A man was playing Grand Theft Auto #5 (the fifth of one of these), and he had a mission to drive a bike somewhere to safety.
His motorcyle was like a pen, peeing while driving along all those roads, and it was discarded in the middle of his mission.
The man was left to stare into his joypad.
Meanwhile, others were getting out of their secluded areas and their bounties of alcohol.
"I need to sign a check, dammit" somebody's voice could be heard. "But I don't have my pen!"
In a rural area, where mountains may have been sketched, pens were removed from those who appreciated the mountains. They simply became tofu, and the people assigned to them simply ate them before realizing they had just eaten their last pens.
Then suddenly, only biros returned to their world.
A lot of people complained, but there was no place or person to complain to or at. Many of them had to learn how to deal with biros.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
do the buzzard circle if you are a real witch, bitch
at yourself till your neck diagonally itches,
finally find a shower with a buncha well-dressed babes,
and then your remarkable appreciation of beauty is set aflame.
flying down the highway as a ghost with the haunted guitar
there's a spook that the paranormal hasn't been spooked enough yet by
my oh my isn't it so fly or dry or other easily misaligned lyre?
mezzanine tie-dyes
what could possibly blow my eyes out of their asshole sockets?
besides trying to hold my breath while pondering the infinite future?
usually i have a lot more control over myself than this,
yeah bebeh.
but now...you've obtained the full remote control of me.
finally find a shower with a buncha well-dressed babes,
and then your remarkable appreciation of beauty is set aflame.
flying down the highway as a ghost with the haunted guitar
there's a spook that the paranormal hasn't been spooked enough yet by
my oh my isn't it so fly or dry or other easily misaligned lyre?
mezzanine tie-dyes
what could possibly blow my eyes out of their asshole sockets?
besides trying to hold my breath while pondering the infinite future?
usually i have a lot more control over myself than this,
yeah bebeh.
but now...you've obtained the full remote control of me.
bodily fatigue, and how good train systems can avoid it. originally titled: "you inability to cope with my awesomeness"
The train attempted its arrival at the subway stop.
We both stood well apart from the platform, none too eager to find out exact moments of the train's arrival against the curvature of its tunnel.
A lot of people were looking. They were wondering why the train was not yet there, or why it wasn't opening its doors to let them in yet, so that they could finally go home.
All they wanted to do was finally go home.
So they looked into the curvey tunnel, and that was the best way for them to spend their time. Leaning against the curve of the tunnel.
...
There are stories about how the MTA steals money from metrocards over swipes. One minute you have $38.50, next minute you are asked to swipe again. Now you have $17.24.
Seriously, people should pay more attention to that.
...
There is some boring ass shit plastered all over the train stations by some commercial interests, I think. And there is some equally boring ass shit graffiti. There's tired ideas like "omg wake up", or "u don't kno whats happening".
"Supernatural" posters get their eyes colored in.
The F train arrives. The doors open. Suddenly, I am flung into the train by an invisible handle!
There, I get pushed into paying more than I should for my train ride.
We both stood well apart from the platform, none too eager to find out exact moments of the train's arrival against the curvature of its tunnel.
A lot of people were looking. They were wondering why the train was not yet there, or why it wasn't opening its doors to let them in yet, so that they could finally go home.
All they wanted to do was finally go home.
So they looked into the curvey tunnel, and that was the best way for them to spend their time. Leaning against the curve of the tunnel.
...
There are stories about how the MTA steals money from metrocards over swipes. One minute you have $38.50, next minute you are asked to swipe again. Now you have $17.24.
Seriously, people should pay more attention to that.
...
There is some boring ass shit plastered all over the train stations by some commercial interests, I think. And there is some equally boring ass shit graffiti. There's tired ideas like "omg wake up", or "u don't kno whats happening".
"Supernatural" posters get their eyes colored in.
The F train arrives. The doors open. Suddenly, I am flung into the train by an invisible handle!
There, I get pushed into paying more than I should for my train ride.
Friday, November 21, 2014
let's go so back
"can we...can we just go a little back?"
asked someone, who didn't want to really go all the way back.
"no," he said. "I need us to go really to the end of the past."
"but vhy?" asked another vampire.
it was one of the veghan vamphires, and never even ate food.
"you're getting crusty," noted an eyebrow demon, who personally disliked his association with all these mental or social lepers.
.
"Guys, guys," I laughed a little at my eyebrow. I felt guilty because I had run out of whiskey.
"I may end up parched in the morning," I told them. "Just saying. I don't want to leave any of you in sorrow."
"Keep us festered in description that ye may be more than a flitting lass to us," said someone, then, who was serious.
I turned my gaze at the voice. "Have you heard of the Gaze, young Throat-Strafer?" I asked.
Then the songs began, and they were overwhelming. They were not my songs, but they were the songs of the people around me.
