Tag Archives: Life

I Guess The Un-Levered Few Don’t Reproduce As Much

Somewhere around the first year ever

Somebody pulled a very wrong lever

And installed in the heads of the humans to come

What, on paper, looks brilliant but is really just dumb.

When man 1.0 emerged from the ocean

At the dawn of all time he was filled with the notion

That life as he knew it as far as he could see

Was something to be taken seriously

And a serious life, as he deemed at that time

Was to have the most wealth in the light of the lime.

So man 1.0 went on to fight wars,

To invent Gods and whiskey and sliding glass doors

Each sincerely believing his life was endowed

By something that made his life special somehow.

And meanwhile the malfunctions who wanted no power

Would sleep in on Sunday and sing in the shower

And wholeheartedly laugh at the hard-working host

Knowing he who wants least will end up with the most.

And so it continues by chance or by fate

That despite each progressive human update

The lever once thrown has not yet been undone

Thus why so many people have so little fun.

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But Then People Won’t Think Everything In My Life Is Perfect And Be Indifferent/Slightly Insecure About The Whole Thing!

There’s something to be said

For chatting without snap,

Books without face,

Interacting without that crap…

Gramming that’s not instant,

Interests that aren’t pins,

Singing without tweeting.

Real friends don’t need log-ins.

I think our society’s forgotten

The value of offline truth

So why not forget your password

And go enjoy your youth?

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Thanks State-Funded Early Childhood Education!

I read my child the story

Of a little red poultry whom

I respect, thus its female genitalia

Did not cause me its gender to assume.

My child looked up and said “Parent,

“I like when you do funny voices

“But why can’t we read about princesses

“Then make our own damn political choices?”

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The Pleasures Of Discomfort

Today I stood out in the rain

And didn’t wear my hood.

It was frigid and soggy, yes,

But still felt pretty good.

I stood and looked at nothing much

And let the boredom grow

And those tiny discomforts helped

Much more than you can know.

I talked to her at a bus stop

And watched her walk away.

I’m stronger from the fire, now

A pot instead of clay.

And as I walk home in a pair

Of shoes devoid of style

Empty pockets will warm my hands.

My whole being is a smile.

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And I Realize I Should Have Forwarded Those Chain Emails After All

I stand atop the rocky cliff

Above the salty ocean blue

And shout to myself “how lovely

“And beautiful are you!”

I stand atop the rocky shore

Above the crashing waves below

And my echo calls back softly

“Whoa now! Let’s take this slow.”

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Back When Some Men Weren’t Rapists

I remember yesterday

When to look at someone was okay,

When an elbow or a shoulder touch

Didn’t mean nearly so much.

I remember yesterday

When a compliment would make her day,

When “you look nice” was not a slur

When casually said by him to her.

I remember yesterday

When a man held doors and asked to pay,

When a bit of gentle care

Was not met with a dour glare.

I remember yesterday

When a guy could idly say

“What’s your number?” and not fear

Her screaming “rape” for all to hear.

So if you remember yesterday

In the aforementioned way

And know its loss would lead to sorrow

Let’s keep the past in mind tomorrow.

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Forgettable Anecdotes Are Born Of These

For everything there is a first:

First kiss, first game, first beer.

For everything there is a last

But we don’t celebrate those here.

For everything there are middles

Unless first and last are the same,

But we tend not to notice these

‘Cause they all seem just the same.

So I challenge you today to share

Your one-thousand-second baseball game,

Your six-hundred and eighth bus ride,

The fourteenth passing of a flame.

You never know how special

The present will someday get.

Besides, people tweet food pics

So you’re still less boring than the net.

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But The Microwave Is Silver…

The pot called the kettle black.

The kettle thought the pot was a racist kind,

But then kettle saw that the pot was black too

And, quoth the kettle, nevermind.

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Impression: Los Angeles

I stood out here once before

Seeking what could not be found

Head to toe in the neon cloak of midnight

Listening for the absence of a sound.

I saw humans crawl past empty sidewalks

Burning gas and paying fares

On the way to work that will empower them

To buy their surplus worries and cares.

They seek comfort in a glasses, pills, and needles,

Pray for hope through a politician’s lies.

Paychecks promise them the satisfaction

Of being happy in someone else’s eyes.

Red-eye pilots flee this urban heaven

Carrying those with sense enough to flee.

I just read my scripts and idly wonder

What it’s like to see a real tree.

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Not Racist, Just Comfy

I find it funny that those who fought

For an inclusive ideology

Now think that those with “normal” thoughts

Owe outsiders apologies,

That those who culturally kill their kind

Are morally superior

To those who really do not mind

If you’re black, a chick, or queerier,

That while we wear our pale skin

And external genitalia

If we don’t call these things a sin

Then somehow you think we failed ya.

But I’m content and keen to keep

My straight white male role.

My life I live, my crops I reap

In a neighborhood safe to stroll.

So if you wave your protest signs

They’ll not change how I see.

You will not find me cryin’

Because I know it’s fine to be me.

So please don’t give me an earful.

I’m happy being cheerful.

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