The Science of Abundance

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How’s life?

I’m still on my forever guy quest; I might have found him, but I’m not gonna count until he hatches. In the meantime, I’m writing as much as possible.

I’m tired of seeing shows that portray when a loved one does some wicked, irreparable shit, and the mom/dad or someone says … but they’re still my [enter relationship here]. My UnicornMN will find you and give you and your loved one the royal fuck-up treatment.

Ready for some tiger bench torture? I think I’d be good at torturing “bad” people, and I wouldn’t even feel no two ways about it. Sleeping like a baby unbothered by colic.

You know what I also hate: when people talk about “turning and tossing” in bed. I’ll toss you so you can see what that really means.

Recently, I turned off the option to email my posts – I felt like I was writing so much that I was saturating people’s inboxes with my content. So now – it’s just straight to my website.

I guess part of me feels like this gives me more freedom to write whatever I want, but also I feel subscribers might get annoyed with me, like “What the fuck! I ain’t got time for another poem today, bitch!”

Break for Poetry Stats

Alright, it’s the last quarter of 2026, can you believe it! Oh, before we get into our latest tyrant, gotta share my poetry stats:

Total as of today: 649.
- That’s the 632 published poems plus 17 private ones.
Most in a week: 35,
- Week of Monday, Sep 21 to Sunday, Sep 27, 2026.
Most in a day: 8,
- on Saturday, Sep 26, 2026.

I’m beginning to feel like writing is this sacred thing.
for the love of it sam

Maybe I’m being ridiculous, but it feels that way because of how words come to me. I have no idea what other writers/poets experience, so I have no data to say my experience is unique – regardless, the feeling is sublime.

I think poems meant for me live in another dimension, and they come by to visit, but they have no sense of proper timing. lol. But always welcome guests.

Sometimes the entire poem comes, like whoosh! It feels like a strong wind that could blow me over. It’s the craziest, most otherworldly feeling. Other times it’s a stanza or just a word, calm as ever. Sometimes I wake up, and it’s there, fully formed.

I am grateful for this ineffable gift.

Name that Tyrant #14

This tyrant’s early life reads like the resume of a Nobel Peace Prize nominee. He seemed to deeply care about his country folk before getting into politics.

An only child from a modest middle-class background, this guy’s pops was a schoolteacher and journalist, and his mom worked in a bakery. He was a soft-spoken, unassuming boy. Awww. Look at the baby tyrant!

For most of his young life, mom struggled with severe mental illness and was institutionalized, on and off, I believe. She died when he was 12.

Because growing up under foreign military rule shaped his worldview, he dedicated his life to his country’s sovereignty, until life presented him with other priorities.

After winning the presidential election, he began systematically executing his rivals and constructing a totalitarian nightmare.

I wish I could tell you more, but that might give it away. And I definitely can’t disclose the prizes for the same reason.

Until next time!