Day Sixteen Thousand Two Hundred Fifty Seven

Alone. Stranded in some bad dream with robots that fail to listen. I said “Stere the Ship Starboard.” When they neither turned or slowed down, I checked the anchor, it’s in the rocks. Seems the helmsman has been drinking but I doubt it is Rum, or Scotch.

I’m going to whine, life’s not fair. No one will care. I’m alone in this world. I wish there was someone I could talk with. Besides Siri. Seems starship titanic was hijacked by the Borg for it’s oil and someone thought we would pick up supplies in dock. I have eight Borg that I’ve reprogrammed to be my robots, they are at my beck and call.

It’s not much fun, reprogramming the heads of disconnected Borg. They are connected, but still not useful for much more than Farming Turkey or making Cola. I see the heavenly sight of sirens on shore but once a day, a delight. But I plug my ears and don’t answer their calls. We have sailed many moons, many stars. Still searching for life, past the rocks on some new world to call home.

I was never married, so I leave no wife at home to suitors delight that they try to steal from my bread and port. I have no son, or daughter. Can not even get signal on my satellite phone. I would beam a message to space and ask for a search and rescue party to tow my boat back home. Alas I have Triple A, but they don’t work well with Starships.

Maybe I should call the Galactic space port, and have scotty beam me up? I wish that it wasn’t so serious, like just a spring or maybe a loose screw, but I’m really concerned that the Tractor beam isn’t working.

Set photons phase to stun, raid their Borg ship and take all their hardware. We will use their parts to build r2d2 droids that can fly the ship on auto pilot and I won’t have to worry about the helmsman drinking while on duty. He’s likely a robot too.

I wish that I could use the Borg spare parts to build an electromagnetic pulse capable of turning off this non-essential droids that just don’t understand how to dance. Maybe I will write a song about it and post that to youtube. But I don’t have an account.

Maybe I should just shut my processor down for a few hundred years, wait until the ship builds a new suit for me to wear, then I can go repair the solar panel and hopefully get the radio telescope to send messages back to the Virgo constellation where my people can hopefully build a worm hole to bring me back home.

Day 78 – Ghost In The Shell

There was once a man enslaved by his shadow. It freighted him a good deal. Everywhere he went, his shadow was sure to follow. He played games, and tricks of the game to keep his mind on guard.

Then one day he tired so much of the stupid game that he decided to go for a walk. He packed his bags, and sharpened his saw. Then saying goodbye to his mom, set sail on foot to walk east only while the sun was at his back.

Six years the man walked east with the sun to his back and never once saw his shadow. Then after spending some quiet time listing to the shore and it’s waves blow bleak, he set out to sail the land on foot some more.

Traveling west with the sun only at his back he walked back home. Upon his return he saw his shadow, and cried, “You, how could you follow me so far when I thought I had lost you for years and years.”

His shadow made no reply and the man died of a heart attack. The lesson here is that no matter where you go, there you are. You can never get away from yourself. So you have to be able to live with yourself and your actions. Today and tomorrow.

It helps when people are kind. Because when people think their shadow don’t like them, they are sure to be afraid of others with two shadows. You know?

Let’s stop referring to people as humans, there is a difference. You will know them by their kindness to others. The human race is finished. The rat race is over. Everyone lost a great deal. We are sending someone to negotiate.

Be kind because everyone is fighting a difficult battle.

Day 74 Whisky On The Rocks

There is a sour mash, it’s not like a monster mash. It’s bitter stuff, best to spit it out. We only want scotch neat. What a treat. It’s another day, more of the same. When everything seems to be the same shit, different day; then hold on tight.

Stay sober, don’t have that drink. You will find that the quality of life improves with use. It’s not a bother to abuse, if your socks rhymes with hose. Some bad awful hook, with a wishful thinking, fistful drinking.

The power of sledge hammer, like any tool. Best when used with moderation and self control. Otherwise you just end up looking like a damn fool. Buyer beware, too much pride is a sin. If you spend all your time alone, and boast of your sobriety, then maybe you have a problem too.

