Sunday, February 12, 2012

Crying Dude in Computer Lab

"*Invents amazing new tech where, if you scan a dvd you own into the camera, the movie suddenly starts to begin.* #wastingtimewithdiscs"

I then added, "If you scan a dvd you don't own, it plays a recording of your birth"

Satisfied, I rose and scanned the computer lab. There he was again. This guy that spent way too much time there. But this time, he was crying. He was staring into the monitor, and tears were coming from his face.

Being an investigator of all things, I approached this human, and asked, "You ok, man?"

I mean, something must have happened, right? "Did your gf just break up with you, online?" I asked. I tried to apply humor: "Heh. Maybe she faxed it to you, eh?"

He didn't even seem to see me. Something had happened that was visually depicted to him on the monitor that I was not privy to. A new set of tears drained down his rosy cheeks, and now, he even sniffled a little.

"What? Did you just learn your mother died, or something?" I touched him with my left boot. "You alright?," I asked. "What are you fucking crying about?"

No response.

"Just, cause, like, I have to spend a lot of time in this computer lab. I don't want your tears gradually causing a biological hazard that could injure my person."

Nothing. No response.

"Can I do something for you, to make you stop the crying?" I asked. Incentives are always motivational.

Then something unexpected happened. Something unforseen. The man turned his head to me, and, with a little sniff, asked, "Yes. Can you get me a cola?" Then he turned his head back to the monitor, and continued with his weeping.

Right. Sure. I had been meaning to go to the vending machine anyway.

Heart Feel

Bad things happened last night. I issue, now, a public apology, which can be only so heartfelt.

My hope in doing this is that this will be the end of it.

What is "it", you ask?

I don't know whether to tell you plainly, or to somehow butter you up first. Or to just lie. An event of such magnitude could only be felt in the bone, not in flesh or the vagaries of little neurons travelling in such mushy topic as the biological brain.

But know that it was felt through these pathways too. And after we switched off all the lasers, the quantum drives and all the special-eject-seats, we experienced a short moment of it.

That is all I will say. Good morning.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Petrol Breath

Had the nozzle in fuel tank
to sink a few timezones.
Would take a little time so
lit a cigarette up.

Plastic melted onto scalp,
gashes round the elbows,
I asked the little store ma'am
where the vaseline was.

She didn't say, but was staring at me in a way that guaranteed we had communicated.
This was when I began believing in telepathy, as the explosion had blown my lips clear off.

"Where's the damn vaseline,
little gas station store ma'am?"
My pants were lighting on fire,
my nipples dripping petrol on it.

If you saw the CCTV footage of that afternoon, you'd see my apparition jogging
haphazardly around the chips and candy aisle, searching wildly for any sign of pharmaceuticals or skin care.

She reached under the register
pulled out her eight-gauge.
Pointed at me, then pulled,
blowing my brains out.

Sticky gobs of burning napalm
with tiny splinters of my skull
flew as my body did a little dance,
all over the back wall.

Suddenly the store was all explosions. Little ma'am ran out, screaming.
A jar of vaseline rolled uselessly to my foot, and from above, a stray tic-tac landed into my torn open throat.

It didn't help much with the petrol breath.

Clear The Years

Can't hear anything.
My years are full up.
34 years not a bad amount.

My mother used to poke sharp instruments,
say, a hairpin or (during daring missions) a wood toothpick
to tickle my auditory canal
and 'clean' me.

This has become only a most obvious message
about how I am supposed to exist and operate.

There is something deep in there.

Thank you, mother. What else was there before?