Sunday, June 7, 2015

Girls Girls Girls

Eating conversation hearts
Candy speaks my language
They forgot the grunts
The snare of derision
My crippling brand of indecision
Too much talk gives me gas

I had a habit of falling down
Trippin’ down the whole damn town
Rockin’ out BK with a big kid crown
Burger in hand, shake in my butt
But I’ll tell you what
I need to hear three square words
And it ain’t girls girls girls
In any order

Girls girls girls, they never understand
Girls girls girls, what it takes to be a man
The ones that do, ain’t interested in me
And the ones that don’t
Ain’t lookin’ either

Asks me what I think of war
I say it depends on which
Tells me they’re all bad
Her stare of dissidence
My sniffling stand of indifference
Politics betray my low IQ

I make a trick of being off
Breakin’ ice for the whole damn loft
Fallin’ in face first but landing soft
Cubes in eyes, circles ‘round my bite
But they never tell ya right
Only say what you wanna hear
And it’s just girls girls girls
But there’s a man at the door

Girls girls girls, they never understand
Girls girls girls, what it takes to be a man
The ones that do, ain’t interested in me
And the ones that don’t
Ain’t lookin’ either

Can’t catch my breath
Lining my mitt for a break
My leg snags it instead
The blank cast of plaster
Not even if I really asked her
Would she sign the thing

Daddy never taught me not to cry
But he never gave a damn to try
My mommy showed me how to fly
A marriage into the ground
But wait til’ I tell her what I found
And it ain’t girls girls girls
It’s only one

Girls girls girls, I will never understand
Girls girls girls, I will always be this man
And yet she sees, something interesting in me
She’s got eyes for this guy

Ain’t bad lookin’ either

Sunday, May 10, 2015

(VXS) LOG #1

LOG 1: Self Introduction

My name is K-VXS-73003, but that’s just my manufacturer’s model. All my friends call me Seventy-three. Assholes call me “Vexis.” Not sure what you’d call me, considering you’re just my decrypted auto-biographic software. (Not that “you” even have any form of self-awareness. Speaking of awareness, my internal age awareness counter hit sixteen yesterday. The biological component of my fleshware, K-WAR-0005235FBAT340, told me I could now officially register as a matured android and apply for a work position. A convenient fact for her to mention, considering how low her credit count is lately. I suppose an addiction to Emp will do that to you. I know old Five’s my manufacturer mandated maintenance and guidance giver in addition to my biological component, but damn if she isn’t optimal in that role. Eighty-eight (my closest friend, by the way- full model no. K-CLR-88067855) says all triple 0’s are like that in the WAR line… but still. Personally, I think she fried a few circuits during all that time she spent shooting down C’s. I just hope I’m not that outdated when my counter reaches Fivey’s number.

Eighty-eight’s a CLR… so it’s in her programming to be a cyborgitarian, I suppose. Ugh, she’s lucky. I wish I was a Cleric model. Not only are the guaranteed work at the church, but they’re not responsible for finding a reproduction partner. I know I’m a rare class, as a Variable X System user I have quote “unlimited potential” being comprised of more organic parts than robotic… But how is that a blessing? Sure, our model comprises of only .06% of the colony’s population as being born as a complete human is becoming more and more impossible… but all it means is more things to worry about. At the academy, I have to work exponentially harder than those whose brains are mostly computerized. My friends can’t relate to my problems, like at all... How do you vent to someone who only vents actual steam? My other biological component was a VXS like me… I wonder if he had these same problems.


I kinda feel weird. I started this log with the intention of cataloging my experiences so I could reflect on them and better learn how to cope and progress.




Jeez. I need to calm down. Life’s not that bad! Perhaps it would be more productive it I allowed the program to record pertinent parts of my daily cycle with me adding my own internal commentary as need be? Yeah… I mean, that’s a bit unorthodox, but I like the prospect. I’m about to shut down and recharge for the night, but I’ll try it as an experiment tomorrow.


Monday, March 30, 2015




I drew my claw up to the girl’s neck, the only kindness I’d left to offer the ill-fated human.

“Reserve your pity for someone else, Im,” Fleurette snapped, pushing my blades away and raising her feeble sport pistols.

“The most murderous of men still shutter at an Unman’s feast,” I warned. 

“Be that as it may, I opt to fight,” the girl replied.

“You fight insurmountable odds.”

“Stop talking, Jean Luc, please,” Fleurette sighed. “I am not interested in the odds of survival, nor do I care about the quality of my last living seconds. The terms of my demise will always be mine, alone.”