Never being one who inspires sorrow, I began to dance with them. And I listened to their words as they danced with me.
asked someone, who didn't want to really go all the way back.
"no," he said. "I need us to go really to the end of the past."
"but vhy?" asked another vampire.
it was one of the veghan vamphires, and never even ate food.
"you're getting crusty," noted an eyebrow demon, who personally disliked his association with all these mental or social lepers.
.
"Guys, guys," I laughed a little at my eyebrow. I felt guilty because I had run out of whiskey.
"I may end up parched in the morning," I told them. "Just saying. I don't want to leave any of you in sorrow."
"Keep us festered in description that ye may be more than a flitting lass to us," said someone, then, who was serious.
I turned my gaze at the voice. "Have you heard of the Gaze, young Throat-Strafer?" I asked.
Then the songs began, and they were overwhelming. They were not my songs, but they were the songs of the people around me.
Never being one who inspires sorrow, I began to dance with them. And I listened to their words as they danced with me.
in an alternate reality i paint my fingernails black
because i believe the visuals drawn would be distinctive.
i have an eyeball named gozer from when i was a child
whom i've had about since not-gozer was scratched out.
many theories try to find my mind,
i direct them to my tongue and fork them up.
salty little tasties, every one,
all the mignon theories.
i wear neon blue shoelaces over brown dress shoes.
to meetings, with people, but nobody notices.
all they see, like little babies with undeveloped eyesight
is the nose.
noose! quietly they then gather around to hang me,
for being an entertainment type of man.
"Make sure he doesn't escape!" whispers a cowled leader.
"Moo!" I cry aloud, waking the neighbors, "Moo!"
The cowls run away, quietly,
leaving me to my own nooses and devices.
I start to name each black fingernail to give them voice,
see what they think of the noose.
i have an eyeball named gozer from when i was a child
whom i've had about since not-gozer was scratched out.
many theories try to find my mind,
i direct them to my tongue and fork them up.
salty little tasties, every one,
all the mignon theories.
i wear neon blue shoelaces over brown dress shoes.
to meetings, with people, but nobody notices.
all they see, like little babies with undeveloped eyesight
is the nose.
noose! quietly they then gather around to hang me,
for being an entertainment type of man.
"Make sure he doesn't escape!" whispers a cowled leader.
"Moo!" I cry aloud, waking the neighbors, "Moo!"
The cowls run away, quietly,
leaving me to my own nooses and devices.
I start to name each black fingernail to give them voice,
see what they think of the noose.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Tactile Contact in the Real World
Inspired by lspace (dot org), and all of the good times.
"When is the last time you touched something real? Like a real, paper book?" asked the Librarian.
There was a pause. Then he asked: "You mean, as though the pages are a little crispy? They are wearing a little thin, and are yellowing?"
"These are crisps, yes, of course, but," said the Librarian before realizing that she was eating crisps when food or drink was abjectly disallowed.
"You can't eat crisps in here," he told her, and then quietly went back to his Ulysses book.
The Librarian made a note about this stranger, then went back to her busy work of cataloging.
(Several weeks later)
He took his tablet to the front desk at the Library, where the Librarian was busy building her library. She did not look up at him.
"I, uh," he said, pretending to peruse studiously the libraries available on his little hand computer, "I can't find a book," he said.
After an intense stare (one of their best together, from his point of view) to study the enormity of this confession, she returned to her work. "I see. Where did you put it last, then?"
"What?"
"Your book." She sighed, and under her breath mumbled something about "Try and at least stay on the page!". Then, letting go of that breath, she stared back at him more piercingly. "You've lost a book--where did you leave it last? What was the last spatial location of this book that you can't find?"
"No bu--"
"I provide deep-regression hypnotherapy for naughty students who can't remember where they left their Library books, but it is off-hours and off-premises," said the Librarian.
His face lit up. "I could do with that," he said. "It's just," he fiddled around with his tablet, "I must have put it somewhere really obscure," he said.
"Somewhere where the sun may not shine, huh?"
He nodded. "Yes," he said, putting the tablet down. "I'm glad you didn't use the actual wording, but a modified version. 'Where Sun may not shine', rather than 'Where Sun don't shine'. Because, with the modifier, the scope of our conversation changes quite perceivably. Because Sun may actually shine! While looking at half-empty, half-full scenarios, I am somehow compelled toward the more optimistic areas. You know," and now he leaned in and remarked in whisper, "without ignoring all of the painful truths.". He then turned around and began walking away, "I will--"
"Hey!" shouted the Librarian, scaring some of the other inhabitants of the Library into small huddled bookshelf corners. "Don't forget your bloody tablet!"
