frustratii.

Excuses, excuses, fading into the darkness darker than black

  nails scratching against the blackboard remind me of dying screams.

Do we need to watch what words we say in our mouths and in our heads?

  it is just mumbling made up by fallen humans.

    Is it?

Christopher Columbus was actually Cristoforo Colombo.
  they gave him a Latin name to boost his status.
    What?

How do you connect this and that when your head doesn't screw on the right way?
  it goes on counterclockwise.  everyone else's goes the other way - the right
    Way?

This is no time to be thinking about that subject, these persons are talking about those things.
  but this is boring.  there is nothing for you here.  relinquish your command.
    Or else?

sisters.

They hadn’t stayed long in the kitchen when it was time to put things away. Seeing the plates and silverware, Chloe promptly sighed. She felt overwhelmed with the work she still had left to do. Out loud, she hastily asked, “Do you mind if I go upstairs?”

Bethany and Tiffany were obliging. While they too had work to do, they felt no inclination of doing it. Their work could wait, they figured. They stood up, easily stacking the dishes and closing the lids of the jam and peanut butter jars. Glancing at each other, both wondered who would wash the dishes.

“I can wash,” volunteered Tiffany. She wasn’t exactly eager, but like always, if something was expected of her, she would do it willingly.

Seeing the chance of a competition, little sister Bethany quickly picked up the sponge. “Not if I get to it first,” she silently remarked. She began wiping the plates and forks, while Tiffany cleared the dishrack. They had made a happy compromise. Tiffany started singing.

“This is the song that never ends… it goes on and on my friends…”

Bethany joined in, “Some people started singing it not knowing what it was…”

“And they’ll continue singing it forever just because!” Laughing, they both were thankful for the fun times they could have.

a_sence.

      The sun rolled further down in the sky, lazing over a city block as he basked in his own warmth.  He adjusted the thermometer down a little: 5,502 degrees Celsius.

      "It's much too early for you too be up like this, sun.  It's only eleven in the morning."  I sighed.  Walking down twenty blocks from 63rd in this blistering weather wasn't particularly enjoyable.  It was these mornings that I took time off... But I'd used up all the sick days for this year last year.  Bother.  "Bother."  It made more sense when I said it out loud.  I sounded like one of the main male protagonists in one of those reverse harem role-playing games.  Well, why not.  I cleared my throat, remarking, more to myself than anyone else, "You... You're not hurt, are you?  If you... If anything had happened to you, I'd... I'd fall in love with you."  I glanced up and caught the gaze of the lady walking across the road, who immediately averted it.  Why had I chosen such a quiet intersection to relieve stress?  "Bother."

      "Morning, Missus Lumkee."  I always had to stop thinking "lumpy" when I said the name at looked at her hair at the same time.  "Stop smiling, stop smiling."  I muttered.  "I'm sorry, Mister Fung?"  She'd heard?  Well, I could pass it off as a careless comment about my own behavior with absolutely no relation to her hair.  "Oh, nothing.  Beautiful sun out today, isn't he?"  She smiled painfully.  "Mister Fung, you're eighty minutes late."

      "Oh, fudge."

purpose.

Is it to wait, and wait, and wait, until the right flash of inspiration comes along and laser beams fly out of your ears, the most magnificent of works taking shape as you release your final form and write the greatest... thing... man has ever seen?  Or is it to go on, regardless of consequence, regardless of how putrid and awful your work is, until you come across one jewel within the recesses of your head?

This isn't even my final form.

Is it to smile and say, "Not today", brushing it off like you brush off the offending strands of hair off your forehead?  Is it to avoid your cat because he makes your eyes well up with tears out of allergies, and not cuddle times?  Or is it to cuddle?

Can I haz cheezburger?

Or is it to lie defeated, tangled within the cavern that is your fluffy comforter, mocking yourself for producing the greatest of nothings?

