Random Code – Previous Post

So the previous post, the piece of poetry… It looks better over at my DeviantArt account. They let you use text formating over there that WordPress seems to be ignoring. If you want to see how the poem is suppose to look please follow the link below. If you want to hear how it sounds, you’ll have to wait for me to do a reading, or read it out loud to yourself and those three lines after “three” pause, breath out and sigh. Then return to the litany of the poem.

So why write a poem about OCD? Well, you write what you know 😛 Seriously though, it seems funny and cliche that someone would sit in front of a door turning their key in the lock over and over, and of course it is funny, it is ridiculous actually. Makes for great comedy on the television, except for the person stuck there doing it. They’re stuck in a loop, if you know something about code you can say their stuck in a bug, a bad “if…then” statement. But for some reason they’re brain much like a computer can’t break the loop. Not without a lot of anguish on their part. If you know someone with OCD or suffer from it yourself please look into it, there are a lot of ways to deal without. Many don’t require any drugs at all. Oh, and give that person a hug and let them know you’re there for them.

DeviantArt Link 

Inside, I’m Screaming

turn the key

back

and again

pull it out

breath

walk away

one step

two step…

three.

put the key in

turn the key

back

and again

pull it out

breath

walk away

one step

two step…

three.

put the key in

turn the key

back

and… wipe the

tears out of

my eyes…

again

pull it out

breath

walk away

one step

two step…

three.

put the key in…

An Artist’s Pen

I lost my pen,

Maybe it doesn’t

matter

but it was mine!

and I need it

what is this?

A BIC!?

What the Fuck!

I’m a fucking artist

I need my fucking

fountain pen

this ink

does not inspire

the feel of this

pen is wrong

I’m sure

I’ll have a blister

after writing

this…

I’ve been patient

so I’ll say it one

more time nicely

where is my god-damn

Christ loving pen,

you bourgeoisie pieces

of shit!?

Work in Progess: Poetry

So, this is the piece I’m currently working on (well, at least poetically. I have a prose story idea that I am constructing right now as well.) I don’t know what I’m trying to do with this piece. Something with the age of man, the mystery of the past, and the romanticism of lost civilizations…

Just remember it’s not complete.

Down, down, and
Down
through blues
purples
into deepest
blacks

Hot and black
amidst the smoking stacks
of an alien world
Here where
everything
is a stranger
a wanderer
where nothing is welcome
and nothing
stays
it lies
if the suns rays
could reach
glory would be
reflected back
but this place
fell
so long ago
Where angels walked
now demons swim

Monuments to Man
pride
lie broken
scattered
few stand
humbled by the vast
nothingness
covered and veiled in
microbial life
that is their only
witness
Here man was born
and here
civilization died
where miracles and marvels
once hurried about
there is only
the smoke
the darkness

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