opportune ghost moments

While waiting for the people who should wake up
and go to their job

in the city that never sleeps(!), or slips(!)

or sips,
a part of your fingers, the little part
just goes to hell.

Let's not panic now, other 9 fingers still
going to heaven...

Stroke.
You begin to learn how annoying it is to have to locate tildes,
and shifting becomes a type of problem.
forget ever writing a song to the strum of baby E.


A ghost appears in your little finger and types twelve letters
where normally you might have written a sentence or paragraph.

It is a good opportunity to fuck with its soul,
the soul of that bastard finger,

the prodigal son. (finger)

pears, apples. nectarines

Those golden bananas (no way those things are real).

I pick up a plum and then let it go because it doesn't have any information or story of where it came from inscribed upon it.

"Or so you think," she giggles at me and I immediately turn (tank-style) to face her. "You just don't know about biogenetics." She sticks her tongue out.

"I know about it," I tell her angrily, which makes her laugh again. Apparently this laugh at angry man thing is a survival mechanic for the sort of women who wear clothes they found at the bottom of a box of cereal.

"It's not a discipline," she says, it's just a code of things you get to know by experiencing viscerally. By touching. And tasting."

I throw a plum at her foot and the harlequin flutters off to the bread stand.

This is a power I realize...throwing things. I pick up a plum and throw it at a man who is trying to hoard the smoked salmon...

What else might I spend 1 h 24 m doing?

What the people who flaunt sleep at me are unaware of
is that I just woke up from a 100 year doze.

That's right, what had been going on was all those
crazy European internal wars, and I had placed a bet

that Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir of Austro-Hungaria
would get himself murdered and trigger a type war
of the *whole* world (not really the *whole* world).

At least, that was my bet. That is my projection from reading the news that we get in India these days.

Every day, in some hidden alcove,
I tend to watch as a positioned sahib or a nawab receives 'the news',
which is typed carefully by typewriter from Morse code and Mayan glyphs
transmitted over the telegraph.

It tells of all the things going on in the World out there.
Which royals are doing what,
the sluggish progress of post-industrialization aftermath.
The disappointment that the 'New World' is for all of us.

And I get so depressed and bored and fall into a deep, arithmetic sleep sung by math of silvery flutes

...

Wait. It's not arithmetic sleep. It's from arrhythmia...an arrhythmiatic sleep,

induced sweetly by venom of one of the local snakes
that enjoys simply slipping into bed with us
whenever or wherever it's cool.


I wake up and it's 2013 and in New York (100 years later),
looking out of an apartment with huge windows over the skyline.
You can tell it's 2013 because they make a pattern in the clouds for you:
"2013 NEW YORK", and I believe everything that I read.

I'm wearing courtesan clothes from 1913 Bombay. and wonder if it's okay to go outside wearing these.



* Author's note: It should be plainly obvious that it probably took less than 15 minutes to spend the time boasted in the title.

Crunchiness and all value of sour cream crisp is destroyed by Monster Munch crisp

Once upon a time, I told a story.
A story about a woman who had to revert
due to the bear that she met.

In my Monster Munch pickled onion crispy time
many of my bodily heating systems fail
and I devolve into a reptile.

A reptile.
The crunchiness is overwhelming
the onion pickle flavor is too fainting
and makes me faint.

Splats of paint upon the statue of a remarkable man.

If they had a bag of Monster Munch, they would have been totally ...

The Renewal

....init (those dots signify 'things' that occur)
... Sun unavailable due to planetary rotation. Synthesizing global illumination in cheapest possible fashion
... Dehydration detected. Adding water (Source: tap)
.. Traversal of boundaries detects prior experience
.. Loading experience
.. Unloading
.. New parameters
. Everything looking good. Raise the body

The Shutdown Process

. Lands plane from 4500ft @ initial IAS 180. Flaps came in useful, as did rudder
. Tickles the trigger of a gun without fully pulling it
. Adds personal DVD commentary to all films, downloadable publicly
. Writes best song, melody and rhythm
. Finishes every game started
. Finally writes that writing software that was in head cultivation about for 10 years
. . Dismantles the bomb
. . Goes on comedy club stage and eats bad food while watching patrons
. . Achieves real world peace
. . Legs go out while waiting for coffee at Starbucks. Collapses without latte in hand
. . Most bodily functions cease. Little finger on left hand still itches. (forever fr0zen)
. . Begins to actually listen

. . . Dies claiming caveat

We kiss several times

The best thing about kissing you is that you have no idea, so we give you Our Kiss. 

And you let us kiss you. And you disclose documents that were all this time a critical aspect of our relationship. You put them in the yellow folders.


You're like a robocop girlfriend. A woman who makes sure I do the rules.