ignorance, Winston sought the truth of ages past, In dusty tomes and whispered tales. The Brotherhood, a phantom hope, A dream of freedom in the night, Led Winston to the treacherous O'Brien, Whose words were honey, but heart was stone. Through labyrinthine halls of power, Winston walked, his spirit high, Yet shadows loomed, and fate conspired, To bring him low, to make him cry. In the bowels of the Ministry of Love, Where light was scarce and hope was none, Winston faced the wrath of Party's might, And in Room 101, his will was done. O Muse, recount the tortures dire, The rats that gnawed at Winston's soul, The breaking of his heart and mind, Until he loved Big Brother whole. Thus, in the land of Oceania, where freedom Is but a whisper in the wind, the tale Of Winston's struggle and ultimate fall Echoes through the ages, a warning to all. The Party's grip, like Hades' chains, Held fast the minds of all who lived, And in the end, the hero fell, A testament to power's thrall. Yet still, O Muse, let us remember, The spark of hope that once did burn, For even in the darkest night, The dream of freedom shall return. In the land of Oceania, where the sky Was ever gray and the streets were cold, Winston walked with heavy heart, A man alone in a sea of lies. The Ministry of Peace, with warlike hand, Kept the people in constant fear, While the Ministry of Plenty's cruel jest, Left them hungry, year after year. The Ministry of Love, with iron fist, Crushed dissent and sowed despair, And in its depths, the cries of pain Echoed through the stagnant air. O Muse, sing of the secret thoughts, That Winston dared to write in ink, In his hidden alcove, far from sight, Where the Party's gaze could never sink. He wrote of freedom, love, and truth, Of a world where men could speak their minds, But in his heart, he knew the cost, Of dreams that left the past behind. Julia, with her fiery spirit, Brought a light to Winston's life, Together they defied the night, And found a moment free from strife. In the room above the antique shop, They whispered secrets, shared their dreams, But fate, like a relentless tide, Swept away their fragile schemes. O'Brien, with his serpent's smile, Lured them into his deadly snare, And in the end, their love was crushed, By the weight of the Party's glare. In the cold and sterile halls, Where the Ministry of Love held sway, Winston's spirit was torn apart, And his dreams were cast away. The rats, with their gnashing teeth, Brought him to the brink of doom, And in that darkest, final hour, He betrayed his love, his heart consumed. Thus, in the land of Oceania, where freedom Is but a whisper in the wind, the tale Of Winston's struggle and ultimate fall Echoes through the ages, a warning to all. The Party's grip, like Hades' chains, Held fast the minds of all who lived, And in the end, the hero fell, A testament to power's thrall. Yet still, O Muse, let us remember, The spark of hope that once did burn, For even in the darkest night, The dream of freedom shall return. In the land of Oceania, where the sky Was ever gray and the streets were cold, Winston walked with heavy heart, A man alone in a sea of lies. The Ministry of Peace, with warlike hand, Kept the people in constant fear, While the Ministry of Plenty's cruel jest, Left them hungry, year after year. The Ministry of Love, with iron fist, Crushed dissent and sowed despair, And in its depths, the cries of pain Echoed through the stagnant air. O Muse, sing of the secret thoughts, That Winston dared to write in ink, In his hidden alcove, far from sight, Where the Party's gaze could never sink. He wrote of freedom, love, and truth, Of a world where men could speak their minds, But in his heart, he knew the cost, Of dreams that left the past behind. Julia, with her fiery spirit, Brought a light to Winston's life, Together they defied the night, And found a moment free from strife. In the room above the antique shop, They whispered secrets, shared their dreams, But fate, like a relentless tide, Swept away their fragile schemes. O'Brien, with his serpent's smile, Lured them into his deadly snare, And in the end, their love was crushed, By the weight of the Party's glare. In the cold and sterile halls, Where the Ministry of Love held sway, Winston's spirit was torn apart, And his dreams were cast away. The rats, with their gnashing teeth, Brought him to the brink of doom, And in that darkest, final hour, He betrayed his love, his heart consumed. Thus, in the land of Oceania, where freedom Is but a whisper in the wind, the tale Of Winston's struggle and ultimate fall Echoes through the ages, a warning to all. The Party's grip, like Hades' chains, Held fast the minds of all who lived, And in the end, the hero fell, A testament to power's thrall. Yet still, O Muse, let us remember, The spark of hope that once did burn, For even in the darkest night, The dream of freedom shall return. In the land of Oceania, where the sky Was ever gray and the streets were cold, Winston walked with heavy heart, A man alone in a sea of lies. The Ministry of Peace, with warlike hand, Kept the people in constant fear, While the Ministry of Plenty's cruel jest, Left them hungry, year after year. The Ministry of Love, with iron fist, Crushed dissent and sowed despair, And in its depths, the cries of pain Echoed through the stagnant air. O Muse, sing of the secret thoughts, That Winston dared to write in ink, In his hidden alcove, far from sight, Where the Party's gaze could never sink. He wrote of freedom, love, and truth, Of a world where men could speak their minds, But in his heart, he knew the cost, Of dreams that left the past behind. Julia, with her fiery spirit, Brought a light to Winston's life, Together they defied the night, And found a moment free from strife. In the room above the antique shop, They whispered secrets, shared their dreams, But fate, like a relentless tide, Swept away their fragile schemes. O'Brien, with his serpent's smile, Lured them into his deadly snare, And in the end, their love was crushed, By the weight of the Party's glare. In the cold and sterile halls, Where the Ministry of Love held sway, Winston's spirit was torn apart, And his dreams were cast away. The rats, with their gnashing teeth, Brought him to the brink of doom, And in that darkest, final hour, He betrayed his love, his heart consumed. Thus, in the land of Oceania, where freedom Is but a whisper in the wind, the tale Of Winston's struggle and ultimate fall Echoes through the ages, a warning to all. The Party's grip, like Hades' chains, Held fast the minds of all who lived, And in the end, the hero fell, A testament to power's thrall. Yet still, O Muse, let us remember, The spark of hope that once did burn, For even in the darkest night, The dream of freedom shall return.