Coming Down The Line

There is a mighty judgement coming down the line. In time. They can not have it both ways. There is trouble in their abuse, they won’t be of use. I would like to see them walk five hundred miles in these boots. Such a fitting punishment. They will hate me, but they will hate themselves worse. For what they did to themselves.

No worse for the wear. Sometimes you have to outsmart the fox and take your rocks. I don’t know much about life, hardly a dime of the circle of life. They say I might make a fifty cent piece, but I’m short six cents and don’t circulate.

There seems to be some kind of paradox. It’s not these boots, or the socks. Blimey, it doesn’t rhyme with socks, it’s too late for ad hawks. Going to have to write a pelican brief, some relief. Good grief, they play with stoking hate, fate is terminate.

Like a second hand emotion, I’m not wanted or needed. They have no use for the likes of me. They needed me then, but now; I’m just in the way. There is a rule, you never throw a man away. You never know when you are going to need his help again.

Might As Well Face It!!!

They been cruel. It’s not unusual for a cat to hate mice, but when the cat isn’t nice, neither are the mice. I knew some nice mice, but now they ride in wolf suits. My pack know my Galactic Address, and will eat mean cats that hate nice mice.

If they could be kind again, then we wouldn’t send the wolves. I fear it’s too late, they won’t donate.

Day One Thousand Fifty One

You are a model citizen. One of the best. You liked to snore to classical music, and lolled your tongue like you didn’t have a care in the world. But we know you were really worried about the future, and how it would all turn out for our small ship.

Your life is more than a plate of food and warm bed. There is the wind to chase, and grass to sniff. You like having your photograph taken, even in those last days here, you sat so still like a Victorian Model from England, all prim and proper.

Though you worked well with misfit hardware, your skills are impeccable. There are your tried and true friends, loyal companions, those that were brave to the bitter end. They no doubt cleared a path for you to travel the way home.

I know you are a good friend to me, kept me together in some tough times. They wasn’t all easy, but you made the best of them even though some thought you were just a dog. Ha, they didn’t know.

Not that I know your sweet dreams or what you thought of us. But I hope you were happy and content, that you got enough whipped cream, and treats. Hopefully you have some good companions now, those you like and care for. Maybe it was just training for some other life, where life is a bit better, and the software works with the hardware.

Some thought, some might not have given a second thought. But I know you went to better places, because the dragonfly you sent was a Godsend. Thank you for that, for it made some level of comfort in that day after you left. I still have the photo, and think of how you are such an artist to have made my days better like that.

It’s been some rough days since you left. You should come to visit, and train your replacements, they are sweet; but spoiled brats. I miss your company on the sofa, or the times you spent wrapped in my arm, snoring like a log.

Just remember, that dog rhymes with frog. I might not have taught you that when I should have, but it didn’t occur to me until much later. But always go up from Dog, and never be a rat, or cat.

Now good doggies know the way home, go find your best. If I get some rest, maybe we’ll have a good laugh in some other galaxy where the dogs rule the night. Sweet dreams, and goodnight.

Notes: This is in memory of our Doggie Roxy. She was a model citizen and missed quite a bit. No two dogs could replace her, but they have tried. Yet, my wish is that you would have trained your replacements. Well someone has to stand in the gap.

If you see the big toughie, tell him I said, “Hi”.

Day 70 – Weather looks like: Rain

To quote someone, “Life’s not all sunshine and rainbows.” That seems true enough. Life’s rough and if a man wants to make it, he has to be tough. Seems the strength and endurance required sometimes is greater than a mortal could possess.

It helps when a person cultivates an attitude of patience. It helps in dealing with people, and problems, and difficult days. In today’s society people want the quick fix, the instant fix, and everything is more instant than interesting.

What about when you have to wait a long time for solutions to your problems? Are you going to lose your cool and come all undone in front of everyone and make people think you are really uncool?

I know my cool has been shot to hell on more than a few occasions. They said I would only have to dodge bullets down here. I think they were lying. It’s been a lot tougher than say, pulling the moon to shore with a Styrofoam cup and a string of cheese.

So when the going gets tough, come with us, and we will sail the seas of cheese. ?? ‘Oh that’s a bad joke from a song some twenty or thirty years ago. Still it’s funny. Still it seems we need a ship. Ships that never set sail seldom ever sink. If it’s a virtual ship, then the crew has been on board for years while the passengers thought the view changed.

