Technical Writing & Random Thoughts

 

Old (& not particularly good) Poetry


The Brutality of Youth - The First Words :1991-1994
Vanity - Product of a Public Education :1995-1998
The Resident Muse - The Coffeehouse Era :1999-2000
Post Education - The Hardcore Haze :2001-2002
Overworked - Reflections On A Lesser Existence :2003-2006
Daily Missives - The Poem of the Day Collection :2005-2007
Sweet Dreams And Other Fictions :2008-

 

99.9 We stomp and turn about in our petty
Self concerned worlds
Never caring whom we step on,
In a place where welcome
Has turned into nothing more than shouts
And offers of cheap bits of machine made
Steaming shit.

And bumper stickers that show what hypocrites we are.

We have phased ourselves out of thinking
That hello is a common word,
And learned that goodbye is not necessary
Because we all know that we will live to see
Many bleak tomorrows...

But will we?

We have led ourselves and our posterity
To believe that love is something
You have to take for granted, or be eschewed
By our fellow tribesman...
We have taught and been taught
That violence is a good
Way to solve conflicts,
And that when one such conflict arises
It will always be another's fault.

Even when it isn't...

We grew up surrounded by a "new" generation,
A new one for every era,
Doing nothing new
But finding a different way to repeat
Our past.
We grew up with the idea that the only way
To be a trendsetter is to follow someone
Else's lead to fame...

And watch the bridges burn between individuals and individuality.

Do we stop to think, or to feel?
No,
Instead we rush merrily by, all the while
Complaining about the state of the world
In which we live...

The state of the world that we created.

We worry, without actually caring
That all we can do now is regress.

Maybe that would be a good thing...


 

A Gift From the Natives
A Pie
All About You
All I Ever Was
CMP
And So, I Write
Don't Ask Questions
Fight, Fight... Fight
Ink On Paper
My Monster
Neurophobic
Past Tense
Quiet Repose
Self Inflicted Puppetry
Senses
Playing Chess Alone Again
Nonexistence
Sterile
Strung Along
The Bitterest Truth
The Heart Will Know
The Right Directions
This Is It... This is It!
Time to Come Clean
Too Much of Too Little
Unfounded
Variable: x
When the Sky Fell
With Nothing to Say
Without Failure
You and My Anxiety