Google is definitely a woman, it starts suggesting things before you can even finish your sentence.
That must mean Bing is a man, tries to think it’s superior and does a horrible job with pleasing its user.
oh shit son
sassy-spoon is sassy
a lonely soul sit amidst confusion and frustration, tracing lines with eyes fixed and distant, cold and calloused
tonight the music doesn’t sound the same.
Favorite chords and melodies fail to call out to his name- he sits. With
drawn curtains and thick smoke lingering in the atmosphere …
A lonely tear
dances its way down his face-
a silent wonder
a wet seal.
Dear lonely one,
lets’ turn our razor blades into roller blades and pierce the sidewalks with our despondency.
I understand you
I see your blue-
as clear as the skies on my favorite day.
tonight you will not feel …
I’ll cradle you.
When you realize that no one actually gives a shit, you learn how to shut up and put up. And you also learn how to protect your entire being: your physical, mental, and emotional self.
You are the main character—the protagonist—the star at the center of your own unfolding story.
You’re surrounded by your supporting cast: friends and family hanging in your immediate orbit.
Scattered a little further out, a network of acquaintances who drift in and out of contact over the years.
But there in the background, faint and out of focus, are the extras. The random passersby. Each living a life as vivid and complex as your own.
They carry on invisibly around you, bearing the accumulated weight of their own ambitions, friends, routines, mistakes, worries, triumphs and inherited craziness.
When your life moves on to the next scene, theirs flickers in place, wrapped in a cloud of back story and inside jokes and characters strung together with countless other stories you’ll never be able to see. That you’ll never know exists.
In which you might appear only once. As an extra sipping coffee in the background. As a blur of traffic passing on the highway. As a lighted window at dusk.
(an excerpt from a slam piece I’m writing)
Tonight lets turn our razor blades into roller blades and pierce the sidewalks with our despondency.