I honored her last request by saying nothing, not that I had the time to do so. The Unmans’ leering would soon cease, at the moment they deemed most optimal. Fleurette’s conviction impressed me. She behaved oddly for one so near death. She embodied honor and courage. A true hero… though perhaps born out of turn. I suppose that’s what subconsciously led me to save her. The plight of those actively rebelling against their expected interests softened me.  Ultimately, humanity could not be saved, not by me. Time ingrained this notion in me, and I followed it religiously. This girl, as unremarkable as she was, inspired a small debate in me. A flower cannot live forever, but you can water them. Beyond saving? Yes, no question. But maybe… not beyond savoring.


"Too Fond for Disposal"

My sentimental old bills
That recent proposal
Too fond for disposal
Fluorescent stares
Bum wheel cart
Bypassing cards at Wal-Mart

No anniversaries left
A Mitzvah, maybe
Claire’s new baby
Boxing Day
Paper view
Signed by yours truly

Still not sure how true
Multiple choice
A Rolls Royce
Blood drive
Giving, I’m alive
Yet still missing my shows

No space, no memory
Not for lack of DVR
A dusty VCR
Our tapes
The drapes
Gone in a home invasion

Occasions on occasion
Life like an attic
Through traffic
Gone by motions
More bad potions
For an incurable separation  

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

"Having You"

When I look at you I see right through the present
And you’ve got a gift for making me see a future
While I don’t fill you in, you can feel my past
And you look past the pain
Carry me into the rain
Showering me with Novocain  

I hold onto your hand
Gripping it tightly
Tightly enough that you believe
That it’s the only thing keeping me hanging in
Because it is, even as the world is caving in
It’s not snowing for once, but we’re still staying in

In my cradle of uncertainty you rocked me awake
Broke away the bars of the innocent prison
Building me a whole orchestra, just to play me one song  
I pray to a God I know doesn’t exist
In gentle hopes our love can persist
I say I’m no good, but you insist…

That I’m worth a damn, I’m starting to see it as true

…. Because I have the added value of having you.

Monday, January 26, 2015



What can I say about you that I haven’t already said? Mountains, evidently. I’ve been writing about you since the dawn of our whirlwind. Let me start this off by throwing you a simple "thanks." I appreciate the sensational timing of your arrival—not that there’s a poor time to have the very personification of breathlessness descend upon you. You’ve brought me so much joy in such a brief span... with this crazy, volatile chemistry neither of us can quite understand.

Last night, as I was thinking you— a daily thing— it dawned on me that I’d have to be mad to think myself capable of encapsulating the extent of your beauty with words. The time to question my sanity now, as I’m about to take a stab at said impossibility. I’d said to you, “You’re so amazing, I make a list of my favorite qualities.” The characteristics that contribute to your ravenousness are indeed innumerable; which is fine by me, as I’ve always shied away from numbers. Physical beauty is merely the crest of the crushing tsunami that’s flooding my mind with awe. Your golden, shining beacon of a heart permeates your entire being with a warm magnetism that pulls me ever closer by each passing day. External evidence of the radiance brimming inside you is best glimpsed through your gorgeous smile, eyes and actions. While one could scarcely imagine the two prior qualities--your beauty and heart--being trumped, your brilliant mind pushes them aside and stands tall— casting a formidable shadow that cloaks me in solace.

If that sounds a little overwhelming to you, congratulations! You now know what it feels like to be around you. As much of a champion of the English language as I am, I find myself seeking alternate languages to fully express the feelings you inspire. Vraiment... c'est incroyable. You make writing poetry as easy as blinking, and, at times, just as involuntary. Not that I would ever not volunteer to offer you a song of praise. Looking into your cedar gaze is frightening— the same fear one feels when peering down into the magnificent depths of the Grand Canyon. Fear and love go hand and hand. Nervousness. Butterflies. I feel these healthy doses of apprehension all the time with you. As you slide your hand into mine, bite your lip… or whisper into my ear. Ugh...

I’d continue on from here, but I’m afraid it only exacerbates the pain of missing you.

Know this…
Of all the words and all arrangements I could make with them, none could ever equate to the warmth and tenderness of us sitting on a couch together and sharing a simple kiss… then making out passionately and… uh, taking things elsewhere.

Basically? I miss you. Kudos on being thoroughly amazing. Can’t wait for all the inspiration I know you’ll be conjuring up in my heart soon.

-          - B        

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Next Fall

I attribute failure to a dusty excuse
Effectively dulled by excess use
Then I change the conditions
Conditioning my means for a fall

I'll register next fall.

I hope it will all register by then
The things I'm supposed to know
Everything I should have done before

Prolonging my longing
Romantic in a way
The stages of sweet decay
Like early fall
Full of promise, dirt covered by leaves

Give me a reason to fabricate
This is the season I suffocate
I rake in nothing again
A gain as foreign to me as success

I'll sleep through the winter

Next fall...
I'll know how to pick myself up by then.