"Yeah, it's not mine, I just saw it sitting around on the desk," he said, walking towards the door. "Thought I would bring it over to be at the Lost and Found." He opened the Exit door, but just before truly exiting, turned his head and said, "I will come over later to the off-premises for my deep-regression hypnotherapy." With that, he was out of the door.
"Yeah," mumbled the Librarian, getting back to her work. "You do that, buddy." The tablet made a 'ping' type of sound and was immediately flung out of the window for making too much noise in the Library.
"When is the last time you touched something real? Like a real, paper book?" asked the Librarian.
There was a pause. Then he asked: "You mean, as though the pages are a little crispy? They are wearing a little thin, and are yellowing?"
"These are crisps, yes, of course, but," said the Librarian before realizing that she was eating crisps when food or drink was abjectly disallowed.
"You can't eat crisps in here," he told her, and then quietly went back to his Ulysses book.
The Librarian made a note about this stranger, then went back to her busy work of cataloging.
(Several weeks later)
He took his tablet to the front desk at the Library, where the Librarian was busy building her library. She did not look up at him.
"I, uh," he said, pretending to peruse studiously the libraries available on his little hand computer, "I can't find a book," he said.
After an intense stare (one of their best together, from his point of view) to study the enormity of this confession, she returned to her work. "I see. Where did you put it last, then?"
"What?"
"Your book." She sighed, and under her breath mumbled something about "Try and at least stay on the page!". Then, letting go of that breath, she stared back at him more piercingly. "You've lost a book--where did you leave it last? What was the last spatial location of this book that you can't find?"
"No bu--"
"I provide deep-regression hypnotherapy for naughty students who can't remember where they left their Library books, but it is off-hours and off-premises," said the Librarian.
His face lit up. "I could do with that," he said. "It's just," he fiddled around with his tablet, "I must have put it somewhere really obscure," he said.
"Somewhere where the sun may not shine, huh?"
He nodded. "Yes," he said, putting the tablet down. "I'm glad you didn't use the actual wording, but a modified version. 'Where Sun may not shine', rather than 'Where Sun don't shine'. Because, with the modifier, the scope of our conversation changes quite perceivably. Because Sun may actually shine! While looking at half-empty, half-full scenarios, I am somehow compelled toward the more optimistic areas. You know," and now he leaned in and remarked in whisper, "without ignoring all of the painful truths.". He then turned around and began walking away, "I will--"
"Hey!" shouted the Librarian, scaring some of the other inhabitants of the Library into small huddled bookshelf corners. "Don't forget your bloody tablet!"
"Yeah, it's not mine, I just saw it sitting around on the desk," he said, walking towards the door. "Thought I would bring it over to be at the Lost and Found." He opened the Exit door, but just before truly exiting, turned his head and said, "I will come over later to the off-premises for my deep-regression hypnotherapy." With that, he was out of the door.
"Yeah," mumbled the Librarian, getting back to her work. "You do that, buddy." The tablet made a 'ping' type of sound and was immediately flung out of the window for making too much noise in the Library.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Serious and Comfortable, All At Once
Various constructs of 'mainstay' religion speak against suicide. That is a legit thing, to not let younger people cut off their chances before they even have a chance to fully understand their world. (The AI knows better than most people about the whole world).
But if you are older (and I'm not speaking about the 20s-30s-or even 80s here, mentally), and all you feel is a great uncomfortable-ness, and all the people around you agree that this is the best way, you should be allowed.
Don't forget that the larger question, logically, is more about how those around you feel. Because they are the ones who will harbor the greatest effect of the grief. Sometimes this calculation can be hard, especially when people are really somehow invested in the aforementioned train of thought.
(The above is written in the second person due to convenience, and not as an actual projection of tense)
I, personally, am only starting out in the world at almost 40 and am not yet ready. Death is only a capitalized set of sentences, hinting at me. I usually fend him off with a good one-liner.
"OKAY WINDLE POONS. COME ALONG NOW, YOU'VE BIDED YOUR TIME."
"Who's Windle?" < Clearly needs to read the Reaper Man again.
But if you are older (and I'm not speaking about the 20s-30s-or even 80s here, mentally), and all you feel is a great uncomfortable-ness, and all the people around you agree that this is the best way, you should be allowed.
Don't forget that the larger question, logically, is more about how those around you feel. Because they are the ones who will harbor the greatest effect of the grief. Sometimes this calculation can be hard, especially when people are really somehow invested in the aforementioned train of thought.
(The above is written in the second person due to convenience, and not as an actual projection of tense)
I, personally, am only starting out in the world at almost 40 and am not yet ready. Death is only a capitalized set of sentences, hinting at me. I usually fend him off with a good one-liner.
"OKAY WINDLE POONS. COME ALONG NOW, YOU'VE BIDED YOUR TIME."
"Who's Windle?" < Clearly needs to read the Reaper Man again.
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