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CK Baker Jan 2017
( i )

I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?


The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )

The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Arjun Tyagi Jan 2014
Panasonic* and Sony beeping
in custom made Reid & Taylor pockets.
A trade for a Rolex throned on his wrist in lieu of
once existent dreams, in now hollow sockets.

Adrenaline pumping before
high stakes meetings and brunches.
Calculating the dose of his choice of drug,
penthouse suites and timeline crunches.

Dizzy with ambition, painting
******* bleached canvasses.
Narcissistic laughter aimed to beguile others,
he, for whom his relaxants are stresses.

Dealing with the Devil himself,
power tainted and ill-gotten,
the realization that humans are not beyond sale;
in markets, mergers and acquisitions.

Recessions, Inflations, cruel overdoses
of risk, of danger unspoken.
And when he surfaces again to consciousness,
profits, losses both taken and broken.

Lost in the sewers filled with;
stock brokers and agents alike: the pawnors,
a haughty expression with green bills,
to score his ecstasy, capital owners.

Another dollar, another hit
never enough to sleep remembering the day.
A Corporate ****** scouring for riches,
a high, a trance not soon before long will sway.
Bilal Kaci Dec 2013
Can you believe her? She was with me when it happened, when that perverted old man bought that chocolate bar. How do I know he’s perverted? Well he was wearing sun glasses, in a ******* Walmart at eight in the afternoon. I could tell he was looking right at my chest through those Smokey lenses. Anyways she was right there standing next to me, and she told the boss she didn’t see anything. We both knew he was wearing layers and layers of tacky bowling t shirts under his coat. What a *****!!
I’m sad to hear that honey...  What are you making for dinner?
Fred was watching the evening news on the small 16 inch Panasonic that sat on the coffee table they picked out of the neighbor’s trash. The McDonalds on sources road mysteriously caught fire earlier that morning. Black flames swallowing the restaurant and pictures of dead obese children reflecting off of his Smudged lenses, the reporters voice muffled through the television static. Fred sat there ******* on a green bottle as He crossed his legs, still wearing his blue oil stained shirt and pants ripped at the knees. While he Smiled hauntingly at his television set.
Fred was a mechanic by trade but like the average Canadian man he owned a couple vices that he kept from the world. He was avid reader, stashing shoe boxes filled with Hustlers and Penthouse magazines under the stares. He made Bird houses out of toothpicks and put together puzzles on his free time. He had a wife who worked at the mall and complained constantly, had ******* a nice *** and could sing like an angel rubbing her own ****. They lived in a single floor house in the quiet suburban jungle of Montreal; harmoniously working their dull jobs, surviving their boring and regretful lives.
Shepherd’s pie!
Would y-
Yes, yes extra cheese I got it.
It was the same thing every day; Change tires, headlights, the occasional brake job. Then drive home in his beat up old Toyota Pickup. Weave through schools of blind pedestrians, honk at aspiring race car drivers. Reverse the hunk of **** into the narrow driveway and kick the sweaty boots into the closet. Watch the world burn to ashes on the television, eat, drink and **** then off again into the night. He did this religiously but he didn’t mind his boring life all that much. Whenever he’d slide his blistered fingers across his thinning eyebrows he is reminded of what he really lives for. Whenever he sees them; the men in suits and noose cravats, he is reminded constantly throughout the day of what he lives for.
After a much needed meal and a coffee, Fred makes Unpassionate love to his wife, and waits for her to fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling while maniacally plans the rest of his night. Shirley is used to this, lack of *** drive and Insomnia was normal symptoms of depression. Little did she know he would wait every night till her tossing and turning would subside or die down. Then he would slowly crawl out of bed and tip toe down the stairs, something all too familiar to the middle aged man. He knew what floorboards creaked and how fast to swing the front door opened. He knew to release the handbrake and wheel the truck out onto the street before turning on the ignition.
Like clockwork he knew what to do, he’s been doing every night for years now and he wasn’t about to get caught. Fred drove slowly along the thin snow covered streets. The neighborhood was quiet deep into the night, not a soul outside except for the occasional midnight smoker. He made his way down the boulevard and into the intertwining back streets and parked the car far from his destination.
He had placed gas canisters in the snow around the perimeters of the closed coffee shop the night before and  As he held a book of matches tightly in his fist he made a prayer to a god he did not believe in. Fred wasn’t too sure of his motive, nor did he know his intentions, but he was well aware of what he was doing. He struck a match and watched the flame dance in the cold air before he dropped it into a trail of gasoline he poured himself. The bright fire was quiet pleasing to his squinting eyes and it grew fast. Unravelling itself as it engulfed the small building. He cracked his knuckles with the sudden bursts of satisfaction that pumped through his shivering body as he walked away from his work of art. Sat back in his truck spraying himself with the cheap cologne he’s been using for decades. He crawled back into bed with his snoring wife, tucking himself back into his dull redundant life;
Only to do it all over again tomorrow.
© 2013 Bilal Kaci (All rights reserved)
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
On January 20th, according to police and CBSChicago website, a 40 year old Algonquin, Illinois woman shot her 50” Panasonic flat screen TV with a rifle while her 3 children watched.  She didn’t like what they were watching and she thought they watched too much TV in general.  Makes complete sense to me.  I mean if you just unplugged it those **** kids would probably just plug it in again.   Elvis also used to shoot TVs.  Allegedly the King would grab a handy pistol and shoot out the TV every time Robert Goulet was on.  He probably had to be a better shot than the lady from Algonquin.  I don’t think they had 50” flat screens back then.