I am no man.  Death!  Kill the halflings.  Where is Gandalf?  For I much desire to speak with him.  Frodo Baggins.  I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.  So it begins.  Gandalf Greyhame.  He has fallen, into shadow.  Look unto the east.  He was twitching.

upgrade.

When, in the world we hate

We know why cats will die
We have eaten crumpets
We drown sorrows in rye
And pencil on floor lets
Our mean existence fade

We are fallen astray

Pluto, a planet?  No.
Zygote: baby, not cult
Fifth he was, James Monroe
Until we're shamed, adults.

Then, the bell rings; we're late.

This is why, boys and girls, SCHOOL IS BAD.

troll.

"Grunge in m'pants, grunge in m'pants..."  The old geezer truckled down Mulberry Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon with his camouflage beanie and a stick of licorice.  I'd spotted him walking up this particular stretch of road at this particular time of day with that particular stick of licorice twenty two times before.  Every day this happened.  But I'd just have to bear with it.  I stopped my ears with buds, took a deep breath, and began blasting Megurine Luka [(c) Vocaloid] so he'd be able to hear it and I wouldn't be able to hear him.  Didn't work.  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and confrontationally spread wide-eagled his two arms.   "Nnnnuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman???" Is what it sounded like through Dancer in the Dark.  What, me?  I didn't hear nothing.  Walk past, just walk past...
"Nnnnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman!!!"  Come on.  "I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?"  "Did you just call me an old geezer, you foul-mouthed young whippercreamer?  Why, you know, those days, my days, mmm.... The young men, that's me, or was me... Mmm.  The young men were respectful to women!"  You're not a woman... "Sir, I never said anything, I never even thought you were an old geezer."  Well, maybe I did.   But he won't know.  "There.  You just said it.  Old?? ME?  Quaint, antique, perhaps.  But not old.  Why, in my nnnuuuuunnnnkkkamananananan."  It sounded like that because I'd gotten past him and put Excalibur on.  This was the twenty-third time.  It's nice being nice... But some people don't have unlimited patience.  I'm one of those.  "Pmmmummdinnnn!!"  That was different.  I turned around.  "What's wrong, sir?"  "Please, I'm dying."  "Excuse me?"
A devilish grin formed on his face.  "If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?"
That was the twenty-fourth time.

truth.

"You know what to do, right?  Act like a couple."
"Mmm.  Leave it to me.  I won't be put to shame by fools with love on the brain.

Hey, honey. Whatcha wanna do when we get to the beach?"
"Let's take a walk together along the shoreline."
"I like that.  We can talk about our future while gazing at the setting sun."
[Here, he gives his best sparkling prince impression.]

"They're totally faking it."

"So fake."

"Fake..."

[Here, he gives his best unperturbed impression.]

"Hey.  Wouldn't it be romantic to look for shells too?  If I find any rose-coloured ones, I'll give them to you."

"That sounds too wonderful.  We can each keep one half of a pair as a souvenir of the trip."

"Mm.  Let's make lots of memories of our love!"

[Here, he gives his best sparkling prince impression.]

"It's like some second-rate film."

[Here, he gives his best unperturbed impression.]

Currently hiring one male and one female actor between the ages of 15 and 16 for the revised [in progress] stage adaption of Oreshura.  Pay will be discussed in further meetings.  Plus extras.

- (c) Not Me

a dream I wish I dreamed.

"Wait, what? That doesn't seem physically possible!" I screamed as the stranger lifted 5 feet off the ground. "Anything is possible here! You just gotta believe!" he yelled back as he started going up higher and higher.

