Spacemeat. The light cone enfolds the individual effectually creating a ghost through geometric topology. The negative of the person, the "ghost" is a result of the lensing of the original person's light cone interacting with a tertiary lightcone that predicates it's future on the subsequent intermingling of the light cones. The result is essentially apodictic insofar as the consequential nature of the topological result is the determinant by which the conclusion from the incipient portion of the status aforementioned is solidified. Spacemeat.
2026-05-02 MINGLE POETRY CONTEST
SPONSOR CONSTANCE LA FRANCE
The honeymoon ended two weeks ago
But I still can’t believe we are wed.
Even though we’re in the same house,
Eat the same food and share the same bed.
I still have to pinch myself ten times a day,
In case I wake up and I’ve dreamt it all.
Suppose I reach out and she isn’t there
And none of it’s really happened at all.
But today, at last, I knew it was real,
When I looked through the window and there on the line,
Fluttering proudly for all to see,
Was a row of her undies – intermingled with mine.
Written: March 22, 2025, for contest sponsored by Craig Cornish
***********************
In the heart of my kitchen spices exude their aromatic allure
a harmonic blend of flavors coddiwomples mute grief. . .
cimmerian saudade in emeritus pickles, a nostalgic taste
longing for a whiff of jasmine s p e c k s. . .
the acridity of blue cheese, the poignancy of bygone days. . .
lavender aromas snip from vessels of proclivity
hidden under an ominous cloud of r e m o r s e
on par with brimstone-soaked steam,
harmony strives to alleviate concealed pain
pleading palms to purge passed-over prose
as seclusion seeps still as a slow-spreading sickness…
Scathed by sadness solitude simmers silently,
In this mixture, marvelous magic manifests for mending
spicy ambrosial nuances partake in a gracious w a l t z
pain intermingling with delight
a buffet embellished with dishes of acrid herbs,
the core character intertwines with previous fails
textures and fragrances intertwine
to create a tapestry rich in pain and d e l i g h t,
harmonizing sadness and joy in life's tangled web.
The knife held in trembling hands.
Gasped breaths intermingling in the cold, dreary night.
Hushed whispers, choked off words.
Thousands of what if's disappearing like smoke in the polluted sky.
Soft flesh held in calloused hands.
The soul staring out through its window— or maybe the bars of its cell,
Wondering in amazement at the brine red pools.
Wish you'd have kissed as softly as the knife hurt you.
Glided your dirty hands on unblemished skin as the glinting blade did on yours.
Impressionable immature imps imprint, improve, and improvise
Incorporating incredible indefatigable independence.
Infusing informed influential infallible infestation
Intensifying interception intermingling intimacy
One day the moon is another place, a mid flotsam
nightmare of titanic is another passion of a haunting
ho?.
When I imagine something it worries me much, whether
the moon is prone or vulnerable like a science or car's
or like cat or dog that sometimes walk west or north
or raise or groom them?.
One day the moon is hither or thither or gal glassing
and then something is shadowing or clattering like atom
let say in Mars?- and still the fact that sometimes
my country is like the moon worries me so?, for who
will pass a leaning on somehow Monrovia shard or
anyhow draw?, or a sort of cell low?, or hunting tonight?.
One day the moon intermingling tell us why and what is
trespassing- our words like sacredness - truth - dream -
justice - power - politics - are no longer holding or
brotherly, lest shatter or wither or weather - hauntingly?.
In the quiet of the night, my mind begins to race,
Random thoughts swirling, searching for a place.
Fragmented memories, pieces of the past,
Flitting through my consciousness, fading fast.
A kaleidoscope of images, colors and sounds,
Mingling together, forming new bounds.
Dreams and desires, hopes and fears,
Intermingling in a dance of tears.
Random thoughts, like shooting stars,
Glimpses of the universe, seen from afar.
A glimpse into the depths of my soul,
A journey into the unknown, to make me whole.
