Looking at my numbers I don’t have the time
to remember why I promised that I’d pen this rhyme
I only mark down the references to note
a lyric for the words that I choose to devote.
And for all that I do choose to do offline,
my metric is to bridges what fuel is to wine.
Fluid, dynamic, and meaner to trade
Just ask a bootlegger the meaning of tirade.
This time I have egg nog and grounding cables instead of flight and delusions of grandeur on tour. I do my best to silence the delusions and the greed and it’s hard work to keep the distractions at bay. They’re plentiful every which way.
If there’s one thing I love about this season, it’s the compulsion to get back in touch with the people I love, and the fulfilling sensations that come when they actually like hearing from me. I may almost be in business again, but weirdness entails the market, and I don’t want to be involved with wolves again. I’m not frightened of them, I just don’t want to be in charge of slaughterhouses.
Unencumbered by the oaths of the republic we did not jest, we merely dined after reaping what we’d sewn;
wrath’s suits made of linens and velvet silks.
We made no brash decisions in our guardianship of the loom;
as carpenters and sculptors looking upon what we’d hewn, the sawdust in stuffing for the gifts we’d bear to offer in due time-
nothing could be waste of the mourning forester’s werk.
So we learned how to pick up where we left off, blogging with a new string or a new theory or a new instrument once we got over the sheer dumbness of the verb. At least we weren’t so hung up on the literal interperetations anymore, but we were still paranoid of the teenage taking over because of how tall we were if we were sitting at our desks.
You worked on your code on your phone and on your laptop while I worked out mainframe designs and fantasized about eating cake. This time we were paying penance for the sin of knowing how delicious donuts actually are. It’s DARE.