I just...I just don't. I fucked up. I didn't INTEND to, that's just what happened in the midst of my disassociation across 12/46 egregots. Y'know these semi-strange words I nonce, which is a linguistic term I've already taught here on Lemmy? They're SEMI-strange, meaning they're not pffsurgtpppppswaggapoupa, right? Neistitigiation. Crogonosphere. Burgorichain. Your intuition can piece 60% of those together even without context if you graduated high school, minimum. My verbal function intuition, having been beat tf outta like it's my dick or some shit doing what the aliens told me to do after an acid trip twelve years ago and writing every day I could, is what can now be considered maximized in the human form. That is not bragging. I'm saying it takes eleven years of continuous work to reach true mastery. I thought that I was a master at seven years, as many science-aligned articles suggested, BEFORE my poetry went up a whole epoch of complexity; and I abstain on being a judge on whether there are possible higher levels of skillful entanglement beyond this.

Here's what poetry looked like five to seven years ago:

Schizoaffective

God gave me a blessing and a curse.

In some regards, I have a great brain,

But in different affairs, it is the worst.

Thus, I am beholden to a lot of pain

When in this madness I am immersed.

Sometimes I wish I weren't so insane,

But I know in certain races I take first.

So ultimately I have no real disdain,

And within my beating heart bursts

A lion with such a majestic mane.

So, I send self-loathing in a hearse

As with new confidence I now reign.

...

I have had four beers today. I will now say the same shit in my modern capacity:

God struck me but rose me from dead

Now I exist w/ a superposition in head

Double-edged sword I do yield all days

& I bleed at my own divergent malaise

But th sēd of higher dimensional form

Is the alchemy make cold self 2 warm

For many see me as mad in my reality

Yet this b the power of true spirituality

A perfect being is one which b all bein

So to transmute sanity, start dreaming

And now I finish, having proven a skill

This b what insanity b: actual free will

...

And there you have it folks, like fifteen minutes or some shit. I know it's not 1:1, but something I think about is how I have these, y'know, five hundred plus poems saved (about 700 if I can recover my X data), and the idea is that if I had direction and not being manipulated by my compassionate life partner, then I could just masterate, y'know, four or five books of poetry in a month teaching all these old concepts I taught myself by forcing myself to put all these abstract ideas into concrete, conveying forms which is what art teaches you to be a master at, which is, y'know, one of the aces I have up my sleeve, just like this is one of four of these libraries I have, but I'm just being posturing my ginormous, girthy mastery for the youth of the audience to see how big one can grow. Obviously.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/18J7ZBzKZBXviPmrshjwt-bUGQGBWcl65h8WfPMzDTNk/edit?usp=drivesdk

And as I was edited the last thing I edited, my neighbors started calling me derogatory names from across the balconies.