Monday, February 28, 2005

 

Looks like Mail-to-Blogger is experiencing some kind of

delayed response

by Sharon 3:01 PM

Saturday, February 26, 2005

 

So, what's new?

by Sharon 2:37 AM

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

 

"So, explain to me why we're up here again?"

"Well," he said, "I was reading this book and it said that flying is the fine art of throwing yourself at the ground and missing. So all you have to do is fall from a great height and get distracted at the last moment."

"I don't like where you're going with this."

"It'll be fun. We'll be the first human beings to fly unassisted."

"Well, if you want to get technical, they used to launch plague victims out of catapults."

"No shit?"

"Yeah. It was an early form of germ warfare. You set up your catapult outside the fortifications and when one of your soldiers is close to death from the plague, you just launch 'em over."

"Dave, would you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Save the distracting things for after I jump, okay?"

"You read this in a book?" I said.

"Yeah," he said. "I thought it was pretty cool. I just want to try it out."

"This book wouldn't happen to have been by Douglas Adams, would it?"

"Maybe."

"I'm fairly certain I remember it from a Douglas Adams book."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"It was either Adams or that Hawking guy."

"Douglas Adams or Stephen Hawking?"

"That's the one in the wheelchair, right?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, him," he said.

"So it was either Douglas Adams or Stephen Hawking."

"Right. One of those guys."

"And you can't remember which."

"I was kind of high at the time."

I shook my head. "I really don't like where this is going."

"Man," he said, "why do you always have to harsh my buzz? Every time I have a great idea, you try to squash it before it gets anywhere."

"Oh," I said, "so this is one of your great ideas."

"Yeah."

"So we're about to launch ourselves off of a cliff based on the writings of an English comic sci-fi author because it seemed like a good idea while you were high."

"Nah, man. We're not going to launch ourselves off a cliff."

"We're not?"

"Nah," he said. "I'm going to launch myself off the cliff. You're going to stand up here and distract me right before I hit the ground."

"Oh. That's different, then. Carry on."

by Glen 7:34 PM

 

a feeling of falling
is unfailingly fleeting
'cause the flailing of flying
does not bear repeating
but have no fear of your failing
to fulfill a ground meeting
'cause the furious force of a falling
cannot be beaten

by Fred 4:49 PM

 

A Feeling of Falling

by Generik 2:09 PM

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

 

Chirp.

Chirp.

Chirp.

There's a comfort that goes with the sound outside the window. The night is deepening, the moon hidden behind the clouds. Nobody's seen the stars since the streetlamps were put in, but even with their dull orange glow, the night manages to be black velvet.

The only constant to the night beyond the dark is the

chirp

chirp

chirp

outside of the house, inviting me out into the night.

And I can tell that she's glancing sidelong at me, even though I can't see her face. She's confused. She doesn't know what's going on.

"Guy," she says.

"Sh," I say, gently. And she lapses into silence. And I can concentrate once again on concentrating on nothing - clearing my mind so that all I can hear is

chirp.

chirp.

chirp.

That chirping fills me and becomes the whole of my being, and as I listen to it and it becomes one with me, I begin to hear another noise underneath it. A soft

sigh

ing

in and

out.

chirp.

chirp.

chirp.

And I realize that I can hear her breathing. Somehow, with only her mind and her spirit in the night beside me, I can hear her breathing.

And I realize that if I close my eyes, I can almost feel her next to me. Her breathing fills a space and I can begin to think of her as a physical presence. It's almost as if she's found a way here - a way to be where I am. As if she followed the

chirp

chirp

chirp

until it led her to my door. And I listen to her breathe.

And I listen to the crickets.

And I listen to myself breathe.

And I thank God for the crickets that led her to me. For the crickets that allowed me to - just this once - believe that she was near me.

Chirp.

Chirp.

Chirp.

"Is this part of your world, Guy?" she says.

"Yes," I breathe, slowly.

"You've never shown me a place like this. What is this?"

"This is the world at night," I say.

"And what is that sound?"

Chirp.

Chirp.

Chirp.

"That," I say, "is the sound of true stillness."

by Glen 10:17 PM

 

crickets

by Fred 3:04 PM

Monday, February 21, 2005

 

gonzo

by Fred 1:34 PM

Friday, February 18, 2005

 

comma chameleon

by Fred 5:56 PM

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

 

"You owe it to me
To write some poet-ery."
She says this to me,
mis-pho-netic-ally,
Mistaking, you see,
The syllables three
For four split by a t,
Which is how it might be
If the rhyme were easy,
But "you owe it to me"
Sounds like "to show it to thee"
Which is something that she
Can't be made to see,
Even though we
See it quite clearly.

by Fred 11:59 PM

 

Rhyme Time, or I'm a Poet, and I Don't Know About It

by Generik 7:09 AM

Monday, February 14, 2005

 

it's raining again

by Fred 5:53 PM

Sunday, February 13, 2005

 

"The really scary stuff goes in the spreadsheet, and we let accounting deal with it. "

"What sort of scary stuff?"

