I need to gain the needed skills,
The tools you use in life,
So I can make my knowledge great,
Make it strong and wide and rich,
Then use it for the good of all,
For love is what I seek,
This love will grow,
And never stop,
And when they all have learned to play,
I can say that I have won,
A small part in this game of life,
The ultimate past of time,
Then I will just start anew,
On something unforeseen,
What this is,
I do not know,
And that is why I play,
For the joy of learning,
That was never learned before.
In the year 1000004 AD (after ducks) there will be much rejoicing, for on a day in this year there will come a time and a place in which something will happen. We all await this day with mediocrity so extreme that one third of all garlic plants will flower profusely thus making rise for a much needed rest on my behalf.
Given that “The Year 1000004” is so long off, is it not true that this statement is about as predicted as just about anything else? Shold we not place information on the same merit as people in that we place it as true until proven untrue? For if we do not think out side the box, than will we ever know what lies beyond its walls?
As the day comes to an increasingly abrupt end at which point bed should be inevitable; I write. Write as my last means of scrounging meaning in my evening spent listening to audio books on my computer. Deception point is a well written, if hardly realistic book not in any way about blocks of ice. The book takes place in the arctic. Today I also, earlier, although after breakfast and while not getting help on php from a professor who is supposed to know about it, finished my Quadra-Bike of which I need to remember to take a picture of. I had this big fight at the height of the might where I bite on a kite, all panted in white, and when it’s in sight someone turns on the light and then there is no more fright. Yeah, good night.
There comes a time when time stands still,
And things slowly click in place,
It’s not this time,
This time is so long off,
Things are going everywhere,
The ends will never meet,
Lest I get my whole world moving,
And that is quite a feat.
Fee, Fie, Foe, Fum,
I smell the oil from an Iraqi drum,
Be it oil, or be it blood,
George Bush don’t care,
He’s just a dud.
Learning is the key to open the lock,
And to let power flow in,
For yes indeedy,
If you turn this key,
You will know that you did the right thing,
The path is not easy,
Although there’s fun in the game,
Some have to chosen a hard root,
But if they keep moving,
Regardless the odds,
And get to the end they do seek,
Then the challenge will pay,
And will get the reward,
That hard work can only achieve.
Fighting, not exhaustion, but that feeling you get at the end of a week spent half learning and half doing monotonous tasks that are somehow necessary; I now write. It is interesting how my writing is better when I am in this state of unalertness. Not that my current words are coming out in the best fluidity, but the fact remains that I have a hugely improved vocabulary in these instances. So thus, with little else to do, writing is the most productive thing I can. Today I do not have a topic, and this leads to a problem, and, in this instance, a problem will be my topic. There are many problems, and many solutions – which of the two there are more I remain unsure and it is with much sureness that I remain, soundly, unsure. There are also many types of problems. The fact that I do not have huge amounts of energy to do huge amounts of things is a problem. Caffeine is a solution but should not be used before bed time or you will need more of it the next day, spiraling into a never ending cycle that can only be solved by becoming immune to that causes it. Then there is always the Who, What, When, Where and How although Why I have no idea. There are no solutions to these types of questions save those asked by the one who is to answer them. If anyone else tries, you’re sure to get a less than adequate response. Finally 2 to the X squared = 5.
As he made his way to the subway that would take him home to his small apartment in the Boston suburbs, he realized that his watch was slow. Looking up at the clock on the wall overhead he saw he was going to miss it. Swearing under his breath he dashed down a flight of stairs to see the doors just closing. By the time he had gotten down to the terminal, it was a blur.
Again, almost audible but for the noise of the station, he let out some poignant expletives and headed back up the stairs. He would have been fine to wait another half hour for the next ticket home, but he had a date scheduled with Sandy Wenterworst, a powerful business woman like himself with even more powerful looks. Almost forgetting where he was going as he thought of her dark blond hair and perfect face, he finally made it to the street outside. A mist out side that was toying with the idea of full fledged rain greeted the man, and seemed to return him to his task at hand, namely finding a taxi. Donning a rain hat and waving pointlessly to the non-commercial vehicles whizzing by he, cursed for the third time. Finally, as if three times was the charm a yellow car approached.
Upon having entered the cab he finally had a look at the driver. It was an inch worm.
“Where to, old chap?”