Seems like the Boss couldn’t find anything worth watching on TV:

So I bought a .44 magnum, it was solid steel cast,
And in the blessed name of Elvis, well, I just let it blast,
'Til my TV lay in pieces there at my feet,
And they busted me for disturbing the almighty peace.
—Bruce Springsteen, "57 Channels (And Nothin' On)"

Who could forget Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr.’***** song about finding peace?

Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home.

Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try and find Jesus on your own.

Come on, EVERYBODY knows John Denver’s real name!

So it wasn’t like the lady from Algonquin, Illinois was hearing voices or anything crazy like that.  These were real people telling her what had to be done.  I mean there was PRECEDENT set!

And I think that maybe the lady, though a bit extreme, and now answering to DCFS, is onto something.  Maybe TV is the source of all the world’s problems and unrest.  Maybe we should all exercise our God Given right to bear arms (hold off there big fella, that’s a whole nuther issue).  Maybe we should all just unplug the TVs for an hour or a day or a week or a month, and see what happens?!  World Peace?

Well I know that this is a poetry site, and except for some lyrics from a couple of old songs I haven’t written any poetry, so here goes:

Better OFF

Tonight I turned the TV off.
And it was better off.
And I was better off.

I called my daughter asked her how she was and we talked for an hour ‘bout stuff.
I told her I loved her and she said it back and the emotion was real enough.

And my son called from Texas, said his car needed a tire and he asked me what I thought he should do.
So I asked him if he had a usable spare, he said no, I said better buy two.

Then I made me a sandwich (the TV still off!) and I picked up a book and I READ!!
The plot started to thicken, my pulse started to quicken, but by then it was near time for bed.

So I didn’t watch ‘Wheel’ and I didn’t watch news and I didn’t watch Late Night at all.
I didn’t watch weather, though through the window, I could see the snow starting to fall.
I didn’t watch Stars Dance on anyone’s toes, didn’t watch ******* give some girl a rose.  
Didn’t watch re-runs of sit-coms I’ve seen, and I didn’t watch Judy the Judge being mean.

Tonight I turned the TV off.
And it was better off.
And I was better off.
I live 10 or so miles from Algonquin, Illinois (I don't know the lady) and heard the news as I was driving.  Struck me as something that will eventually show up on Saturday Night Live.  And I thought it needed writing about.  :-)
Ken Pepiton Apr 10
The evidence reviewed, this  a half time later.
"a man can
make up his"
own mind, my, me mine
myme mine mymemine nine iterations,

expand the basic concepts of topological
space time, in the neighbourhood
south of all three bridges into Saigon, on the roof

Make it up, make it all up, and wait fifty years.
Whiteface.
And the mime in the street keeps the beat
silently reciting Kerouakoan streams.
'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -
Boom.

