Changing Medium

A limited amount of resources

Ending its pattern


Capitation going to your head like a crown

Minions dying

The ivory towers losing any significance

Your crown becomes the only prize

To rule over degradation

Of patterns becoming less distinct

The cries become noise

Trivial to the reign

Of reason and thought

Of a supreme race

Of grandeur sustained

By the degradation sought

By the minds that think

The noises aren’t



Betsy Calabaza

blooms — crazy rants masked as abstract experimental philosophy. s/o CS Peirce