Dear friends and family, greetings guys and dolls, salutations ghosts and ghouls,

Here’s to meadowlarks and lovers.
Lets’ set sail for somewhere special.

Lets’s stay up late
with the people
whom free our dreams
and fill our sails.

Life’s been pretty great for a while. But it went stale. My grandmother had a stroke. I have cried so much lately. I can’t stop sleeping either. What does one do when responsibilities touch down in a land of Godless ruins?

You see, I have hardly succeeded in Maths lately. I am not overtly challenged by the content; instead, I am growing up and hip to the fact that I feel pure quantities are all substance and no heart.

Numbers feel like bold black cryptograms of fleeting meaning. Where is the inherent pursuit of cosmic life in numbers? There isn’t… At least not really. It is assumed as associative and commutative. And, it saddens me.

I’ve been a student of Literature, which made me more thoughtful and community-oriented. Didn’t go to well to be honest. Something about excavating the throe and woahs of history ships me into maelstroms.

But, something is missing. Something deeply buried in my past…

Here I resonate, panicking at the juncture of academia and my twenty-three-years-old mind, I’m seriously considering calling my math-e-mu-cation quits and transferring into astrophysics. My love of empiricism and rigorous science.
I am no longer convinced anything bequeathes me bliss, or tranquility. The prior mentioned subjects are beautiful, yes. But I am slowly learning they are not my jam.

Truth is, I took part in a creative non-fiction seminar with aspiring scientists last year. If I make the transition, I want to design medicinal music production frequencies. And, broadcast them into the chaotic unknown.

However, I fear I do not find beauty in the breadth and depth of my very being when I study them. Stars are born with the wink of an eye and they disappear in the blink of an eye. I want to record it all–the destinations uncharted of civilizations past.

Who knows what we can discover? Who knows the beauty that lies in the depths of hidden Hubble realities? Maybe we go on to bio-medically engineer stars together? Either way… Either way, I have never been happier than when I was delighted the opportunity to talk physics with the Fam.

Hope you are all s’well and staying well.

All loom no gloom,


P.S. I think Giggly-Dads come from Colorado. Not necessarily. But also, they do sometimes, ya know.


Letter to Followers

So, I start school at the University of Alabama tomorrow…

Truth is, I want to become a mathematician.  And since I love science, my minor is Physics.  To me, there’s something about the way time ticks.  With immeasurable longevity, Time, as well as space, are the arbiters of all phenomenon.  Perpetually pondering feelings, histories, and futures, I enjoy spiritedly daydreaming about the unconscious mind and the perplexing complexity of psychological phenomenons.  You see, to me, any given psychic event can be counted.  It’s impact on the surrounding world can be labelled.  And finally–by following this line of rational–numbers can be used to find meaningful ways of organizing entire societies and industries into being optimizable, profitable, or meaningful.  This being acknowledged, I write poetry on the side because I find it to be a wonderful, therapeutic medium.

Recently, it occurred to me that not many things in this world are constant.  Practicing mathematicians help keep uncertainty in check.  Although I am still early in my undergraduate days, I know that equations hold great truth on how to not waste one’s Time.  You may be wondering why I am so obsessed with time…  Well, I think time is money just like tons of older people.  An economy is something that needs to be stimulated in order to preserve the present technology for future generations, and also, to keep the world at ease.

So much miscalculated passion exists in the world, driving entire nations further into debt.  So many just assume that necessity fosters innovation.  But sometimes along the way it seems to be forgotten that highly trained professionals are needed to sustain so many products.  The scary part is, most resources are finite and the Earth’s resources are being depleted more rapidly than ever before.  No doubt, the world will be very different from now.  Yet, to make the world lush with opportunity is on us as a people.  We need jobs of all types.  Furthermore, the world needs jobs that have not even been thought of yet.  With all of this chaos looming around the corner, the world needs brilliant fact checkers to align humanity’s zeal with the ways of righteous wonder.

For sure, this is why I am going into Mathematics.  I want to be that fact checker that helps keeps us all safe.  What is the present worth if it is not the platform of thousands of years from now?

In closing, I often wonder of what I will become of me when I die, but lately, I am too busy vivaciously being on top of my shit to even worry about it.  With the ability to wonder comes the ability to fall into lusterless thoughts.  As of today, I am done wasting my time with fruitlessness.  If you are a child or parent, may the ways of the world treat you kindly and may you educate yourself however you can.  Whether it be a book, a class, or a converation, living is learning.  And, I believe in the power within all of our hearts to continue making Life on Earth exceptional.

May we all go on to have a great rest of August.

Quite sincerely,
Sean M. Smith

Time’s Potential

What better a world than one that teems with productivity and progress, fairness and kindness, or awe and wonder?

Pretentious untruths are soul devouring.
Wicked insensitivity, the center of the pattern.
To be a moral man is to be an excellent man.

I seriously doubt even Nietzsche would reject my tone.
What is nihilism other than the pacification of one’s past mistakes?

What good could possibly come from not accepting one’s life story?
Also, what kind of reasonable, rational trajectory could one have if they don’t?