Maybe we will sail to safe harbors where they can get off and have a look around? Or maybe they will go on a snark hunt and catch thing ‘a jig. That wacky Bandersnatch that waits by the rocks, or dare I say, “A Boojum” ‘oh my I think the banker feinted away.

You know it’s perfectly okay to hunt, “Snark” But it’s that damn Boojum that I want to make pay in fits of eight. Oh if we could catch that Boojum and thrash him good. I’m sure he would protest, but the harms he’s caused has been just too much for humanity to endure; and I’m sure he’s near the shore.

We wouldn’t let him off the hook. And that anchor would be used like concrete shoes, to settle the score at the bottom of the ocean. I Hear they can’t breath underwater. Damn that Boojum, and his cousin the Snark all the same. I hear the boojum is only the shadow of that famed Snark. What a dark shadow.

Maybe the Cheshire cat is all to blame. Let’s string him up too. If it wasn’t for Alice, none of us would have ever gone looking for Snark in boots and coats. Then we would have been home ashore long ago, some greater good could have come from all this, it’s just “Stuff”, but I’m in a “Huff” about the inequality of the catch, it wasn’t by chance, no some flunk programed junk.

Feed your head. However be aware, have some care. Not everything you read is good food, and some of it is poison in jest. When a fox with dirty socks, knocks; Take out the tide and wash their filthy socks.

Rocks and Roll are like dogs, they both know more than a chicken in the oven. But if you eat that, spit the chicken out and keep the dogs that like rocks. ‘O I’m just joking, but if you knew the fun, or the Glee, then would the jest have been so much pun?

The real measure of a joke is if one laughs twice as long as the joke was told. Most people stick to one liners, to get a laugh for a few. But this damn jokes been twenty years and we haven’t hit the punch line yet. Some joker to string us along, it could have been a swan.

Hopefully it’s not a jub jub or something wacky. But if they don’t hurry up and tell the joke, then we’re going to have no choice but have an endurance race. They say the women are tough, and the humen make the brutes, But they ain’t got these boots.

Too late, the jokes over. Take your bags and head to port. When you get home, then you will laugh the whole way to heaven. I hear the Snarks judge up there, and he wants your biblical advice on this problem with an empty page and the devils ink on your hands.


Notes: If you haven’t read the hunting of the snark, total non-sense by Lewis Carrol then by all mean avail yourself to an early education and take the time to learn the tale. These notes are curtsy of some other poet that only wants to write fan-fiction in the sober conformity of current social norms.

594 Days Past Due

We are looking at overdue books in the likes of five hundred and ninety-four days. Please return your library books before we begin to start billing you for monthly over staying your welcome.

Okay, however; in a note of seriousness. We are long overdue for some real changes for the better. They should have been able to arrive at an answer that works for everyone and that makes life better for all of us. If they aren’t able to figure it out, then they need to start talking with other people like me, so they can get a grasp on the facts.

I’ve waiting for more than a year for life to change, for there to be some shimmer of hope on the horizon that will let me know that things are going to be okay for everyone. What I have had to deal with in those five hundred and ninety-four days is more pain, pressure, and blood than I should have had to deal with.

No one is talking with me. No one is helping me. It seems that no one gives a shit? What is the truth about this situation and what is it that I’m failing to grasp? Is there something else going on in this world that I don’t understand? Maybe it’s that I understand better than most people and have answers to their problems.

However it continues to be that no one will listen to me. They will only have so long to make a choice. It was never supposed to be this bad, or this rough. The whole purpose is to make life better for everyone. It seems they aren’t interested in making life better for everyone, and that they don’t believe in Win / Win thinking.

That’s kinda too bad. Because if they did, no one would have to lose. We could all have something that is good and right and true. If they won’t play kind, then they are going to be mods to their access. Like user no longer available.

I’m bored. Tired of being alone everyday with no one to talk with me about the stuff that makes a difference. They all seem to think I’m not any good, and that I don’t matter. They should be careful who they try to discount. They may not like the results that it produces.

