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.

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.

Back to the Future Post

10/21/2015

I had a post for this day, but apparently the post had gotten deleted by my future self.  I cannot recollect what the contents were, but certainly it was of too extreme importance or too profound to exist in 2015.  It had to be deleted before it saw the light of day, it had to be erased before it was unleashed upon the world at large.  I am sure that the mission to return to this present day was complicated, expensive, and highly secretive.  “Back to the Future,” that awesome movie made in the hey day of my childhood, picked this auspicious day for special reason, but that true explanation I don’t think we will ever know.  There is something mysterious about the 21st of October, 2015.

Apparently Marigold can predict the future, let’s hope she does something spectacular with her vision.  At the very least, we have definite proof of time travel.

My Ironic Soul

Dreaming of destruction and pondering chaos

I wrestle with keeping it calm.

Desiring the heat of flame and pursuing the dark fumes

I am a diamond cut snow flake.

There is no peace in the heart,

There is no soft to the touch.

Without you, I am everything.

In the barren winter I find inspiration,

In the vast white ordinary I find my color

In the silent night I hear jazz.

In confusion I draw straight lines

In serenity I create a kingdom of noise.

My comfort is not in the sun, my song is not with the wind.

I dance in the stillness.

My beauty is dark like a moonless night.

My charm is in the blizzard.

My complexity is the simplicity of words.

The Most Ambitious Escape

IMG_0487

Running away from the sunset is not enough.

A simple road that gives a pathway to freedom is not ambitious enough.

To escape the gravity of the oncoming night, we need steel and iron, we need machine might and centrifugal force.

To escape the gravity of the oncoming night, we need structure and dominance, we need concrete weight for the uneven fight.

The modern tools of human’s imagination puts up a bold challenge to nature’s subtle routine.

The modern motif is more firm than the delicate palate of the sunset,

The clamor of the train drowns out the symphonic chorus of the daylight’s departure.

Yet all this might, all this effort to escape,

All this collective determination

 Will never be enough to soften the song of the wind,

To quiet the goodbye of that last spark of daylight,

To diminish the determined circle of the sun.