Ginsburg threw me a line…
"on the black waters of Lethe", as I floated by.
A ware, launched in antiquity as tonal code,
lazily waiting the call,
dum did dum dum dum, drum drum drum
Big bass,
tickled in tune to the whistler washing dishes,
in the back, we've all seen
in the back, on TV
but are you,
really, for all reality is worth,
are you experienced, have you gone this far
before?
Have you changed a diaper on a rich old lady?
Seems like, right, one word to another,
line upon line, precepts perceptively retained.
Precious little is as it was.
Pre is a time-wise measure, how can we think
past thoughts,
we never cross the same river twice.
No question demands an answer in truth,
demands are put on servants, while we
are known as friends,
to all those floating on the Lethe,
well below the leavee, see, there those
same ol' good ol' boys discerning whiskey from rye.
They see time's a river, and I agree,
says this story to me, but
I say, it is a river of light on a bubble's inner edge,
I been there, Age of Lethe, a game I invented,
-- a virus, plays by lethargic rules, no effort needed,
living to steal and **** and destroy,
a minimalist First Person Shooter, steal **** destroy,
then it was hacked, steal **** destroy, mutated into
take **** destroy give,
which was odd, because all truth comes in three
pointy things, if then else
oops opposites spoo ffffffff effect
****** drama writ large, it was us,
the muses, dis-mazing the mazed again
a loss of time,
too bad. Three points equal one try. Aim.
So sad. Grieve for the fallen all we never knew,
the heroes unsung.
Goto the ant, thou sluggard living in a floating Barco
Lounger, drifting aimless--- ah, what if not,
what if I know a place,
just around the next bend, and
we get off there? What then, it's my story?
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
Ginsburg threw me a line…
"on the black waters of Lethe", as I floated by.
A ware, launched in antiquity as tonal code,
lazily waiting the call,
dum did dum dum dum, drum drum drum
Big bass,
tickled in tune to the whistler washing dishes,
in the back, we've all seen
in the back, on TV
but are you,
really, for all reality is worth,
are you experienced, have you gone this far
before?
Have you changed a diaper on a rich old lady?
Seems like, right, one word to another,
line upon line, precepts perceptively retained.
Precious little is as it was.
Pre is a time-wise measure, how can we think
past thoughts,
we never cross the same river twice.
No question demands an answer in truth,
demands are put on servants, while we
are known as friends,
to all those floating on the Lethe,
well below the leavee, see, there those
same ol' good ol' boys discerning whiskey from rye.
They see time's a river, and I agree,
says this story to me, but
I say, it is a river of light on a bubble's inner edge,
I been there, Age of Lethe, a game I invented,
-- a virus, plays by lethargic rules, no effort needed,
living to steal and **** and destroy,
a minimalist First Person Shooter, steal **** destroy,
then it was hacked, steal **** destroy, mutated into
take **** destroy give,
which was odd, because all truth comes in three
pointy things, if then else
oops opposites spoo ffffffff effect
****** drama writ large, it was us,
the muses, dis-mazing the mazed again
a loss of time,
too bad. Three points equal one try. Aim.
So sad. Grieve for the fallen all we never knew,
the heroes unsung.
Goto the ant, thou sluggard living in a floating Barco
Lounger, drifting aimless--- ah, what if not,
what if I know a place,
just around the next bend, and
we get off there? What then, it's my story?
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