Canned Heat, sterno still, sip it,  get back
Beatles became something akin
to a window left open now
fifty years, since January 1969, Radioman
and Tom Green on the Panasonic
music from the other side… the joke
'Look Fred, that man by the road'
Some *** fiend got in print in 1968

Get back, Jack. And that

started the whole world crying,
from the commonwealth to common woe,

-- Interesting times upon us, oh yeh

A hook, in a song,
Forty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong
- ah, allusion, get back, prophecy
- right, fifty years ago today, soon
- Ringo says Forty Million Churchills, back then
or late, lately as the topo-logical-ournearity
gets back to optimum
later there, we were, on the roof
of that old fishnet factory
dangled there before, me,
the deal, if you want it, come and get it
better hurry cause it's goin fast,
ping
ricochet -
Highschool History, 1963,
Forty Million Frenchmen can't be wrong?

What does that mean? I asked
Miss Dinas, who was plump, and cheery,
and she lived with Miss Some-name
I forgot
to notice, due to, the clue
in the way Miss Dinas winked, that one time,
not
at me, when she said
Forty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong.
-- look away
Some squared away artist cries, stop the lies!
Gray-ace, go fish
Wordsworth,
happy soldier character- no, Fernando- a bull
ABBA , not winking - snorting
at me, when she said
feed your head,
autistic community, com-unionize AI
timeandspace
re-
alize the musical, a means of saying things,
silly, silent
hints of splendor in the grass,
and weeds, and black-eyed suzannes,
growing in the road,
Tobacco Road,
down at the end of town, where
skid row hits the river,
long and wide,

milk and Hohner on t'othaside
sharp hone mama
Sioux wee, Sioux e- baby, be my baba now,
Humbaba, guard
my forest
sein, mein, wine and rosy days being wise
in thine own eyes,

as we warned, eh/ wahrrmmmnned edu
mcate edumacation, the deal was…
I was to learn to
become a maker of papermoney clips
from plastic straws on a trus'line, about to rupture
and spill guts
on gumption swallowed whole.
-------------------
Koans and Cohen and all
-- If it had been my will
I'd a been so dead, so long ago, I'd be
as if I'd never been,
-- If it had been my will

True rest, needs a weary mind,
to weigh its worth,
hangdown yo' head, Tom Green, duely done
do tie yer Jimmie Lee Jackson
Bronc Rider Trophy Buckle to m'line
let it out
come think a mile with me, let's
see what come to mind.

--whistle break
-- heads abobbin, we rock on, Sisyphus
the first,
agreed we got the message in the medium
evolved by will worship alone,
rock on, roll on un
aided, no doubt by the spirit advisor
to old Abraham Lincoln's jot on the margin
"a man can
make up his"… hmmm, his own mind, hmmm

wouldjaremind me, what was I thinkin'
"a man can
make up his mind to be as happy as he is…"

Free to be. I think free to be alive, maybe,
Lincoln was athinkin'
as a we, the people agree we do have title right
to life, awe
ja,
and liberty, I suppose, we must define, to refine,
down to the gilt around the frame,
on the back side, wasted glitter, thin film of actual gold
well
I'll be, did you ever see the like, a
con-
jurer or a presti-digital simulacrum truckin' on and on
sayin' come on
sing old songs, ones we ever
learned again
today
what you never thought possible, just a minute
ago,
as we ponder the effect of a silly millimeter longer
rising in a ribbon
past lips of an apple green shade,
Inspiring but fun with the tensecond leaps forward and backward
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
-------------- adjust the minute

When people go to the desert,
with no toys to play on, just,
just,
so fine a term, just is. Adjustable,

one size fits all, all together now, yup,

we done it gang, we got to the land
of refrigerators,
and global fresh produce,

the land of corn, and wine,
Beulah's land in that one song,
you knew Beulah, she was the sub-
mom, wise as a neo-oracle, on Channel 3.
She had her own TV show, and she was good.

Now, I'm thinkin', all the colored folk
I ever had a laugh with, was on TV.

For a while they had Amos & Andy, with black
actors and voices, although on the radio,
those guys was white, few knew, I did.

But I did not know how to act around a bunch
of grunts, arrived one night, like 5 Bloods,
by invitation of that mad lieutenant from Maine.