"All sorts. Lions and tigers. Ogres and trolls. Vampire cats, the walking dead, Pauly Shore movies. Dump it all in the spreadsheet and ship it out."

"And the corporate office pays for that?"

"They'd complain if we didn't ask for it. Remember, we're talking about a company here that, you give 'em a garden,first thing they wanna know is, where're the snakes?"

"That whole snake thing, that was them? I always figured that was the competition."

"What, the snake and tree routine? Let me let you in on a little secret: there is no competition. Not really. It's all pretty much the same dog and pony show."

"I don't remember reading about dogs and ponies in the garden."

"Doesn't matter. Corporate built the place, corporate let the snake in. You ask me, it was just so they could sell more apples."

"An apple a day..."

"Exactly. An aggresive ad campaign, sure, but before that, who ate apples? Anybody? You couldn't pay people to eat apples. Who knows what they ate. Figs, maybe. Hell, those leaves must've come from somewhere. Whatever they ate, I'll tell you this: it wasn't apples."

"So why does corporate even bother with all this competition talk?"

"Marketing. Good PR. And, if the campaign backfired -- I dunno, people are allergic to apples or something -- you want plausible deniability. You wanna walk away unscathed even if Adam and Eve Q. Public choke on an apple core or something."

"Wow. I guess I have a lot to learn."

by Fred 11:59 PM

 

The really scary stuff goes in the spreadsheet.

Just something I overheard at the office the other day.

by Fred 12:00 PM

Thursday, February 10, 2005

 

"It's always permissions.
"Permissions," she said.
"They ask, 'can I do this?'
Then they do that instead.

"So many conditions --
They mess with your head.
'If X, then not Y.'
'If Y, then not Zed.'"

"But what's your position,"
Asked division manager Ned,
"On these new stipulations,
You see, the ones there in red?"

"All these new additions!"
She cried, her patience a shred.
"They'll be the death of us yet --
Or we'll just wish we were dead."

"They're from the commission,"
Muttered her co-worker Ted.
"If they all up and died,
There'd be not a tear shed.

"They're such politicians."
He whispered, "I bet they're in-bred.
All their new regulations
But not a thought in their head."

"Well, that's tradition,
By definition a dread."
She sighed as she said this.
"It's pervasive, widespread.

"Coherent thought's an omission
Nobody cares where we're led."
And she would have said more,
But out of rhymes was poor faker Fred.

by Fred 5:46 PM

 

Software Support Commandment #1:

It's always permissions.

(This is the real Sharon, not that faker Fred.)

by Sharon 9:51 AM

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

 

I tried posting this from work.

names

It didn't work.

by Fred 6:28 PM

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

 

Again?

by Sharon 1:22 PM

Monday, February 07, 2005

 

Tired of getting only pennies for your thoughts? Tired of getting nickel-and-dimed over your two cents? Then stop renting out your brain to just anybody -- come back to Brain Slug United.

Brain Slug United, the first and most trusted brand name in mind-controlling alien parasites, is now offering top dollar for either limited or extended use of your cerebellum. Earn good money, while sacrificing little more than your free will and control over certain select bodily functions.

Modern science suggests that humankind uses only ten to fifteen percent of their brains -- which means there's always plenty left over for those cute and cuddly^* visitors from beyond the stars, the Brain Slugs. Isn't it time you treated yourself right and started earning at your top potential? Brain Slug United can help.

Because you deserve better reward for renting out your cranium. Because maybe a better life doesn't await you in the off-world colonies. Because even an slimy, alien mass of aggregated amoeboid cells has gotta eat.

Brain Slug United. Keep us in your thoughts.

* Brain slugs are not guaranteed to be either cute or cuddly.

by Fred 5:43 PM

 

Being manipulated

by Generik 8:24 AM

Friday, February 04, 2005

 

Again, not Sharon but a clever facsimile. It's past noon by my watch, so:

pop-ups

by Sharon 1:07 PM

Thursday, February 03, 2005

 

composition

by Sharon 1:44 PM

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

 

It's Sharon's birthday, so I might as well post this as Sharon. (I'm
actually quite Fred.) Anyway...

He bought her a poem.
She said, "It's not the right size."
So he bought her a story.
She said, "It's nothing but lies."
He bought her a history,
Fact-checked, thorough and true.
She said, "Dear lord, you're boring!
What's the matter with you?"
So he bought her a sonnet
That he picked up for a song,
But when she counted the iambs,
She said, "I think this one's done wrong."
He bought her a novel
That got good reviews in the Times.
But she said, "It's a dime novel
That's not worth any dimes."
So he bought her some mysteries,
A whodunnit or two.
But she said, "I know who did it already.
It was the butler, that's who."
So he bought her some notebooks,
Both lined and unlined,
Bought some pencils and pens,
Wrapped and tied up with twine,
And he gave the package to her.
"What's this?" his love said.
"Write something yourself,"
He told her. "I'm going to bed."

by Sharon 4:57 PM

 

It's m'birfday. So what's this you've given me?

by Sharon 2:41 AM