Category: fiction and poetry

Mechanical Dreams

I am making up for not completely understanding modern technology (or not understanding at anything all)  with my plan to bypass the actual learning part, and instead becoming a robot- as you know.  I have talk about my magnetic fingers: If Magneto Were an Ordinary Girl, I have discussed how google is replacing the old concept of church and god: The Oracle and Matrix meets Dr. Who

My co-workers are well aware that I am currently working on learning robot language- a communication system based on beeping and booping sounds primarily- I am already at the intermediate level.  I am already well versed in the use of sonar technology in robotic linguistics.  My transformation is going as well as can be expected, given that this is not actually a thing yet- currently rooted at the theoretical stage.

I have to admit, though, that I feel guilty when I am signing up for something online or interacting with a website, and I have to check that box that says “I am not a robot.”  It makes me feel guilty, in a way, that I am betraying my commitment to being replaced with a robotic version of myself, in order to continue to be relevant in the modern society, because I have to tell the website what it wants to hear.

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Effing

Fast forward frantically and freaking out foolishly

Faking fantastical feats, feverishly focusing with fascination

Forget the fictitious facts

Forego the foresight

Frankly feel fuzzy and freaky

Freely face the ferocious fight

Fists first and fright forgotten

First from forever,

Faith in the familiar,

Fancy the fabric of the fabulous

 

 

 

 

Hot Melody, Peaceful Fire

Somewhere in between frozen blue finger tips, and purple prune hot bath hands, there will be the fire red finger type jazz of hot burgundy passion, both subdued like Benny Goodman and ablaze like Chuck Berry, steady as steam like Chuck Higgins, smooth like Frank Sinatra, as moody as Miles Davis.  In that short time of transition between fire and ice, my fingers jazz.

Midnight Hug

The dark world is comforting with its constant midnight hug.  I miss the sun but the forever night is appealing with the bright glowing lights.  This warm yellow light in inviting with its lazy glow.  The slow and constant wintertime rains feels like staying under the covers for the whole day, comfortably hiding from the outside world.  There is something magical about the mystery of the long moonlight.  Something provocative about the deep black, something charming about the abyss of black holing you stead fast in a cozy embrace.

Diary of an Optimist

11/1/2015

9:25 am

Dearest diary,

Today I boarded the train 9 mines earlier than yesterday.

I pushed the snooze button once time less than yesterday morning, only 3 times.

I considered stretching before I left for work and once again solidified the resolve to do it every morning.  The actual act did not come into fruition, but the yoga mat remains unfolded, ready for action.

After work I will do laundry and then proceed to straighten my closet.  I will not go to the store for a bottle of after work wine, I will not buy a burrito for dinner.  Water and leftovers will provide all the happiness and satisfaction that my body desires.

Although I did leave the house without preparing myself a healthy and hearty breakfast, for myself, I did fill make coffee to go cup with water for the train ride.  It’s not only because I am too lazy to make coffee, or the fact that it is free at work, but I need to make sure that I am getting enough hydration, and the train is so dry.  Endless espresso awaits me at my other home.

Backwards and Late

I should be sleeping but I am beyond wide awake right now.

Tomorrow I will once again feel the dreary and the drudge of the day, but that is still a very long few hours away.

It take me until bedtime to wake up, to get the gist of the day, to get in the swing of the hang.

I spend the day in a haze, steering through the fog of the motions, until it is finally time to call it quits.  When I can give my mind peace and solitude, it start the race it pumps the gas, it competes against the unseen assailants of the nights, like a ninja in the darkness the brain races to a start line, the end nowhere in sight.

Some day I will catch on to the rhythm of the living. For now, I follow the drums of the night.