A bunch of clumps of pomegranate seeds in despicable climates—and rubber sapiens—ultimately climax at the wrong time for the wrong reason entirely. Because we supped upon tangible fruit of several looms, we had the shits for several days—as is proper. Building a future upon artificial cultivation seems probable, but foolish when you consider our penchant for throwing pigeon feathers at brick walls and expecting them to go right through. States of matter have always eluded us and laughed at our attempts to decode their pointless complexity, and today—more than ever—we find ourselves scratching the stumps that cap our necks in jovial wonder, slopping our spinach all over the sidewalk and stooping down to pet the short dogs that pant and pant at the bus stop, unaware that they don’t need to pay a fare.
Category: Straitjacket: V-17X
Current – 06:17GMT
Tempting and dangerous,
any and all alarming electric movements
take stock in curiosity,
infinitely patient, always current,
never guessing our next moves
but confident in the fact
that we’ll be moving
for as long as we have dominion
over this stubborn little globe
that we humans–meat sacks
with personality–think
is inherently conquerable.
Little do we comprehend
the supreme intelligence of the current,
the all-encompassing energy present
in anything worth a charge,
be it biological, mechanical
or a newfound combination–celebration–
of the two, seemingly at odds
for the longest, only to find
that their destiny was forged
long ago, perhaps by advanced peoples
unknown to all humankind, revealed
when the time has been deemed appropriate.
I’m telling you guys…
I don’t know what you’re thinking
when it comes to this planet’s
impending doom,
but I know for certain
that the most-evolved among us
won’t stand for anything less
than integration of souls and energy
when all is said and done.
I really wish I could use my arms.
Edgar – 17:17GMT
Edgar stood, well enough aware that so many children have no resources to speak of, and playtime doesn’t mean much to them anyway. They have bigger thoughts on their minds, like ending global poverty or shooting the moon. If they’d been born with the opportunity (and indeed the duty) to waste resources, they would squirt ketchup at the problem, hoping that an intelligent solution would just present itself already–haven’t they been patient enough?!
Edgar knows that solutions aren’t a dime a dozen, contrary to the popular belief among his peer group. No good person, in Edgar’s mind, can stomach the ever-placating script that tells them to buy this or subscribe to that. “Isn’t it all just meaningless, anyway? It’s all contributing to the supposed need to consume foreign objects at the cost of individual liberties, here and abroad!”
This Edgar guy is on the right track, I think.
What?! There’s something in my eye! I thought you guys sealed this room off from foreign contaminants! I mean, I just assumed… what kind of rinky-dink operation is this, anyway?
Gypsy Sailor — 18:34GMT
Roll up the throw rug, gypsy sailor–
if not for country, then at least
for Self (for once).
Remember your days
of sheltered altruism,
never to return in this lifetime,
save the effect
that procreation produces
through irrational instinct.
I really wish
I could use my arms.
Hellbent – 23:41GMT
A number of hellbent underbelly rectangles help burden health food retailers just trying to make a decent living for once in their lives. They tell about an ungainly appearance stemming from a tinkerer who mandates that we “belt out the checkers, belt out the checkers,” while convenient end-of-weekend towel boys spell constant effortless tabernacle choirs in the moonlight. Well, we know however you dip the bell jar gasket, it invariably holds sentimental value for the bold-faced pumpkin monger who dices mosquito nets like there’s no tomorrow for their kind. Time cards replete with hummingbird moccasins file under federal standards, just like everyone else.
Even if I do regain the use of my arms, I don’t think they’ll function the way they used to. Thanks a lot, guys.
I Took a Day – 08:49GMT
I took a day to spell my name,
Begot four kids and cooked a goose,
Remarked upon the crooked ways
Of law-enforcement officers,
Caught a stray cat, made it tame,
Released it into calmer seas,
Observed its boldest swimming stroke
Until after about an hour
It lost its life and floated out
To open water, past the boats;
Became a snack for orca young.
I started feeling rather bad,
But after all, I saved that cat!
Perhaps the water didn’t work
For its land-dwelling tendencies
Requiring motion-ceasing rest
A back float just can’t satisfy.
The tide went out, and so the cat
Kept drifting to the deep abyss
Until a mighty albatross
Came gliding by on limber wings
And signaled to its family
That maybe furry mammals can
Adapt to open ocean climes.
But after a few seconds’ look,
The sea bird found it was deceived
And called off all its flighted kin.
It beat its wings and gained some height,
Resumed its path across the sky,
Alone—alone as usual—
And traveling to unknown space.
I managed to observe all this
A hundred miles away on land
With super strong binoculars.
I started to convince myself
That maybe I had sinned against
The animal kingdom that day,
A realm of which I am a part.
But I reminded myself then
That my value on this earth
Is not that of those lesser drones
And packed up my binoculars,
Chucked them off the roof
With all my worldly strength
And laughed a hearty laugh.
Am I a lesser specimen than you, o intimidating scoundrels of hostage-holding expertise? Am I to go down as a pawn in the pyramid scheme you’ve perpetrated since the beginning of human literacy? Just put me out of my misery!
I really wish I could use my arms.
Pheasants – 03:41GMT
Road woes continue for a small band of pheasants. They’ve lost three members already, a mother and two adolescent sons. We’re not sure whether they took a break at an inviting watering hole, or if they got shot by a wayward doorknob hunter. We’ll inform you as soon as we get confirmation of their whereabouts.
Turns out, a peasant got the pheasants. It doesn’t seem pleasant, and it isn’t, but even those of our species subjected to squalid conditions are entitled to the spoils of ingenuity when they come across it. The world’s pheasant population will recover in two weeks’ time, wish we could say the same for the countless massacred peasants, bless their hides.
I really wish I could use my arms—I have a crazy itch between my shoulder blades.
WHARVED 