We were approaching listen, quite time,
the once in while,
seems like all the time,
the spirit of the Fishnet Factory
first six months, Forever Changes,
Velvet Underground and Nico, and Jimi

drift up -- feel a night once, with a clear
seven second flash attention paid

to a phrase, a term, in cultural pacification,
- soul brother - said by an obvious hick,
yet,  the curtain lifted when some one heard,
yeh,
really. Show us, what you mean,what you call
experienced?

Radioman dropped acid that night, Purple Double Dome,
un beknownst to any but me who gave it him,

as that question became the point, and it was
a showdown,
and shut up, because the whole place felt it
when the net settled and the framing patterns

fit both STYF with BTDT boots, stolen, and not
really repented for,
it was a stunt, I was not caught, in fact,
I shined those boots to a three day pass,

which I had no clue how to use, it was Georgia,
so,
the experience that night began, with Georgia
on my mind,
and we wandered, into realms few armed men
have ever entered,

more centered in the middle of three point
literature enclosure,

as one, zazen, me. Tom Green, with his Panasonic
Reel to Reel, and Weirder Harold, who ran the radar.

we got this signal see, we think we listen,
its like those people's courts, entertain us,
show us the law,
enacted,
with names changed to conceal the innocent,
rampant false accusations,

witness protection,
you do not need to know why wars are fought
for money,
Nietzsche said power, wills clash to prove
Lobster level stacking nature of us,
- NOISE HUGE ORIENTAL DRUMS
we, the people in any structured we, you and I,
we, are a wedom open
on allsides, as at the bottom of the ocean of air,

we live in a devilishly clever contraption,
mind you,
mind me, we become something more,
flash
ifery point imaginable as novelty patterns,
Submissive art,
-so insert Jello time - absorb
-slow thunk
- whump whump
seen through, as leaves leaving little strands
of cool shade
to mingle with light, soft, recessed lighting
reflecting from limed walls, lacing, subtile shadow

Synchronisity, simple, sure.
Madness come upon a man robbed of hope.

How come he to think of me, and wonder if
ever is itself a mythic psi-psy-science,

called into being,
by the mouth
of a major stadium mob.

In every stadium on earth, the spirit
of the crowd,

people make their living, by maintaining,
constant,
I am not them, they are the prey,
they are my targets,
look for munchies,
- faces tell every thing
look for cotton mouth, search signals sort
those ones,
in need,
Holler - I got it
as the real thing, baby, hear it sung, real,
deal done, in the spring
1970, alive and in attendance during
the cons-umption over some few weeks,
25 hits of the February 1970 Orange Sunshine.

Epic, everything, is epic, if you kept the records.

Yeah, if what we do is written and recorded,
each thought and deed, something tells me,

part of that is true.
We live whole lives, and none of any day we live,
was lived artificially, we did it, as it came to pass,

took baby steps and giant feel like falling ones,
in stride,

struttin', lookin', laughin'

we got past that,
let's celebrate we know, one trick traps,
make y'famous,
make y'ten minute rich, with five of fame,
at the end.

While we die, taking our own sweet time,
finding stacks of seven seconds on acid,
I had forgotten where I put.
Knowing I can think it, do not make it so.
Henri Words Feb 2016
cheese, cheers, chips
tuna pizza, deep base
long enough in the oven
remember onion on top
in the end
bring along ta tabas scope
I mean the little bottle
chilly no, spicy stuff from the states
give me the original not only
the label and bottle
don't try to fool me you know
I had it at home everyday
I lied, even worse I said
I used to work for that little company

chic, shake, mask, shock
goat head, live, pointing at you
guest of honor
holy water in the day
alcohol at night
a hundred times a day same prayer
bow and head up again and again
spiritual outside, physical inside

a hotel room
sitting on the fifth star
lift quietly down
to the lobby bar
shaking handle of
the same beer jar
cigarettes sharing with
other guys no matter who they are
wine at dinner, red and dry
anything below 13.5 degree
better switch to cha

tea, tears
mixed with funny jokes
marlboro
words prepared for tomb stone
manufactured in Swiss not
the Philippines
same same but different

winter time again
in Hannover it was
dome, domo, taxi
same people same suit
same place same ****
they call it busy ness
oh my God

