Date: April 19, 2024
painting
Fantasia Of Fire
In a realm where colors dance and swirl, A creature of fire with a twist and twirl, With scales of night, eyes like moonlit pearls, Guarding the gates where the mystic unfurls. Its claws are of onyx, etched with tales, Against a tempest, its roar prevails. In its maw, a universe pales, A beast of legend, where fantasy sails. Golden orbs and copper streams, Weave through its mane in vibrant dreams. A tapestry of thought it seems, In the tapestry of night, it gleams. Behold the dragon of boundless might, In the canvas of day, in the shroud of night. A vision of wonder, an artist's delight, A fantastical creature in eternal flight.
Date: April 19, 2024
Random Thoughts
Life is war and you can’t allow yourself to get soft in the ceasefires
In the hourglass of existence, grain by grain, Time slips through life's unyielding terrain. A titan kneels, each muscle an ode, To the ceaseless battles and the paths erode. Born from fires that burn the night, A demon looms in the glass, a menacing sight. His visage, a stark reminder, a harrowing lore, Of ceaseless strife that life has in store. The titan's fists clinch, his resolve a cast, Aware that tranquility is but a fragile mast. In the sands of time, a warrior’s testament, To the looming wars, his spirit's permanent rent. Bats flit about in the shadow's embrace, As the titan girds his soul for the coming race. The hourglass whispers of the wars to spawn, A vigil between storms, from dusk till dawn. In every grain, an impending fight, A journey through day, a sojourn through night. In the silent pauses, strength he gleans, A warrior molded in interim dreams. Each sand’s descent, a knell to heed, A summons to the warrior, a call to lead. For life’s a forge and peace, but a bower, A training ground for the titan's power.
Date: April 18, 2024
Random Thoughts
We only fall in love with the outer shell of people. To find out who a person truly is inside is a life long journey into a core that ever changes
Beneath the armor's gleaming crest, A heart beats in a tireless quest. A sentinel in the silent night, Guarding the path to the inner light. Through hollow eyes, the skulls may stare, But past the visage, there's more to bare. A journey deep, through shadows’ mesh, To find the soul behind the flesh. For love's first glance is but a shell, A mystic guise, a fleeting spell. It's down the path, 'midst change and strife, We seek the core, the truth of life. The gleaming sword may fight, may fend, But only time will truths unbend. Each step upon this hallowed way, Brings forth a soul, in light and gray. So venture forth, embrace the change, Through ever-shifting heart's exchange. For in the quest to know, to see, We find what is, and what may be. Yet as we walk this sacred aisle, Know that every tear and smile, Is but a note in life's grand score, A dance of selves, forevermore.
Date: April 17, 2024
Random Thoughts
Crypto isn’t the bubble. Fiat is the bubble
In the abyss where shadows play, A sea nymph flutters, fair and fey. Her scales catch the starry night’s gleam, With a bubble gun, a child’s dream. Each bubble a whisper of markets' dance, A sphere of chance in their silent prance. With every pop, a concept soars, Of wealth not held in vaulted doors. With wings spread wide in the briny deep, She tends the garden that we reap. Where value lies not in paper thin, But in the codes and the trust within. She fires away, a mermaid’s fun, Yet in each sphere, a revolution spun. For every bubble that meets its end, Hints at a currency that might ascend. In her wake, the old ways wane, As she heralds the digital domain. A deep-sea siren, in the dark expanse, Casting forth the future’s chance. Through the depths, she weaves her tale, Of a world where transient bubbles pale. In her grasp, a power untold, Not of the bubble, but of the mold. In the ocean’s heart, away from the sun, Her bubbles rise, then one by one, They burst to show a hint so subtle: Not a trap, but a transformative shuttle.
Date: April 16, 2024
Random Thoughts
A man needs to be an unpredictable adjusting machine in an ever changing world
In a realm where stars and gears align, A creature forged from time's own spine, Wrought of cogs that twist and dance, A symphony of circumstance. No path too straight, no motion set, It weaves a waltz of pirouette, For in the flux of tick and tock, It stands steadfast—a paradox. Copper veins and sinews wind, A testament to an unconfined Existence, thriving in the spin, Embracing change that dwells within. Its arms aloft, it does not seek To stay the same from week to week, But rather molds to shifting scenes, In worlds where constant is but dreams. So let the gears within us turn, With every lesson deftly learned, Unpredictable, we must be, To sail the seas of destiny. For life’s a clock that can’t unwind, Its hands will move, not be confined. Adapt, adjust, forevermore, In this grand chase of evermore.
