Another day of work.

Every day it seems I
Want to wake up even
Later than
Yesterday.

My boss came in today.
Into my room he came
And poked me.
Just for fun.

Some days I just stare at
The little analog
Clock with its
Arms so still.

Watching the hour hand,
This is how I pass time
When time is
Not passing.

My desk is so sterile
It is hard to even
Think of girls
Or movies.

This is what will fill my
Autobiography
Chapters six
Thru Thirty

This is what I will tell
All my good friends' children
When they ask
Of my life.

I am too bored to work.
I am too scared to leave.
A zombie
Of a man.

Only nine more hours
And then I can go home
Where my boss
Will poke me.

Just for fun.

Robotical Inspiration

To help inspire Andrew in his robotic endeavors, I am going to post the lyrics to my never-recorded song: "I Am Robot".

I am Robot: hear me beep.
And under this metal sky I sleep.
I am waiting to upload
A million gigabytes that you have told me

Of life...
And youth...
The stuff eludes me.

I am Robot: a thing of steel.
Cold to the touch but adamantly real.
You sit there staring at shiny skin,
But what matters is the circuitry within me.

The miles...
Of wire...
The sparkplugs fire!

Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!

I am Robot: the metal man.
Won't you reach out and hold my robot hand?
I'll take you places you've never been
We'll explore the universe from end to end.

To search...
To see...
To find what we need.

Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!
Woo! Woo-wee-oooh-ooh!

These things happen.

She slapped him hard across the face.

"That will teach you to mess with me, you jerk!"

He stared at her, mouth askew, his glasses dangling from his ears. Slowly his fingers opened and the multitude of roses he was carrying flopped onto the pavement. What the hell had just happened?

She glared at him, her face screwed up with the tension of fury. Her left hand, which had just imprinted itself upon the man's cheek, was now digging around in her purse, spilling ointments and candy wrappers around the roses. The twitch of her eyebrow showed that her hand had found what it was looking for.

I think I love her. Don't I think I love her?

Her hand left her purse clutching a six-inch switchblade. She snapped it open, and with a swift jabbing motion she plunged in into the man's chest, cleverly aiming it between the ribs. The blade felt cold against the muscle of his heart, and then a heat leapt out of his chest. So this is what it feels like to love?

The man had enough presence of mind to hold his hands out to cushion his fall. He rested his throbbing cheek against the pavement, and stared at one of the dropped roses. In the distance he noticed a pair of red high-heeled shoes, and saw their owner reach down and pick up three of the flowers, carefully avoiding the thorn in the stems. His mother was right: women were beyond comprehension.

Update.

In September
House still broken
Plumbing broken
Wiring broken.
In September
Work still broken
Social broken
Head still rattled.
In September
Car not broken
Gas price broken
Travel broken.
In September
Shoes are broken
Style is broken
Hair is broken?
In September
Music broken
Health not broken
Month is young tho?
In September
Some things broken
Murf not broken
Murf has spoken!