Sunday, December 15, 2013

What, Now, Have You Gone and Done With All the Wonderful Memories That I Gave You?

# What, Now, Have You Gone and Done With All the Wonderful Memories That I Gave You?

## What did you do with all the wonderful memories? (at some point this will all be rendered by a markdown renderer)

intro song, rough out of tune guitars, hints of feedback:



### actual piece

"I see that you are introducing some form of structure, now," said an old man with a long, rather unkempt beard. "Are you sure you should be doing this? Could be dangerous."

"Avast you old dog! Ne'er bother me again with all moodless musings such as your prior!" replied the fellow the old man had been trying to address. He was a younger fellow, but you could see by the white beardlings stubbling his face that even as a baby he must have been dealing with old demons.

"If it's going to be like that, why do you even bother to shave?"

"I don't anymore," said the man staring down into his chest, clearly wearing stubble over his face, and clearly indicating shaving activity. "I honestly do not, any more."

Here was a finger for prodding into the heart. "Lies will soothe you nowhere, young man. I can see the turn of your slips and whittle your selfish grins to bone." The old longbeard grew in size. "You cannot lie to one like me."

The young man grew smaller and looked down into his chest. "I would never lie," he stated. "I wouldn't lie if this was the last memory I would ever have of her." And he proffered the memory. "Take it. Take this last one."

"I'm an old man, I don't have use for cute little puppies riding a tricycle," said longbeard flatly.

"Well then," replied his younger friend, as they strolled through the cold streets of night Manhattan--the city that only sleeps if, well, somebody needs to sleep--"let me just toss it, then."

And there it flew, from his naked, gloveless hand as he proceeded further *without it*, muttering something about how using buzzers is not real shaving. Landed on a person who had been 'bunking' on the side of the street. On that person's head, specifically, waking him up in the city that never should have to. It was a warm, fleecy puppy, sitting on a tricycle, and now completely enjoyed by a homeless man who actually needed that extra lining.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Small Pockets of Intimacy

They say you only have 99 coins
being appended to your eyelids.
That you need an extra coin,
on your tongue, to go the way.

She says you need to give her *everything*.

"Everything? I just showed you how to access my heart!"

"In your secure tunnel?"


"So I'm downloading putty, and accessing your secure location?"

"Yes? And?"

"I'm seeing how you think about women."


"Wait...did you go to the IP address I gave you? Version four."

"Ha, lest we be radical and introduce greater acceptance."

"I'm done fighting. You see my tunnel. You see the light I'm approaching."

"You care more about driving than being with me," she said.

"NO! I'm driving because I'm trying to reach you," he responded.

"So you're saying I'm not reachable?"


"There is a place," I assured her. "Just you, and me."

"Nobody else exists in this place?"

"No, it's just you, and me. And that is us."

"What do we do, just crash land here? Lower the landing gear a little too late?"

"The landing gear is lowered as soon as the flight pattern is established," he told her, "and the course is known."

"Sounds like a bad plan."

"No, it's a *good* plane," he said. "A good plane with a very small pocket of intimacy."

"Brake. Apply Brakes."



Sunday, December 1, 2013

Where is the petty Shah?

He was famous for his translations. In one such work, we find mysterious ramblings, "Where is the petty Shah? Where is the petty Shah?"

These curiosities were only posthumously deciphered, when in his collection, a French audiobook for children about a boy looking for a little cat was discovered.