Saturday, July 14, 2012
I watched an ant struggle out of a water droplet for five minutes. I thought it futile, and I wasn’t sure if I should try to help it or end its misery. But, eventually, it got out. It didn’t give up, it struggled and struggled to escape, and finally, it did!
And then it walked right into another water droplet.
Friday, July 13, 2012
How do we solve unemployment, fight obesity, and save the environment all in one?
We create jobs by…hiring fat people to run generators. By run, I mean physically run, or bike of course. Imagine a factory…full of large hamster wheels…with fat people on them, running. This creates many jobs, fights obesity, and decreases the need to burn fossil fuels.
I suggested it to my dad and he said it would be unproductive because they would be too slow.
So he drew an “improved upon” mental image. Imagine the orcs of Mordor. They have whips. And they run these factories.
I’ll let your imagination take care of the rest.
Let’s say you find this absurdly offensive. Then let’s not fight obesity. Instead, let’s deal with prison overcrowding.
So instead, imagine criminals running these hamster wheels.
Someone explain to me why it is wrong to force criminals into harmless hard labor to serve our planet and people? If someone told me I’d have to go to prison and sit around all day, I wouldn’t mind too much. But if they told me that I’d have to run at least 5 hours a day? I’d straighten up.
Gerald B. Harrison brushed the dust off his desk and sighed. Kids these days did not know the true meaning of magic. He gazed across the rows and rows of shelves in his bookstore. They were full of tales of adventure and the unknown, yet his store was empty. He scratched his beard and grumbled to himself a little more.
When he was younger, he had traveled the world and children would flock to him, eager to have a chance to buy his books which they consumed voraciously. They had begged him to recount tales from his own travels, their eyes so bright with curiosity and wonderment.
Now though, kids had no use for old storytellers. They saw all that they wanted to see through those little portable screens they carried around in their pockets. He hardly ever came across one who bothered to stop and listen; they all just walked on with their eyes down.
In a few days, he would have to close down his shop. Business had failed, and so he would retire early. As he sat there dejectedly thinking, the door chimed and he looked up. However, it was only a small boy. So small, in fact, that Gerald could not even see his face as he approached his desk, only the curly locks atop his head. When the child spoke, Gerald just watched his lively tufts of hair bounce wildly like a box of springs.
The boy addressed him as mister and called himself Bill. He was searching for unusual tales of fantasy to take with him on a small journey. He stated this so collectedly that Gerald just had to chuckle. What an interesting child, he thought.
He directed him to an aisle and started to walk back to his desk, but the boy grabbed his sleeve. Bill suddenly looked nervous. He wanted Gerald to choose one for him, the best one. So Gerald found his personal favorite and handed it to him. The boy dropped his uneasiness immediately and a huge grin made its way across his face. Then he froze for a second and looked up at Gerald with a serious expression.
"Is it good?" he asked.
"Well, I certainly thought so," he replied.
The smile returned and he thanked Gerald, purchased the book, and left.
Gerald leaned back in his chaired and smiled. What an interesting child, he thought. As he closed his store that night, he was not quite so melancholy. Perhaps there were still many out there, he mused, those who cared to see that is. He needed only to meet them.
Forsake college and career
and become a travelling street musician.
share a cardboard box
with a friendly homeless man
and his faithful dog
and sing a song
under the night sky
where stars are not visible
from where you lay
on silver streets.
but when you look around you
and there is nothing there
that you can call your own
you can close your eyes
and find that you are your own.
but since you cannot live this way
for the world outside is too harsh
and the wind burns your skin
and the rain drowns your toes
let it be inside you
that cardboard box
where you sleep
a travelling street musician.
“I am a trapezoid head-
“Help me, the room is slowly getting smaller and the ceiling is almost going to squish my head-
“can’t hold on much longer-
But no one did.
So Trapezoid Head god squished and died.
“It is me, Block Head.
“I am sad because I have a square head-
“and they call me Block Head.”
“Hi, it’s me. They call me Almost Normal.
“My head is almost normal-
“only it isn’t.
“And so I am only almost-
“Hi, they call me greedy-
“because my eyes make me look greedy-
“and I also happen to like money-
“Hi, they call me Stupid-
“because my head looks stupid.
“Oh yeah also I’m stupid.”
from this dream
for it has
eaten you up
my deer venison.
my dear venice sun.
left it behind.
my sweetish swedish berries.
life is a boulder
and when you take a break
from holding it up
it crushes you
to the sole
of your shoe.
for the other