The word for the day is Eucalyptus

Nothing’s worse than saying goodbye. It’s a little like dying.

January was full of that. Lots of goodbyes that hurt, each one pulling me back. I learned the word matrix in a couple of ways. First, in math, it’s exact. It messes with lines and turns pictures, like flipping a castle in a lake. Squares of numbers change stuff, stretch things, flip the world. The identity matrix is easy. Ones down the middle, zeros all around. It changes nothing, like multiplying by one. But its inverse? A times inverse A makes identity. It undoes everything. Then, there’s the movie. Neo wakes up plugged into tubes, living a fake life. The red pill scene is key. Morpheus offers the red pill in a dim room. Trinity watches. Choice time. Blue pill, story ends. Red pill, you see Wonderland. He takes it. The mirror turns to liquid, and he falls as bad guys chase him. The real world is harsh: people grown for power, orange sky, ships battling machines in storms.

They are linked by this idea: a global 72-hour blackout. Imagine: all power gone for three days. No phones, no lights, just your thoughts. The math matrix twists the screen world we think is real. The movie says it’s all fake, trapping minds like animals on a farm. When the blackout comes, the fake world crumbles. Like Persephone kissing Neo for a key. Is that like Iran banning Persepolis? They called it anti-Islam, burned it for showing the revolution’s bad side: fear, torture, no simple story of the new leaders. But why connect it to the first poem? Locked in silence, no song, flowers smell through closed windows, the door to light open but you don’t walk through, back to jail, chasing fake dreams. Persepolis shows it. Not hate, just real light on the trap, lies peeling off. Funny twist to the song road: eyes caught like car lights, stuck on strings that won’t break, heart speeds on the path, scared to stop alone in the dark. You’re a spark while the road keeps going. In 2023, I liked the ride; in 2024, got the words; in 2025, just feel it. No split miles needed. Blackout over, the inverse matrix fixes goodbye, but you’ve already stepped through.

to justify

I am imprisoned in my own silence,

there is no melody in my voice.

I sit beside a closed window -

yet I smell flowers.

Why, even after opening the door to light,

do I still not step through?

Again and again I am thrown back

into an obscene prison.

Chasing… something to gain,

lost in delusion…

in delusion.