(Additional piece)

Who Else Isn't Fooling Around

summer day, the hottest
bulk trials caused flights delay
sweating like hell but
won the trust with
the last trick as always
forget about chemistry
water, acid and salts
nothing matters for those
cheap, once off products
living in details are devils
hang themselves the last day
to pay all debts

acid dyes
accident dies
exclusive group of those type
stained absolutely
blocked the lights as blockers
light up fire to smoke
lighter went back to the pocket
never opened but explore this time
burnt, burnt out
all of the sins leaking
on the floor
johnny walked away silently

distance, disconnection
disappearing appearance
sky, skype, type, wipe
weep, beep, bitter, laden
a missed call, meant safe

fear, fight, fare, farewell
dear, dare, tare, tolerance
word, world, weird, wide web
man, memo, memory
mop, mob, map
fine, fancy, fantasy, finali
me, miss, miserable, mistery, mix
you, united, uniform
we, wall, warn, wallet
wow, worry, worrier

pain, penny, perfume, perform
perhaps, panda, pancake
panadol, panasonic, peninsula
fan fence fossil
fool full fuel funeral

2016.1.3
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
pedantically clean and orientated by monday march and morning? can’t be a poet, must be a schoolteacher of english - as it goes, chaotic on the poet’s bookshelf as inside a painter’s studio.*

the best poetry, i find, is done,
by the misappropriation of nouns:
just for the giggles
of that misplaced king o’ whisked
into pheasant pleasantries:
troubleshooting plato’s cave
in the panasonic flatscreen;
because - mighty internet - allows
my input too - isn’t a passive digit input
to get the cookie feeling of staring
en masse at “the most historic moment in broadcasting history.”
Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2017
I captured,
Shot,
Snapped,
Clicked them.
They were documentaries,
About fashion,
Landscape,
Fine arts,
Candid,
Action like sports,adventures,daring feats,
Corporate events,
Parties and weddings.
They were in different forms,
Glossy,
Enlarged,
Iconic,
Aerial,
Black and white,
Panasonic,
Contemporary,
Digital.
They recorded history,
Made an impact of sharing emotional truth,
Carried memories,
Held important documents,
Reproduced a moment,deep feelings,
Raised awareness against poverty,famine, abuses and disasters.
Reshaped public opinion on Government,
Conveyed emotions,moods, narratives,ideas and messages.
They are my Photographs.
Photography is my hobby and my job.Captured in an instant it tells a history.
ascu Sep 2020
If after death there is nothing,
Do I play the devils hand?
Contemplate his infatuation,
Bury my head in alabaster sands,
Or hymn silver ached permutation,
And **** myself.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
if a headache could be composed into
a toothpick...
           oh so much more:
          this toothpick - as a headache...
better still... a toothpick is a headache
but becomes a splinter...
                and a splinter becomes...
an irritating pain on the gums
lodged between the teeth...
                 a bothersome thread of beef...
somehow lodged under your tooth
putting pressure for what's
naturally some variation of "empty space"...
otherwise a headache
          is a toothpick is a splinter...
                 a splinder lodged just beneath
the skin... on the tip of your index finger...
and such a beautiful day...
some per se... but i'm far from a per se:
suitcase and postcard ready...
to "move on" to some "elsewhere"...
     a george oppen poem...
                 a kathleen fraser poem...
an alice oswald poem...
             an anne carson poem -
notably the poem book of isaiah, part i:
right now... in my garden...
a cricket is playing a transcedence
of violin -
          because when the cricket plays...
there's always a transcendence of violin...
right now... a violin is like the sound
of glass shattering...
        if i were to shave my beard
and wait a day for some stubble
and... rub-rub... no 'uckin' music!
       shard - shrapnel and sharpening sand!
     - so there's the ol' jeremy
   and i know that there's a frog in the garden...
although no gurgling burps
             of gargantua...
            it's that comparison of
an anne carson poem: isaiah and birdsongs...

