Poetry because I'm lazy.

When you make a clockwork girl
She needs the perfect gears
Ones of beaten gold or
Ones of polished brass?

A clockwork girl is perfect
An engineer's delight
Her face of sculpted porcelain
Her eyes of stoic glass

The clockwork girl adoréd
Is quite a sight to see
Perfect hair and a perfect face
An artist's dream to dream

But does a clockwork girl dream?
No man can truly say
To that I must remark
Of tin and solder, a heart is never made

No man has oil blood
No doll yet draws a breath
I'll always know one thing
I'll always dream for she




Pretty subpar, but I enjoyed writing it. The concept of mechanical women coming in to replace our biological ones is incredibly intriguing to me.

Plus, delicious dolljoints.

Sometimes

I think the world is filled with all sorts of spirits and gods. It certainly makes life much more interesting. I also like to believe these spirits and such manifest themselves in ordinary, mundane ways just to further mess with us.

For instance, I only ever write something when I've had a stiff cup of tea. Maybe there is some god or goddess of tea who rewards my allegorical sacrifice by becoming my muse.

Or maybe I'm just crazy and want to fill up the number of blog entries I have.



Yeah, apparently there's a sage devoted to tea. Maybe I'm not so crazy after all.

How to Fuck Up Your Daughter

1. Make every attempt to alienate and isolate said daughter from the outside world.

2. Spread weaponry around the house with threats to use it should anyone "interfere".

3. Threaten anyone who attempts to make any sort of contact with said daughter.

4. Attempt to obstruct said daughter's ascent into adulthood by treating her like a petulant child.

5. Be a complete hypocrite and coward.

Yeah, I'm bitter, and diary-ing. Actual post to come.

Fate conspires in such marvelous manners...

I ended leaving a friend's house early this morning due to the fact that it was nearly impossible to fall asleep there. I found something quite interesting on my way home.

Now, I've been a huge fan of astrophysics ever since I was a kid. I don't know what it is, but I guess being an agnostic since I was a kid had something to do with it. The almost fanciful ideas presented by most cutting-edge physicists stood out as a separate mythology that I could engage in without having to attach personable theistic connotations to anything. Of course, I can attach them if I want to, and they would still likely have the same amount of personal value to me.

Anyway, I'd been looking for a specific book for a long time. This book was, of course, Stephen Hawking's eponymous classic A Brief History of Time. So far, I had never been able to find it in bookstores around where I live. I haven't had a credit card or debit card until recently, so I couldn't exactly order it online.

On my way home, I came across a large pile of trash. Sitting upon this pile of trash was this:



Oh Fate, you terse trickster.

Now for some some poetry.

While I try not be too much of a pretentious art elitist, I very much enjoy poetry, and write copious amounts of it. Here's a poem I wrote while halfway asleep in government class today:

~Puzzle~
Puzzle, puzzle, I play thee
A playful game, all for me
These patterns of a mind that's free
All obscured for none to see

Puzzle, puzzle, I turn you
To seek your love as true
So old, yet so very new
Very, very exciting to do

Puzzle, puzzle, you I forget
Left unsolved, goals not met
Through our fingers, times we set
Sorrowless recollections that we fret

Puzzle, puzzle, you are far
Unceasing questions time won't mar
A mindful abcess leaves a scar
Puzzle, puzzle, only for par

In the beginning...

I created this rather useless blog on the internet, and I am sure nobody will read it. All alone in a world crafted from abstract cyberculture, I cultivate something that will never be read. Never be understood. Never be known...

In a gnostic sort of way, of course.

Here's hoping I will continue to update this blog as much as I possibly can, and though people may never read it, though people may never understand it, and though I will never be marked for a raid by the usual sort, I'll have been here, and left my mark on the infinite history of existence as we understand it.

Also, tits.

Peace out.