So I embrace these random thoughts, let them flow,
For they are the essence of who I know.
A window into my innermost being,
A reminder of all that I am seeing.
I have an inkling
My writing is winking
At me behind my back
Or maybe its just blinking,
Mindlessly thinking
While wrinkling up
My tiny universe
By tinkering
And intermingling
The real and the false~
I hear a clinking,
A chilling kind of whistling;
What is that stinking prickling
I can feel bristling
Up and down my spine?
Connecting hearts, intertwining hands
Dancing in the fires of passion
Singing the praises of divine sacredness
Touching the sweet caress of energies intermingling in the Oneness of creation
Captured by the essence that draws you into intoxication
A tantalizing kiss awakening the senses to ecstasy
Souls crying out in pure bliss in being recognized by each other
A feeling of transcending time and space through realms and universes
Beneath a white blanket, Gaia sleeps;
in crystalline slumber, dreams cascade,
like the thawing waters of a river.
Her children are nestled deep,
among the roots of the trees
and hovels dug beneath her skin;
it's the dying of the old ways,
in preparation for new beginnings,
that rolls across her Dream-Screen
in tones of floral blush and
newborn leaves popping from woodland nodes.
Waterway arteries pump their fluids,
up above and beneath; her body lean,
of moist skins and drying ancestral bones.
Rocky sentinels share their air with
evergreen children of her soul;
lending contrast to stark whites,
are verdigris and sepia hues
intermingling with the song of rambling
water sprites, unseen by human eyes.
Just a kiss of nature's soul,
is a dream conversion into
the flora of springtime's passion.
Gorgeous fragrances, intermingling
Wafting in from many directions
Sensory overload; understood only if you were there.
Peaches, plums, persimmons, marvelous colors.
Each one showing out her own truth,
Being herself, delicate and lovely.
Which ones to choose? Quintessential prototypes of themselves.
A floral banquet
I was the wedding caterer,
about to make choices.
Where to begin?
Why am I not that man standing across the street
Who dresses so dapper, pants creased just right,
He is quite intelligent, charming, and socially wise,
The sort of person everyone I know wants to meet.
Interesting question: Why am I who I am, so unique?
Was it a question of random intermingling genetics
Or, could I have been formed with a greater purpose?
The product of One called I Am Who I Am, whom I seek
And if that is the case, I am here for some special task
I have a reason for being that is especially mine, and
It is incumbent upon me to discover my Creator’s will,
I must formulate questions important for me to ask
If I stay true to myself and my Creator’s perfect Lamb,
Then I shall certainly know, in time, why I am who I am.
HONORABLE MENTION
Written August 24, 2021
For “Why Am I Me?” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Shreya LN
[Fourteen lines with Rhyme Scheme ABCA,
and with ending rhyming couplet]
from a distance, clouds gently float
like cotton candies of varied hues
from light pastels of lilac and cerulean
intermingling with silky azure skies
hazy colours mirrored on the sea
like the hues painted in your eyes
of your gentle glance
unaware of my presence~
like the sleepy shores
unaware, too of curling foams
halcyon hills in soft emerald
blended in ivory and juniper
reminds me of the green grass
where we used to run
barefooted and free~
unmindful of the seasons
1 March 2021
Notes:Beach in Pourville is a painting by French artist Claude Monet. It is one of an 1882 series of oil-on-canvas works by Monet in the small seaside resort of Pourville-sur-Mer, near Dieppe in northern France. (Photo and info credits to Wikipedia).
Gentle breeze flowing; caress of delight,
magically nuzzling all nodes within,
vivified by loving magnetism bright.
Bliss renewal each moment does begin,
immersing us in rapture ignition.
Merging by melting into the current,
essence of divine presence innocent,
drawn to the scent of love therein tingling,
shines softly in healing light radiant:
boundaries blur on love intermingling.
31-October-2020
Maya
Hypnotic trance
Dance of duality
Joy and sorrow intermingling
Truth veiled
27-October-2020
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