Kettle drum *** *** *** *** *** ***
There is the moment of the sun breaking over the edge of the moon
In that Stanley Kubrick’s movie what was it called?
In 2001 the towers fell and we still don’t have a colony on the moon
It turns out the monkey’s bashing each other’s brains in with bones was as far as we got
The bones got bigger
But didn’t transform into “the greatest cut in the history of film”
But who cares right? I got my iPhone
And make sure you capitalize that P
Because if you don’t you’ll get a red underline
Because even Microsoft knows that apple is a big deal
So lets have a little fun while the reigns loose in our fingers
“look mom no hands”
But I really don’t want to get all like that
I want to watch the candle burn down to the wick
And light a joint using the last bit of flame
Or heat a spoon whichever is your fancy
The beauty is in our solecisms
The comedy in the autocorrect
Corrected by our own machines recursively
We are in a never-ending project
Of retrofitting meanings to decisions made at whim
Out of necessity
Because the decision must be made
And explained afterwards
God I must sound preachy
I try not to be
Because it’s easier not to care
But harder in practice
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
Kettle drum *** *** *** *** *** ***
There is the moment of the sun breaking over the edge of the moon
In that Stanley Kubrick’s movie what was it called?
In 2001 the towers fell and we still don’t have a colony on the moon
It turns out the monkey’s bashing each other’s brains in with bones was as far as we got
The bones got bigger
But didn’t transform into “the greatest cut in the history of film”
But who cares right? I got my iPhone
And make sure you capitalize that P
Because if you don’t you’ll get a red underline
Because even Microsoft knows that apple is a big deal
So lets have a little fun while the reigns loose in our fingers
“look mom no hands”
But I really don’t want to get all like that
I want to watch the candle burn down to the wick
And light a joint using the last bit of flame
Or heat a spoon whichever is your fancy
The beauty is in our solecisms
The comedy in the autocorrect
Corrected by our own machines recursively
We are in a never-ending project
Of retrofitting meanings to decisions made at whim
Out of necessity
Because the decision must be made
And explained afterwards
God I must sound preachy
I try not to be
Because it’s easier not to care
But harder in practice