Basking in the afterglow of the alcohol’s afterglow
Observing how the light plays among the amber waves
Understanding the time and craftsmanship put in the bottle
Relishing in the transformation of those simple ingredients
But I digress, what did you want to drink tonight?
Only a light beer?
Now you must leave you heathen!
Stick it to the man they said!
Take back the night they said!
And what happens when you listen to their advice?
Be scared to take a shower I said!
Putting things away, be they trinkets, memories, or even people
Leaves me feeling complete, and yet filled with an uneasy energy
As if the more compact I make my life, the more space I have to get lost in
Could it be clutter is the equivalent of comfort
Even to the point of not knowing where I am anymore?
Silent repentance was her way of focusing on her sins
After a night that will live in her memory for the rest of her life
Certainly she would never tell another soul what had happened
Really she wished she could just lie to herself that it never happened
It shouldn’t have happened
Fantasies were supposed to play out in the imagination
In time they would evaporate under the harsh light of reality
Currently that harsh light just exposed what she had done
Everyone should be able to see it, that’s why she gave up so much to keep it hidden
Those people that thought Elvis was still alive made Travis laugh. It had been almost 41 years since that fateful day and yet Travis could remember every intimate, crazy detail like it had been yesterday. He was supposed to play Utica, New York on that tour. Why on earth had they booked him in Utica? Well Travis was happy it never happened.
Travis chuckled at that thought as he looked out the nursing home window. He spent a lot of time thinking about the past and what might have been. That was how Travis spent most of his time. Getting older may suck, but the alternative was worse. Besides, being 88 wasn’t that bad, really. He still could enjoy his music and his peanut butter and banana sandwiches. He then remembered the sequined jump suits. Man he hated those. Who thought they were a good idea? They made him itch.
As the 3D printer printed out another iteration of his robot’s body, Martin pondered if this method of construction could be considered hand crafted. He had designed the robot shell in Autodesk Inventor, carefully putting in every curve and thickness. He had precisely lined up the mounting holes so that all the electronics would fit perfectly with just enough space to make it relatively simple to assemble while making it look tight and tidy to an outside observer. He had put the previous prototype together, piece by piece, including programming the behaviors himself. He had molded those behaviors, creating new routines and shaving off excess commands till the code was beautifully efficient.
As Martin watched that previous prototype scurry along the floor, he decided it was hand crafted in this new digital age. That means he could claim to be a robot artisan, and Martin like the sound of that.
Preposterously important in all mathematical circles
Irrational, never repeating itself, but always quoted
Don’t hate on its fame
Anyone else it would go to their head
Yet it still gives its digits to anyone who asks