it's the 14 watermelons being
eaten in a desert...
that leads you to the proof
of an oasis of soul...
                  some unbelievable wow
was supposed to ensue!
but no... this was never going to be...
a herbie hancock moment
when listening to him -
revised... in st. petersburg (russia, proper)
one of those... glad awful tidings
of youth, hormones...
         the opposite ***...
   and... a 2007 "hiatus" from the TODAY
fudge and custard pie of
propping-up! the big GHANDA...

         surds! stealth letters in english!
                       in the glee of.. pulling out...
a magic tentacle:                         ęgliš...

i'm (also) so far behind...
keeping up with european football season
as i am behind: i.e. never having
hexed myself to use up my time
on 4chan forums...

       a litany of googlewhacks:
4chan killjoy blunders - 5,670 results...
suptg iop - 841 results
    tamara chergoleishvili giga bokeria - 1,870 results

i'm currently reading two books...
charles dickens' the pickwick papers
and milan kundera's "essay"...

      capsid ******* clicket - 6,870 results
having to compound...
    limboseeker - 262 results...
       limboseeker south multiple - 9 results
limboseeker south multiple naproxenlobster - 8 results
modlishka korczyk - 4 results...
           no sooner...
modlishka korczyk per - 2 results...

                 the old thrill is gone... though...
modlishka korczyk peq - 1 result...
a googlewhack...

   but... "once upon a time"
there was no ******* worth of a disclaimer
"as if" you were making an error....

no... "verbatim" -
/ it looks like there aren't any great matches
for your search / tip try using words that might
appear on the page that you’re looking for. /
for example, 'cake recipes' instead
                 of 'how to make a cake'.
/ need help? /t ake a look at other tips
                                 for searching on google./


such that the soul fizzles away
and there's only a wording vanue:
some variation of a rabbithole
and a cul de sac (rabbitcole cul de sac - 8 results)...
then onto syllables:

       lo red шake khan (9 results) -
"oops": шake чa (╩) another googlewhack...
шake чa (╩)...
                                 ghip╩╢ⰍⰍⰍ (3 results)...

ghip systems networking...
            and... the
global health interprofessional education ...
                                   ghipecp.org

how's this...
                                 faceⰪ - 1 result...
"try" my alt. searches
ǥuđán
אֵת                                      mr. panasonic....  

ⰑⰎ soyur - 1 result...
              best end of a fickle welcome
that's a blister that's a tomorrow.
Cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
ellos que tienen geishas y la sony
y samurais y teatro no
y kamikazes y kurosawa
y matsuo basho y panasonic
y aprenden flamenco por computadora
y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra

cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
supe que por fin había empezado
la sutilísima la dulce
venganza de hiroshima
Randy Johnson Sep 2019
I remember what happened 24 years ago.
I went to Walmart and bought a 3DO.
The 3DO was a video game console and it was 32 Bit.
Contrary to what some believe, it wasn't a *******.
It was almost as good as Sony's original Playstation.
I decided to buy a 3DO after some consideration.
I eventually bought the original Playstation but I bought the 3DO first.
It wasn't the greatest video game console but it certainly wasn't the worst.
It had some great games: Killing Time, Road Rash and the original Need For Speed.
But Plumbers Don't Wear Ties was so terrible that it will make your eyes bleed.
I was only twenty-four years old at the time, that was half a lifetime ago.
Panasonic, Sanyo and GoldStar were the three companies who manufactured the 3DO.
Tipon Jul 2019
Hot weather

Translations degrees and Celcius, thin white shirt, ready
going into town, monday... Small window opportunities
to fill my day and sky, blue and powered by the sight of you,
in the sun and the music panasonic... Office chair empty,
the day will never come, and I keep staring at you and me...

City skyline in morning goldshine, a little boat crossing the
river, life can be so simple when looking, but new watch tells
the story is different, big is cosmopolitan, metropolitan, closing
the angles, and corners where you are buying your stuff. Beauty
is unmoving through buildings and traffic jams inside my mind

Ahead of time the paper says it all, when unwritten. Hot
weather and you need to splash with something that isn't
water, so you are told. I am listening to your words, songs
to build expectations coming from near and far, a new in-
spiration dripping from your fountain, I see the city...
Leo (inspired by music from Lana Del Rey, American singer and songwriter)

— The End —