it's the bits of machinery that play out the chicanery the cogs that grind against the gears are devils without whims or fears only sins writ in corrupt code traced out by the edges and nodes systems of systems are networked to play the game, then go berserk and I'm a ghost in that bad code
I lie on the sloping hillside; damp grass tickles my neck. I hear the bleating beasts kibitz as dogs keep them in check. My eyes closed to the azure dome, until eyelids grow dim. I open wide to see the sky, and note that it grows grim. It's time to consult my sheepdog, "Should we beat it, or stay?" He barks to me, "Now can't you see, the clouds 're dirty wool gray?" "I see it clearly as my hand, but what does that shade mean?" "It means you're not a shepherd, and you may need the latrine."
In my dream, the city stretched out beyond what I could see. Colorful concrete pillbox roofs spread to infinity. Oh, such an infinite city must have some great allure. Miracles, mysteries, mayhem, and madness - that's for sure. What secrets reside behind those thick and dampening slabs? What unknown fortunes have been lost, that now are up for grabs? How many souls are lost right now? Panic starting to rise. How many will be found in time due to those spying eyes? There's some magic in this city, I'm sure that there must be. For everything can happen when you stretch to infinity.
There's a block of gloomy darkness beyond the gray yonder. Since I can't see what's sitting there, I can't help but ponder whether there's solid ground upon which a guy could wander. Or would one fall into a void - a life forthwith squandered. Who can know if they don't ever go, but leave it to the guessing? No staked claims or stated aims, I find the mystery distressing. I listen to the stories, but can't sup what they're expressing, I know they've never been there either, and it's creed they're professing. So I'll start in that direction, moving slowly as I go, and if I should fall before the wall, I'll bear that I can't know.
In the lunatic asylum, it's quiet after the meds round. R's mind was in the madhouse, but his body was in a lifeboat, or maybe vice versa, he couldn't tell for sure. He only knew that he was floating, and, sometimes, it was too choppy, and if life got too happy, he felt that it was fake. The open sea 's a harsh place, but no worse than the where he carried everywhere he ventured inside his dense brainpan. A fatal, futile option was selected with a button that may -- or may not -- have resided within his very soul. So thirsty and so lonely -- side-effects of something. It might have been the meds, or, perhaps, the salty air. He chose to think he wasn't bounded by a nutshell; though his brand of crazy was quiet before the storm. One day his kidneys gave out. Who could've ever imagined that such a thing could happen in such a place as that.
Antibodies tell other from I. A thing my brain can't always do. To unbid guests they're never shy -- antibodies fight other not I. If It seems odd, they'll freely pry, to ID that old sneaky Flu. Antibodies tell other from I - a thing my brain can't always do.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 