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{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




{Friday, February 11, 2005}

 
I expected a different store...

by jal 5:00 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 was settling in for my commute home, doing my best to ignore the other people on the bus. It was sparse enough for me to ignore them easily. I had to work late, I'd missed my regular bus, and I hoped to get some rest. I'd finally figured out a way to sit so I could snooze against the window without sliding into a nasty-smelling spot of a previous rider's head grease when the driver shouted out, "Hey, you! Take your hands off that kid!"

I practically jumped out of my seat, scanning about the bus. The only two other riders were a seedy-looking man and a panicked little six-year-old girl. At first I thought they were parent and child waiting to get off at the upcoming stop, but he had his hand over her mouth, and the girl bore little resemblance to him. Seedy man made no move to let go of the child as he faintly muttered, "And they shall go by many names. S'ballath, Tri'lillogor, and Bah'halopthet are their children. These are the first names, and they shall bring ruin upon your houses..."

"I told you to let go of that child!" The driver pulled into the ditch, set the brake, and lumbered up the aisle toward the rear door. The girl whimpered as tears welled up in her eyes. I'm ashamed in retrospect, but I just sat there. I didn't have a schema for how to deal with a muttering looney, a rampaging bus driver, and a terrorized little girl. Creepy guy was riding a different bus apparently, 'cause he didn't react until it was too late. In seconds, the driver tossed him outside, closed the door, and had the bus off and running again. The little girl sat up in the front as the driver asked her questions about the man who assaulted her. Apparently, the driver knew the girl as a regular rider to and from school. The girl's mother was waiting for her at her stop; she assured the driver that she'd complete an incident report online once they'd gotten home.

Shortly after dropping off the girl, I noticed she'd dropped her hat in the tussle. I gave it to the driver, so the girl could recover it tomorrow. Normally, I'd've forgotten all about the entire incident, but for this one fact: I saw the name tag in the girl's hat. How many little girls do you know named, "Tre Lilli O'Gore?"

by jal 7:52 PM


 
I tried posting this from work.
names
It didn't work.

by Fred 6:28 PM




{Tuesday, February 08, 2005}

 
7am. No matter what time I go to bed, I always wake up before 7am.

Last night I had The Dream again...and by "The Dream" I mean the one I've had each night for the last two weeks. No longer do I soar through the sky to save potatoes from space sheep, not in a fortnight have I gone to school with no clothes (and yes I know it's cliche, but oh my goodness did I have that dream often) and I haven't been advised by dead relatives in a baker's dozen plus one days.

It's a simple dream really. It starts with me waking up (hence why I never realize it's a dream) and going to work. I never leave.

Until 7am. Bloody 7am. Every morning for two weeks 7am.




by Bryan 5:33 PM


 
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



 

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