fictions, speculative dreams, and meditations
You can stay out
He tells the cigarettes
You come with me
He tells the coffee
When he hits the edge
And can no longer balance
The composition book
On his knee
Heading out or in in
Search of a suitable
Surface to lie or lay
His book and his pen
Edit: 2/26/15, 9:20:55 AM
I’ve kept this post private since July 7th.
That’s, what, 7 and a half months?
I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s not very good. Maybe I was just checking out galleries. Hell, I’m not even looking at it now, just publishing it and moving on.
Although, I did glance a couple things:
There’s a couple old poems, some of a few that I didn’t loose.
This may be the first public showing, and it’s down a dark and remote corridor. That’s funny, it’s so funny, but hell, they stayed hidden for decades, they can hide out a little longer. It’ll be like an Easter Egg to you, my devout fan.
And I have two versions of Boo! there.
One white, one grey, both transparent.
Because it’s cool.
You should check out the Boo! post. It’s transparent grey over grey, with a copy of the page background sandwiched between.
The effect is cool, albeit on a limited number of devices.
Oh, and also, it copy-and-pastes, and prints, as text.
I saw one of my animated notepad gifs. I don’t know why I chose to include this one over the other, I don’t know where the others are, and I don’t know if any of them became anything else.
The rest you may already be familiar with.
There’s dust a blowing,
sir, big as a a continent,
and expanding.
Overtake the hemisphere
say a couple a weeks.
Noted.
With an awkward pause.
Why bring it up
Likely extinguish all life.
We can fix it.
Oh, let nature run its course.
But, that’s just it.
It ain’t nature.
It hot and ugly,
vaporized alloys,
ionizing particulates.
Thought you said dust storm.
That’s more of a mushroom cloud.
You wanna try contain it?
Well, yes, sir.
I believe it would be
economically advantageous
The captain smiles,
and how so?
Cheaper stop it now,
than terraform some other planet
You’d be left with
half a planet to play with.
Half the development costs.
OK, good, you’re learning,
the captain covers her collector
mouthing you-just-want-to-study,
he nods,
she offers a hand, get me em numbers.
By the way she said em
it meant jiggle-the-numbers
and the handshake was a
back channel to someone in TR.
Um, shure will do that
he questions but corrects
with eureka on his skin
I’ll inform technological reclamation,
maybe be that there’s something for em.
And em meant us this time
a whole planet, for us, on the outskirts,
economically feasible
if you leave those details out.
He pounds the dugout
Hoping to shake loose
Grains leaves specks
Something, anything.
It’ll leave a bruise
But he doesn’t mind
Bruises show passion,
At least, for something.
Our souls are bruised
We belong together.
This passion broken mass
That meets weekly,
And groans at itself.
Specks, the lot of us,
Hunting dust, tracking
The fallout of exploded
Passions. The dust
And grains of a hit.
The wind took a dastardly turn
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
Oh it rains x or y times a year
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
I know you’ve had that feeling
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
Oh I know you’ve had that feeling
In Saginaw, in Saginaw
In his free time, and it’s all free these days, he throws together spiders that run databases stitching together relevant data to plug into variable fields in his poetry.
In “In Saginaw, in Saginaw” it queries for the average yearly rainfall for Saginaw, for Saginaw.