Well, the quality of craftsmanship of my internal narrative is certainly improving.
Acknowledging the mucky decay that became my life for a while has not been easy.
But, I am now hip with the fact that harrowing, disparaging sentimentality can be transcended.

This is my life.  This is real and really important.

Why should this life be anything other than strict, pure, and enchanting?
You and I, we are the procession of millions upon billions of finely tuned years.

Let us usher in wisdom and positivity like that is all there is to do.

Sincerely yours,
Sean M. Smith


When all places seem to be dead ends,

The whole world may not forgive you,
But you will have made peace with yourself.

Acceptance of the right to improve
The most righteous way of life.

Here’s to repentance
For both wrongdoings and misgivings.

Here’s to never expecting a reward
In exchange or insulting behavior.

Let’s be politely honest all the time.

It’s all about ushering in self respect.

For Sure,
Sean M. Smith

Flowery for a Friend

As your emerald ocean eyes
Wait for another pacific sunset surprise,
All is bluish-green, white-capped calm.

Wishes upon dandelions
From forever ago still came true.

Depressively aloof from all things not truth,
Brood like a hedonist around folks
that neither bop nor jive.

I will strive for greatness for as long as I live!

Tale of Horror

Truth is, I have never been more traumatized than a week ago.  Waking up in cold sweats is unfortunate. But, last weeks nightmare was no ordinary journey into the abyss. In fact, I’d prefer to undergo the frightening and miserable near-oblivion that is delirium tremens again instead of my nightmare.

It was a Friday… a rather glorious Friday to be specific. Singing abounded. Cool breezes caressed my ruddy cheeks. Massive, snowy mountains surrounded my humble residence. I was no longer failing the Spring semester at UA-Tuscaloosa; instead, I had finalized my failures. Relieved and reinvigorated, I was indeed.

Due to my Mother’s excessive worry and my Father’s consistent silence, I elected to try to quit smoking coffin-accelerants with the assistance of nicotine patches. A week ago, I put the patch on my first patch.

To my surprise, I was not experiencing cravings, or more irritable than any other morning. I danced about the yard. I did not over eat. The patches seemed to have no side effects. Like any sane twenty-tree year old, I decided to celebrate.

I got drunk as fuck as quickly as I could.

I basked in the glory that is alcohol for a few hours. To elaborate, I did what any drunken, lonely man my age should do: sang songs, wrote poetry, read literature. As the tilt-a-whirl express began to embrace my consciousness whilst simultaneously disorienting my equilibrium, I began to doze off. Before I began to snore, I let out a magnificent breath and smiled myself to sleep.

Next out of fucking nowhere, I am subsumed by shrill, vicious tar monsters. The sheer amount of fear those inter dimensional demons instilled puts the moments of sheer terror during acid into the category of bummers.

As what seemed like eternal damnation continued to never cease, I began living out my living in a way I never had before. The fresh perspective was unfamiliar. It was ghost-like. It was ghastly. Sensing everything that could have been through the minds of everyone I currently miss or once knew, the sheer amount of loathing and disgust expresses about my character was like a scimitar to soul.

Then, I saw myself in a karmic mirror with skin as permanently damaged as my lungs. I began shedding tears of tar. Far from lucid, entirely wanting to die, the scene transformed into me playing ping pong with my former smoking buddy, who hasn’t spoken to me in six months. I was so relieved my laud a lord in whom I do no believe in was sky bound.

In a characteristic dream like fashion, there was a vicissitude that shattered my psyche to smithereens. I’d rather my ten year child friend move away all over again. My ping pong pal transformed into the ghost of my dying older brother who said loudly and clearly, “Everything you just saw was me. It was an experience of all you would have known about me if you weren’t off killing yourself twenty times a day.” It should be stated here that my brother is not dying in real life.

As the dream was clearly ending, I saw my old mathematics professor twirling a strange, infinite lemniscate. He bluntly stated, “Best of luck with your mid-life crisis kid. This was only a dream. It’s the rest of your life that is the nightmare.” Finally, I awoke coated in sweat with tears in my bloodshot eyes.

For a Friend

Torrential worries fill my heat and mind.

This anxiety is like spiral staircase,
Which is questionably an overreaction,
All the same is a constant source of sorrow.

Pleading with for a platform to rest on
Or to escape the dizzying lack of
approachable center,

I’m left in the dark wondering if you may be
feeling the same nausea I do
That stems from being the only thing tethered to my reality.

That’s the thing about red-eyed and bleary-eyes…
They are both sad.

I do miss vacations from real with you,
even if I am mumbling half formed syllables
about the once upon a time that never was.

But, that’s the thing about substance induced oblivion.

One day, the pain of loss
Becomes so amplified,
It becomes all that there is.

Fear not, I guess.
The scrabbling, or grappling, for acceptance
works itself out eventually.

Please don’t make the mistakes,
which I have made, in the coming months…

Thrills and pills, trills and benders,
green clouds and yellow stains…
These are the choices you ace, Ace.

The former are predominantly what I recommend.
Don’t be afraid of you slip up a little.

Please be good to yourself, Old Friend.

Love you regardless I most certainly will,
‘Tis jus damnable offense to not speak
ones mind to a greathero who is susceptible to tarnishing.

Stay gold, Old Pal.