A Poem

While you are at it, why not throw in a drunk comment for good measure?

I will stomp your head like it’s 7 years straight edge all over again.

Internet flirting is fucking pathetic. The apocalypse never happened. My office chair smells like the other end of a burrito festival.

Y** elbow slut.

Despite all hope, love and friendship, you live in a demented place, with idiots like me.

Well she took a walk down the path by the lemons and oranges and fell head first into the pool of cream.


I guess the word ironic means something else in post-colonial english? All you can eat hot dog buffet.

Mondays are lies and propaganda!

…Makes me whine like a proper panda.

your is an computa

All are fucked in love and war

All is fair in love and warez

“… 2 or !max! 3 weeks looks realistic to me …”

You have NO idea how SCARILY RELEVANT this is to my current situation.
Or, well… you have an idea how relevant that is to my situation NOW.

Money?! Pfft… That’s for fucking pussies.

It’s Friday 13th. So far I’ve managed to mess up my sleep rhythm. Catatonic cacophonic schizoaffective neurosis, like you just stand and watch a note changing on your wall, where a man practices his karate skills and forms an energy ball every now and then. Seeing this dream whilst your true self is burning in witch hunt. Hmm, a poem…

subjective view must blend with the ones around you
it’s supposed to be easy
yet overwhelmingly pressuring
you can’t ask for help
the asker is beaten by the riddler
you see no one for comparison
just be yourself, don’t be, it’s all NOW
WOW, I just found out a new noun
once he was lost with no senses
no thoughts, the self was dying
like everything faded away
that’s not the answer
Buddha walked that way first
changed it to something and was blinded by the joyous bright light
Can someone reprogram my void *being(Self &me);?

Hmm, that kinda stuff goes around my mind at the moment. Luckily being function is a function pointer, so I could change it to follow someone else, like the universe with a proper sense of time.

Dudes, more poems here, please. :)

It’s Friday night, and I feel all right. The party’s here on the West side, so I reach for my 40 and I turn it up. Designated driver take the keys to my truck. Hit the shore 'cause I’m faded. Guys in the street say, “Put a donk on it!”

With a new decade just around the corner, I’d like to take a moment and reminice about the late 70’s. Back then, the members of the German electronica group Kraftwerk termed themselves musikarbeiters or “music workers.” Back to 2010, an era where the lines between software developer and electronic music composer are blured, I can’t help wonder if this merry band of Germans created a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Overripe Vatican PAL, badass forum text entry.

Bastard floating, in percent.
Exchange rate fetish, teased fringe.
Fingers sensually floating over the checkout sequence.
It needs a roof. It’s nothing without a roof.
Mate, after that boat trip, you bloody get that audit done.
VHS ejaculate.
The mall is air-conditioned, much more comfortable than home.
Hack thru your handshake like big time karate chop!
This area is an investment opportunity, man’s gotta do it.
Stroke the wheel, drive like god.
If you’re a King, you pass the ball.
Your baby, my ghost.
Coffee high replaces the dreaming, wink at the waitress.
Think I’ll buy me a video game.