Let me just fill you in real quick. After a very bad and, to put it gently, weird science experiment, I became stranded on an island...not on Earth. At least, it didn't seem like Earth. After all, the sky was green, the grass was red, and the sand was blue. But considering the nature of the science experiment, it was also very likely that I blew out the receptors in my eyes, but I consider the former to be true based on the following events. I saw a duck fly past me. Not normal flying, mind you, but rather as if it was just shot out of a cannon.....a very greasy cannon. But this fact did not surprise me as much as the fact that the duck winked and said "yo" as he flew past me. At that point instinct kicked in as I said "sup, bro" and proceeded to go in for what is commonly known as "the bro hug", but by that time he was already gone, but not before leaving a pair of sunglasses in my outstretched hand. Naturally, I placed them on my devilishly handsome face while striking a pose, of which I will not go into too much detail. But it was a cool pose. Suddenly a stranger ran up, slapped me across the face, and started levitating all while humming the theme from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Then the above in italics occurred, and now we're all caught up. Yay. As he started rising, I noticed he took my sunglasses, which caused me to become greatly angered. Since flying was not an option for me on account of the fact that I wore a kilt, I decided to believe he was on the ground, and lo and behold, there he stood in front of me! At this point I became curious to test my hypotheses in regard to the compression/ tension ratio of my knuckles versus the right side of his cheekbone. Incidentally, this was the first step in the experiment previously mentioned, but I don't think now is the time to bore you with those details. After I retrieved my sunglasses, I noticed that enough time had passed for this stranger to recover from my hypotheses. Naturally, I decided to turn him into a firehydrant that was able to sing "Oh, Susannah" when used, since that is a relatively upbeat song with major chords to help anyone feel happy inside. After this event, I had an uneasy feeling as if my surroundings were incredibly boorish, which is when I noticed the massive forest behind me. Naturally, I decided to put the whole thing on fire, and attempt to placate the hungry flames with my newly acquired fire hydrant. This did not work, but I did feel rather happy inside on account of the song. Then I woke up....

seconds.

Dreams, made to last.
Can we, human,
Invuln'rable
To time and cracks
Morphine and snacks
Snarks and grapefruit
Rage and Entmoot
Tears and whirlpool
Midnight and Kool
- Aid

Be?

hipster - ii.

It was at the stoplight again.

Looking out the windows of my old navy Corolla waiting for the light to change, I see this teenage guy strutting like a model down the sidewalk. Nodding his head to the music from his bulky headphones, he holds a black leather bag awkwardly under his arm. As he jaywalks across the road, I can't help but wonder about him.

Leaning back to face Aaron, I ask, “On a dare?”

“Maybe just hipster,” he says smugly.

window.

Open.  Close.
Slip.  Slap.
Whoosh.  Bang.

The door drops.  Dramatically.

Icicles form and decay.  Inside, the fairies grin and spin tall tales.  Perhaps one day, they too will know the meaning of delight.

On.  Off.
Up.  Down.
Click.  Clack.

Pulse.

π.

I asked Bluebird: Have you seen π?

Bluebird chirped: Too-whee, twee twee twee!
and flew away.

I asked Squirrel: Have you seen π?

Squirrel chattered: Brrrrrip, brip, ch-ch-ch-ch-ch!
and scrambled higher in his tree.

I asked Deer: Have you seen π?

Deer snorted: Bhrrrrrrumph!
and switched its white tail in my face.

I asked Daddy: Have you seen π?

Daddy smiled: There it is, on the dinner table - Mommy's homemade apple π!

hipster.

I squeal through a yellow light.

"That's sooo hipster!"

Wait, what?  I glance at Aaron in the passenger seat.

"Um, do you even know what that word means?" I ask.

"Duh, I do.  It's like anything that's supah-cool." He grins and snatches the sunglasses from my nose.  "Ooooh now I'm hipster!"

I shake my head.  This kid.  I open my mouth to protest but before I can get a word out, Aaron grabs my beanie and shoves it on his own head.

"I'm hipster, I'm hipster, more hipster than a . . . tipster," he sings in an obnoxiously off-key voice.  He puts on his serious face and turns to me.  "I'm just hipster because you're hipster and I'm wearing part of you right now."

We reach a yellow light.  This time I make the decision to slow down, like I should.