Created with Microsoft Fresh Paint

Try to Build Stairs Out of Light

Is a picture worth a thousand words? I’m not sure, but I feel like a picture is at least worth a Haiku poem.

I created all of these images myself.

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Lucidus Featured

Lucidus

The featured image is a photograph shot by my father.

I hope you enjoy this poetry:

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never ending clay (nec) featured

Never-Ending Clay

Never-Ending Clay

It’s been a while since I wrote a blog post that wasn’t poetry. I decided that today—a beautiful summer Saturday—would be a good time to switch things up. I thought about writing something concerning the effect of ISIS on our foreign policy or maybe the future possibility of virtual and/or robotic prostitution, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Continue reading

Sign of a medical cross

A Fake Press Release Concerning Painless Male Catheters

I wrote a fake press release today. My sister (Christine Neumann) and I came up with an idea for a painless male catheter. We figured the ‘Galactic Cap’ condom that only attaches to the head of the penis would make for a better design than the Texas (or Condom) catheters currently in use. The next amendment we made was employing hydrophobic substances to eliminate all irritation and inflammation caused by flesh in contact with urine. Christine suggested that a cast could be molded from a patient’s penis and used to create a perfectly fitted opening—using hydrophobic materials. And for emergency situations where a cast cannot be made fast enough, I believe a hydrophobic ointment—applied underneath the condom—could temporarily minimize the adverse, painful effects due to urine exposure. This catheter concept may only apply to patients that do have the ability to urinate voluntarily, yet cannot get out of bed.

 

I’m not claiming to be a medical professional or an engineer (and neither is my sister). We wanted to think of something that could potentially benefit others. We don’t desire any recognition or compensation.

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lamp

Where do I start?

Where do I start?

I concentrated on my antique lamp, carefully analyzing the dust coating its base. It felt like me, I assumed. I felt like dust clung to me. “Yet it’s brighter than I’ll ever be.”

Everything I had to do that day, and tomorrow, seemed overwhelming. It was hopeless. It was repeated torture.

“Today is the day I do it. I’m really going to.”

I looked out the window—the sun piercing my swollen eyes.

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A waking dreamer.

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