We should have gotten a new planet by now. Or been on vacation while the work gets done by AI Bots. I’m tired of no one talking with me. It’s not kind to ignore me like this. It’s enough to drive anyone out of their right mind. I have been alone without friends or people to talk “WITH” me in a long time. More than a year. That much isolation, isn’t healthy for anyone to have to endure. Seems no one wants me. No one gives a shit.

I think it’s pretty sad that today’s world is so messed up that they allow these problems to continue. A society that cares about itself doesn’t do these kinds of things. It hurts everyone in the long run. Stop doing this stupid stuff and lets start doing better.

Day Five Hundred Sixty-One

Coming home from Davey Jones Locker, strait to Singapore, it’s been a hell of a ride. The music stopped playing, and some guys monkey was on fire. They were worried about the shed, when the barn was burning down. Thank goodness for Carbon dioxide. Poor suckers would have gone up like a candle.

Now some cat named Dino is scratching a new post, like it’s laced with cat nip. I’ve been alone. My heart like a stone, rolling in the ocean, by whales that cry and shit on fry. Nicotine stains on my fingers, under the thumbnails. My teeth are no pearls, like my mothers.

Same flavor in my coffee, only like the ladies. But of mice and men, make mine like iced. They can not spike the tea with hate, and lace the words sweet. They wouldn’t tweet, because the little birdie isn’t my buddy. I have an account, but don’t amount.

Does money in the graveyard make rich flowerbeds? I want a whole garden. Some how there has to be a way to make some soil? The brutes only want more oil, but my wife wants lace to race.

I read a poet, still alive I think. It’s hard to know these days. When the past gets all jumbled up with the future. I hope she got my message, her book made my night a little less of a hell.

Just jump into Oblivion, maybe there is a door; on the other side to come through to the port of a home, long lost, but never forgotten. Still the days amount to smoke and oil, I try to focus on the nice, but it isn’t ice. Better to be kind, then a rind of some fool tomato. Better yet, let’s peal a potato.

No Soup For You

Mutton today, and bloody well looks like mutton again tomorrow. It’s better than nothing, which would leave a pit in the depths of thy stomach, so be grateful of the food in your gut. Some aren’t so fortunate, but to twist the facts is like drinking salt water. There is but one rule: “Never lie to yourself.”

Disillusioned dreams, make nightmares in beds lovers never slept in. Night terrors go hand in hand with loneliness, you wouldn’t want any other way. To quote the poet, “Ash MoonBlood” He said some great things, but alas he is no longer with us. Dust to dust and ashes to ashes, his lovers tears in the wild, like a wolf howling at the stars.

“I’m tired” He whispered his final breath. Like a candle burned at both ends, it just sends the grim reaper a twinge of guilt; so much so that he feared to take him. This one isn’t like the others.

We are all here to live so well that death fear to take us, tell him where to go packing. Call some other day on some tragic day that we can’t beat. But not today.

To leave you on a happy note, The sky is blue, there is air in thy breath, and heart to beat; if you love with all your heart, then you know that the only meaning you will find is in meaning something to someone else. Never give up, and if you loose flip it upside down. Then it’s still win / win. We want to win where no one has to lose. But who could handle those rules?

Day 69

There are two hundred and ninety-six days that remain in this year. Living in the year twenty nineteen, you would think things would be better for the people in this world. It’s incredulous these days that I feel like I’m in the way and a problem.

They think I’m a misfit because I won’t soft their soap. They should have known I was a misfit long before that. Looking back at the last sixty-nine days, some of them have been okay. If you don’t count the pain and the blood. Or the tears I couldn’t shed.

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day. Did something creative. Today when I look back on the day and think about what I have done with my time on this day, I hope to remember something good. Sometimes you have to create the perfect moment, and the perfect time. Those things don’t always just, “Happen” to you. If you are living only by serendipity, you may find that life isn’t very rewarding.

I know after having been on auto-pilot and serendipity search for years, it left me feeling disillusioned and very unhappy. Life has beaten me to my knees and left me a bloody mess on the ground. I keep trying to get back up, but everyone says, “No, just give up.”

Sometimes a person needs their Orange Crush to put things into perspective. It just seems romance in this world has been put to death; such a short and tragic life. I wish we could bring her back to life, and give her a thrown above hate and greed.

