BMÊ?      6   (   +   ?   ? ?     ”?                  ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ         ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿ         ÿÿÿÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ         ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ         ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ               ÿÿÿ         ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ      ÿÿÿÿÿÿ   ÿÿÿ

C:\USERS\ISAAC >  open  C:\Impulse\Expulse.raw

The dust settles
On the fans and the plans.
Looking like a double "2",
You try to see like one.
See or look.
Or just a look-see.
Laughing at nothing is a common thing for you.
The strangest has come,
The strangest has left.
The strangeness is correct.
Every spring,
Every water,
Every drop has a secret.
They sing to him in the form of river.
He jumps to the bank
To get his money's worth.
It's an organized procedure to him.
He sinks his head in the ground,
In the rocks and in the sound.
A random pattern is heard.
Two, Three, Ten, Five, Twenty.
One Hundred, Thirty-One, Two.
A, G, I, S.
North, East, South, West.
His, My, Her, Them.
Great, Rough, Green, Tan.
Giant mispronounciations and hidden truths.
One more thing,
Don't get lost...
"Sadness for a screen,
Sadness for a screen."
He sells his money for a screen,
To get his money's worth.
Lost files and hidden documents
Not worth the oxide their printed on.
Old memories of times still here
Hidden in words of the past.
One more thing,
It's all on impulse.
Next day he found a .raw.
He walked towards it.
It said,
"Why do you live with frantic?"
He said,
"I live to take the time."
It said,
"Why do you do the things you do?"
He said,
"To me, it's not impulse, it's expulse."
It said,
"Why do you need to get rid of?"
He said,
"The questions people seek."
It said,
"Take me to the sky.{?}"
He said,
"Gladly."
To the sky he went.
And the time he spent
He used to solve the problem.
He saw a new opportunity
To make a new sanitation.
It consisted of three notes.
Two for show and one to go.
The go note did the work
Of tasting the ground for dirt
To get it's money's worth.
It cleaned like Ben one.
And when sanitation was complete,
He went to .raw.
He said,
"The last words are gone."
It said,
"So that means we've won."
He said,
"What should we do?"
It said,
"Wait for the next."

What'll be done after our fun in the sun
When it's all done and the reaper has won
What'll we do when we've all lost our hue
When we're as pale, as stale as old elmers glue
What'll we see when it all comes to be
When the devil and his other both do agree
That the earth and it's life can no longer be
That life has been corrupted, as far as they can see
What'll be done when they both come down hard
When they leave naught but a single shard
A sliver, a slice, a single piece of ice
And in that ice lies dormant some life
Life that'll come and thrive once again
Life that'll come and try to amend
The sins and the deeds that humans have done
When they once lived with fun in the sun
The life will evolve and problems it'll solve
Making new art with blue, green, and mauve
Figuring out the world and making rules once more
Becoming corrupted just like the life before
Thinking they're great and losing their way
And writing crazy poems that say
"What'll be done after our fun in the sun
When it's all done and the reaper has won
What'll we do when we've all lost our hue
When we're as pale, as stale as old elmers glue
What'll we see when it all comes to be
When the devil and his other both do agree
That the earth and it's life can no longer be
That life has been corrupted, as far as they can see."

One Golden heart.
Two Forest fires.
Three Dull arrows.
Four Green blades of grass.
Five Stolen looks.
Six Joking sighs.
Seven Sad moments.
Eight Hours of agony.
Nine Late steps.
Ten Uncertain metaphors.

Not a good beginning.
Though the ending is good.
Specks of energy ending life.
Zooming into the waterfall.
Is not isn't it?
Can the worst still come?
Misinterpretations and bird calls.
The fever is the cure.
Grand overused.
Over underused.
Seeing the released steam,
You make a new turn
To replace your last one.
The path is worn out
So you slip a new one in place.
The time is up for your inspiration;
The monks are ending their chant.
Look to your new direction,
And find a new dimention.
While writing chalk on chalk,
You find an intrest.
You hear the screams of made up animals,
and steam engines.
The clicks and clacks of spinning.
The ticks of a new idea.
But you dismiss it.
It's all in your head, right?
It's not like anybody else can hear it.
You write it down to save a note,
But words are left in limbo;
But the words are cut short.

he was in the room
with a mop and a broom
the room was all clean
no dirt was to be seen
and he left the room
not to be seen
by his friends who would mock him
if he were to be seen in that scene
He had a safe in a safe
in the night he was beside it
so they wouldn't devide it
in the day he would clean it to make it sing
the clean would squeek
although it was meek
but it came too soon
because no one was awake
to hear the tunes it would make
the safe would squeek and squank
the tune it would make
as it sat by the lake
that was made from the water
from the dirt and the solder
that was once on the safe
that he cleaned off with haste
he wanted to sing
but the safe sung for him
he had his dream
but his safe stole it
and locked it up
inside it's safe
though it wasn't literal
it all was real
that the man had a dream
that the safe would steal
the man's name was Ben
he was the worst of his friends
because his friends were better than he was
he hated himself and the safe that would speak
because he cleaned it and made it squeek
he had a friend named Ben
the other Ben who was cool and gear
was a friend of the Ben who was full of fear
he would sing and he sung
as Ben cleaned and clun
and both Bens made music that was good
but Ben hated his
and Ben liked his
but both Bens liked Bens song
but one song squeeked
and as it did, it squank
and the song it did make
put both in a trance
but Ben one was not real
and Ben two was the seer
one was in the mind
while the other one cleaned
he wished Ben two was real
because he wanted a friend
and he wanted to hate
because he wanted a blame
for his lack of fame
because his song was great
but too early it came
because no one was awake
to hear the music it would make

playing clue and sorry on the same board
singing into a fan
with a semi-blue tan.
looking at a broken poster board.
with broken tile in your hair
you think the moon has hair.
like james blubierre
making a wicker basket to hold scented pinecones
using guitar strings
with a bad marker scarf.
looking at elenor rigby's doctor
having no sense of direction
you sung a wrong turn
buddah says die
while ghandi says hi
while typing nonsense letters
with the hopes of a secret
though there's only a secret for you
The Typist
he makes a pie that's flavored like pie
and looks up to the sky
to take a cloud and ride it
looking upset
and in the rain he's wet
he walks solemly to his apartment
to type more nonsense
though the crazy get it
and the sane don't
he types for a secret
he doesn't know
he scans the words, jumps the letters
makes them dance in his mind
he wants to know more
out of less
he makes it all up
right on the spot
to sing in a song
for singing the sung
the sung are singing though the sun is hung
looking for their lovers
though the don't love back
they look at the sky for the cloud they will ride
to take them to their lover's side
though his life was in peril
he knew right away
that in the end
it would all go away