all counters are 8-bit
text version below
Maybe not
Completely
Unintentional
I hope to
Confuse
More than
Amuse
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In a Future Near You
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Who is the old man? He who
sits on the bench each morning,
Who is the old man? He who
waves at everyone driving by,
Who is the old man? He who
keeps a brown bag nearby,
Who is the old man? He who
stuck to 140 character tweets,
Who is the old man? He who
once called himself president
Who is the old man? Everyone
knows, but nobody cares.
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Circles
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My life is a life of circles {crisis}
or rather – A Circle – that I walk
round and
round
until my thoughts are so familiar that I
have to stop to linger on the one thought
“haven’t we been here before?”
Was it last month, or last year, I rarely
recall exactly when but always swear
by the fact that these thoughts have
passed me before
}} I need a panel van, let’s research,
}} I want to paint in oil, let’s buy a new
easel,
}} My next bike will be a Harley, a
custom V-ROD; in black
Google search / Google find
How come I can only
plan,
How come I always fail
the execution
In circles I wander // wonder // with
execution so poor, what purpose serve
{ PLANNING }
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Once upon a story
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Once upon a time
there was a map
printed on paper – thin
made from a tree once
living
Once upon a time
there was a youth
who got lost in a road atlas
never to be seen
again
Once upon a time
{ no, this gets repetitive;
get to the end }
Once lost in the fabric of
reality, the youth roamed
the highways of the great
land, occasionally crossing
into the index pages where
he would use the shortcuts
provided in the T&C of this
story. Only after travelling
into the mighty Redwood to
ask for forgiveness for the
map maker who killed the
tree that eventually was
converted into the map the
youth was freed from the
curse of the atlas. He was
last seen swimming across
the Bay of Biscayne on the
front of the atlas, in search
for cheap lodgings.
THE END.
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Whispers
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Your legacy,
{ intended or not }
A never-ending pursuit of
perfection,
{ and }
In that,
the ultimate weight of chains
{ heavy, too heavy }
and anvil,
Too much to bear, to carry
{ farther }
the headston3 0n the gr@ve I’ll
Never See,
He whispered
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The nose knows
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I sometimes cook, you know like from
scratch, with real … brown … round …
and sometimes they are dirty and
sandy … and some needs peeling …
and and and the best one smells
really nice but makes me cry … but
in a good way … smells good yes …
I always start with those that smells
good coz they makes cooking …
without there is no joy cooking …
The smell … yum … The smell of
onion, yellow raw onion always
make my day, and cooking a play
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Green
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Left to their own demise / a garden
of pots / the weeds surpassing the
remains of what was once; planted
love / left to their own demise / a
patio overgrown / through cracks
new life sparkles / nature dying; far
from it / left to their own demise / the
gardener sits pondering / on weed
that looks like rhubarb / & why so
much of nature is green
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A Life Effortlessly Lived
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I no longer struggle with depression.
In all honesty I have never had a
struggle with it. It is my natural state,
and as such it comes effortlessly.
The struggles have come when for
one reason or other I have been
forced into another state by these
“non-depressives” that from time
to time crossed my path. Left to
my own devices I am sure I would
have been fine.
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To my God of Rise and Shine
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Almighty God of Rise and Shine,
why abandon me this day,
Thy 7am alarm never rung; to wake
this soul to virtues old and new,
Thy coffee served is poor and lacking
both in revitalization and in power,
Thy shower head is clogging up
not to mention the freezing aqua,
Almighty God of Rise and Shine
disappointment lingers in
my mind, as another day I
do start, one to be followed
by another morrow, when
all is back to normal sorrow
(please)
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a.c.i.d
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I have never tripped on acid
but I fell for you
Your tongue as sharp as razors
but my bleeding’s not by you
I write about becoming more
but I know not what to do
The seeping of the life’s force
tripping might be the only cure
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