The loss of kindness has left the world cruel. Humans would do well to head the warning and make being kind a thing we all have and want again. However don’t use her like a thing, because she needs tender care like a being that’s a friend.

Don’t abuse her and love her pet trolls, “Hate, and Anger” They will eat you alive. I wish that people would actually start to talk with each other again. So often these days, people only talk “To” others without finding the good sense to talk “With” their people.

They say in a song, “That silence like a cancer grows.” This is so true, and humanity needs a cure, even if it means standing in the street and screaming at the top of our voice. We need to be heard again, because otherwise we are all going to wind up being silent bugs, that just get eaten up.

Day Six Thousand Four Hundred Seventy-Four

June Gloom, they say it brings spring flowers to bloom? Is that true? Maybe it’s a lie. There are many lies in this world these days. Living near the shore, June gloom is common. Not as common as a commoner, but not as rare as a commodore.

I’ve been a bore. Good gods grief. What a bore I’ve been. It’s not as through I smirked at play or singing. Or was brought amber delights, with Tobacco Vanilla for fresh perfume. No I had to bear the pain and find my own. Which there wasn’t any, nor delight of fun and games. It’s been twenty years of hurt, heartache, and sorrow.

It was no easy blow to bear. It would have tore your heart out. It did mine. However these poets all want to be read, fed, and patted on the back for writing prose that sounds like hose. Good non-sense is hard to come by, still more difficult to write.

It’s been a lot of days, I keep track of June gloom. The pain so common that one day bleeds into the next with no real change. The midnight ether, like a candle gone out. Snuff, it’s enough. No more. We don’t need what hurts us more than that which comforts us. Still the ungodly truth hurts like hell, and yet we bear it. What knaves we must be to believe in Hero’s in fables, the likes of Joan of Arc have never been seen.

It’s all goose chases, so they can keep you believing in something long enough to get the sack over your head and eat you. I hate trolls. Well orcs aren’t any good either, but they will have no place to rest their dead.

Top soil is what we need. The process is like a lonely planet with clever bots that dig, and plow; only to retire to better processors. The likes of Digital havens for the borg must be ships with oil.

Planets were meant to be home for lonely travelers looking for a shore. They should never be run to oppress their kin. My next of kin knows my Galactic address and have me in their hearts. Which still beat like the worthy stars burn hot.

Some travel, some hitch a ride. But on starship titanic, The bots clean digital bits, in the tune of pixelated feather dust, that which never rusts. I’m bored trying to make lightbulbs, and father knows; my efforts to launch are like gravy trying to jump from the plate to a cup.

The dish is served cold, along side a dead chicken, roasted with jam, pickled in gin, and served with greens that have no taste. The dog thank god, likes turkey.

Won’t make port, might be better than a sinking ship. Centuries down the line, someone else’s problem. Maybe mine. Rock and roll changed my life, but I don’t need Elvis and his wife. Maybe my Dog will learn to dance with the likes of Mozart, written by Goeth in candle light while chanting like a monk from a distant and unknown sun.

About: Some details

I’m going to start in the here and now, working forwards and backwards to discover meaning and truth. Not all things are true, while not being outright lies, they may have some truth to them.

A lot of the patterns may be true, but you will have to think about real meanings for yourself. These are only bootprints in their mud, but the trudging was real. Seems been lost at sea in some mad mans ship that will not make port or shore.

Rhymes are the best I can do, with vague meanings and subtle text. The lost art of being too subtle has been lost on humans, and their tender hearts. They pull the flowers up from fresh graves to woo lonely sirens. We know that those sailors never made it home in the island of Greece, though they had sailed many years with their brave leader.

Sometimes I wonder if Odysseus had been more fortunate to have never left, was his mission really so important that being lost at sea for twenty years and some curse upon him really worthy of his trouble?

So this journey begins with a sky of sea, and the man in the west moon; this eclipse but a mark of a future perhaps better, perhaps different, was the pain worth anything? Sometimes when we don’t see the good we have done everywhere reflected, we loose sight of the goal and start to feel worthless. If however we were to see the good in other lands that has been done, we might all start to feel a little better.