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I have been transfering over my poetry from old floppy disks onto one of my zip disks, and I found this old poem from high school, though I do not consider it some of my best prose work, I am still struck by the philosophy behind it.

Headstone

On my grave I wonder
what it will say.

It should be something
meaningful, but by then could
it really mean anything?

Though I will not be there
to read it, they will be ...

Well today I finally found one of my long lost 2 GB drives on which I would back-up some of my files. Thankfully I had quite a bit on there, including a ninety-page autobiographical poem, the beginings of a novel, an incomplete essay on the philosophy of language as well as some other stuff, all of which I thought had gone down with the ship when my computer crashed. Sadly, my magnus opus of film criticism (if you will ), a thirty page essay analyizing the paradoxically compassionate portrayal ...

There is a storm coming on
electricty is flowing through my viens
there will be fires in the sky
as I set my soul ablaze.

THE SNITCH

Every hunter or fisherman is after the same thing—a trophy. The hunter wants a deer/elk/moose/pronghorn that will make Boone and Crocket. The fisherman is after a bass/walleye/trout that he or she can hang on the wall to make others envious. That is where the snitch comes in.

I’m not speaking here of human snitches, although heaven knows that they are bad enough. The human snitch is one who gives out bad information in order to make others fail in their quest ...

Mutual Admiration Society

Structuring Beauty
On a two-dimensional canvas.
Touching up details
With sham lights,
So that noone can tell,
To come up with a theme.
Raid other pieces
For a background
A foreground
A colour scheme
But really work it this time.
The subject lives in the art
From the time it's placed there
And needs some pleasant surroundings
To coax nonplussed emotion
...