Monthly Archives: January 2026

THE HAT CAT PEOPLE

The Hat Cat People are an as yet unknow extremely rare type of cat.

It was written in all the tomes of love and life and beauty.

Until after so many years they were forgotten to not only truth but common sense.

A Hat Cat Person can take over a human by laying upon the human’s head.

Once this is done the human is at the mercy of the cat.

All control is gone.

That is why The Hat Cat People wear hats, you see.

To conceal the true master of that human.

The Hat Cat Person.

Their people.

And their Nation’s Song:

“In shadowed attics ‘neath the gas-lamp’s fitful gleam,
They stir from slumber, velvet paws a-dream,
Whiskers twitching ‘gainst the mortal brow—
O, frail vessel! Yield thy throne e’en now.

From crown to toe, the sinews bend and bow,
To feline fancy, purring soft as sin;
The tongue that spake of empires, markets, men,
Now laps at cream in parlours dim within.

Yet mark ye well, ye mortals clad in clay,
The brim that droops like weeping willow’s spray—
Lift it, and lo! The eye of jade shall glare,
A realm reclaim’d from time’s oblivious snare.

For in each hatted shade, from lord to knave,
A Hat Cat reigns, insidious and brave;
Their legions whisper through the fog-shroud’d street,
Beauty restor’d in conquests cold and sweet.

Thus sing the tomes, in dust and silence lain—
Awake, O world! Or wear their hats in vain.”

Sang their National Anthem.

:: 01.05.2026 ::

(Note: this is an on-going piece of art as a bedtime story for my grand-daughter, “Evie.”)


LOGOPHILLIA MINIMA

In the quiet cradle of a single syllable,
a world awakens—soft as breath on glass.
One word, small seed, cracks the silence open,
and suddenly the universe is speaking back.

We are lovers of the least of these:
the hush between two letters,
the spark that leaps from tongue to ear,
the tiny bridge a vowel builds across the dark.

Logophilia minima—

the art of falling hard
for the smallest units of meaning,
for the atom of sense that explodes into galaxies.

Consider “if”—
two letters, one breath,
holding every crossroads ever walked.
Or “yes,” a door flung wide
on hinges made of air.

See how “dot” becomes a period,
a full stop, a world’s end—
then flips to become a point of light,
the start of everything again.

We hoard these crumbs of language
like misers with bright coins:
“oh,” the circle of surprise;
“ah,” the slow exhale of understanding;
“mm,” the hum of satisfaction
when the world fits perfectly inside the mouth.
In the minimal, the infinite hides.

A child’s first “ma”
contains every lullaby ever sung.
A lover’s whispered “stay”
holds back the tide of night.
We bow to the power of less:
how “no” can build a wall
stronger than empires,
how “go” can launch a thousand ships
on nothing but intention.

Logophilia minima—

celebration of the spark,
the mote, the glint,
the almost-nothing that becomes
everything when spoken true.

May we never lose
this small, fierce love
for the least word,
the tiniest truth,
the quiet syllable
that carries the weight
of all the worlds
we have not yet named.

For you, for me, for everyone
who has ever paused
at the beauty of a single sound
and felt the whole sky
lean in to listen.

:: 01.04.2025 ::

Definition of this New Phrase I created: the literal interpretation of “logophilia minima” would be a “minimal” or “very small love of words,” or potentially an appreciation for only the briefest or fewest words.


THE ETERNAL FEED

The deepest truth we’ve ever known,
As far as souls are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near that endless feed —
Or better still, just don’t allow
The glowing algorithm in.

In almost every heart we’ve seen,
We’ve watched them lost in endless scroll,
They slump and swipe and fade away,
Eyes glazed until the spirit dulls.

(Last night in dreams I saw a thousand souls
Dissolve like pixels on the floor.)

They tap and swipe and swipe and tap
Until they’re hypnotized by it,
Until they’re drunk on hollow light,
That shocking, ghastly, viral junk.

Oh yes, we know it keeps them quiet,
No running wild or breaking free,
No questions asked or dreams pursued,
It leaves you space to breathe alone —
But have you ever paused to feel,
To wonder what this does to your beloved child?

IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES THE SPIRIT DULL AND BLIND
NO LONGER ABLE TO CREATE
A WORLD BEYOND THE CURATED FATE!
THE BRAIN TURNS SOFT AS ENDLESS DOOM!
THE POWERS OF WONDER RUST AND BLOOM
IN LIKES ALONE — THEY CANNOT THINK,
THEY ONLY SCROLL, THEY ONLY BLINK!

‘All right!’ you’ll cry. ‘All right!’ you’ll say,
‘But if we cut the feed away,
What then to spark their restless hearts?
Our darling ones — how to restart?’
We answer gently, asking you:
What kept the dreaming children true?
How did they roam their boundless days
Before this timeline stole their gaze?
Have you forgotten? Do you know?

We’ll whisper it both fierce and slow:
THEY… USED… TO… DREAM! They’d dream and dream,
AND DREAM and DREAM, and then redeem
More dreams again. Great heavens, see!
Half of their lives was wild and free!
They built whole worlds from sticks and string,
Drew maps of places never seen,
Sang stories underneath the trees,
Ran barefoot through the summer breeze,
Invented languages and laws,
Fought dragons with cardboard swords,
Turned blankets into sailing ships,
And oceans rose from fingertips.

They lay for hours in the grass
Watching clouds become the past,
Asked why the stars burn in the night,
And wondered what it feels to fly.

They read beneath the covers’ glow,
They whispered secrets only children know.
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Delete the apps and walk away,
And in their place restore the space
For silence, wonder, open grace.

Give back the boredom, give the quiet,
The empty hours that spark the riot
Of inner worlds no feed can buy —
Ignore the tears, the storms, the cries.

Fear nothing, for we promise this:
In days or weeks of empty bliss,
They’ll feel the hunger, seek the vast
Uncharted country of the past.

And once they start — oh watch, oh see!
The slowly waking ecstasy
That fills their hearts, their eyes, their soul.
They’ll wonder what that feed could hold
In that ridiculous machine,
That foul, addictive, endless screen!

And later, every child will turn
With deeper love than likes can earn,
For you who dared to set them free.

To dream eternally.

:: 12.31.2025 ::
(Inspired by: Roald Dahl)