Date: April 15, 2024
Random Thoughts
I’m not a product of my circumstances. My circumstances are a product of me
In stardust palms a cosmos blooms, Entwined with fate's most verdant looms, Where leaves of life in twilight twine, Reflect the will of a design. Here, not the winds of chance we find, But seeds sown deep in fertile mind, For we are gardeners of our fate, In night’s embrace, our stars await. In every frond and cosmic sweep, Lies proof that we are not the sheep, But shepherds of our own expanse, Creators in this cosmic dance. Behold the entity that weaves Its essence into astral leaves, A testament to the core belief, That we are architects of relief. A sovereign sculptor of the spheres, That shapes its growth through passing years, Whose verdure touch can bend and sway, The universe where lights will play. No prisoner to the passing time, No serf to life’s capricious clime, But master of the verdant flame, That spells out our unspoken name. So let the universe take heed, From every star-seed deed, For in our hands, the power lies, To craft the earth, to forge the skies.
Date: April 14, 2024
Random Thoughts
I don’t think total time per day equals progress. I think necessity equals progress. I think desperation equals progress
In a garden grown in night’s soft gloom, Where flowers breathe and starlight blooms, A little one with wings unfurled, Mixes the essences of the world. The Reaper stands with time in hand, His silent watch, stern and grand. With flowers fair and moon’s embrace, This tender scene in night’s dark space. The potion's brew, a race with fate, Each second counts, both small and great. Desperation, not time’s long thread, Spurs progress in this floral bed. For when the scythe is poised to reap, It’s urgency that stirs from sleep. Not hours, but need, will spur the flight, Of breakthroughs born from pressured plight. The child, in haste, does not delay, For looming shadow spares no day. A lesson taught beneath the stars: It’s dire need that raises bars. So in this waltz 'twixt dusk and dawn, Where quiet fears are drawn upon, From fervent need does progress bloom, A potent burst through looming gloom.
Date: April 13, 2024
Random Thoughts
No principles, no enemies
Beneath the moon's somber glow, a warrior stands, Armor woven like the willow, twisted strands. Steel in grip, eyes unseen, a silent plea, In a world where roots of honor grow deep as the sea. He knows not of compromise, nor a yielding way, As steadfast as the mountains, come what may. Foes arise like the tide against the shore, For a heart that houses valor births a score. In his silence, whispers the truth that gleams: Hold fast to what is just, let none redeem. The blade he wields cuts a double-edged fate, For in the dance of right, enmity lies in wait. Though shadows cast a looming, dark decree, The samurai's path is clear, though many disagree. With every step upon this hallowed, lonesome lea, The principle's cost is cast: both curse and key. In this world spun of chaos and of night, He is the keeper of the day, the bringer of light. No spoken creed, yet the skies know his plea: In the silence of his code, he is both bound and free.
Date: April 12, 2024
painting
Ascension of the Puzzle Master
In the realm of twisted wood and feathered wing, A puzzle master's mind begins to sing. Her curls like roaring fires twist and wind, A symphony of thought, and soul entwined. She holds aloft a cube, a challenge fair, While doves of peace soar through the vibrant air. The pieces float, like whispers in a dream, Where nothing truly is just as it seem. Her wings, a mighty span of russet hue, Unfurl to cradle hopes and visions new. In roots and skin, the stories old are told, Of mysteries and sagas brave and bold. Her gaze is firm, upon the turning block, Each movement ticks in rhythm with the clock. The world around, a box of secrets lies, Awaiting the unraveling of ties. With every twist, a path is carved in stone, And light from yonder window softly shone. To solve the puzzle, mind and soul must leap, And into unknown depths, one must peep. So here she reigns, in quiet majesty, A portrait of resolve and fantasy. The ascension of her craft, the master's rite, Amidst the flight of birds and fading light.
Date: April 12, 2024
Random Thoughts
Strength lies not in never breaking but in gluing back the pieces and going at it again till the hammer of life gets tired of swinging
In a cosmos spun of hopes and fears, A titan kneels, the sum of years, Pieced together from stardust and night, With jigsaw flesh and a will to fight. His might forged in the furnace of trials, No stranger to life's endless miles, He builds himself from shadow and pain, A mosaic soul, whole again. With each fall, his legend grows, Not from unmarked paths he chose, But from the rubble of his falls, He rises higher, past life's walls. The pounding gavel of fate may swing, Yet he stands, a puzzle king, With each piece placed, his strength renews, Against the hammer, he'll not lose. For in the end, the truth he knows: Strength's not in an unscarred pose, But in the art of healing's grace, In joining pieces in their place. No need for never breaking here, The secret's in the glue, so clear, With every break, the chance is given, To rise, to mend, and to be riven. So watch him now, as night gives way, To the quiet strength of breaking day, And know the power of starting again, With hands that heal and a heart to mend.
