basically I just took my favorite poem (dream within a dream-by poe) and replaced them with reddit themes. Nothing special.
Take this Upvote upon thy karma!
And, in parting on my saga,
Thus much let me allow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my votes have been on a meme;
Yet if karma has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
On some bacon, or on none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a meme within a meme.
I stand amid the rage
Of an up-vote laden front page,
And I hold within my hand
Arrows to the golden land-
How few! yet how they roll
Through my fingers to the troll,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One for the pitiful slave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a meme within a meme?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Bigger Pictures are Cruel
The day you were born
your father came home sober
and your mother, drugged
on painkillers. And the snow
suffocated the landscape with its
purity. He peered into your
nebula eyes, while you lay in your reed-basket,
swept along the nile, terrified of tabula rasa.
How dare you be born at such an inconvenient time,
was his first thought.
His second was on the subject of existence:
Do we persist after we are forgot?
Can we exist if we are never known?
And you floated down the nile,
out into the vast delta,
into the constant change that is life.
your father came home sober
and your mother, drugged
on painkillers. And the snow
suffocated the landscape with its
purity. He peered into your
nebula eyes, while you lay in your reed-basket,
swept along the nile, terrified of tabula rasa.
How dare you be born at such an inconvenient time,
was his first thought.
His second was on the subject of existence:
Do we persist after we are forgot?
Can we exist if we are never known?
And you floated down the nile,
out into the vast delta,
into the constant change that is life.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Fetal Pigs
Dissection is an ugly sport,
was written on one of your bio papers.
But really, it seems so clean to me,
just a scalpel, latex, formaldehyde
and all systems are go. First you cut
the memories, time for picking the brain,
next is the assault on the senses and emotions
then the rose that blooms somewhere inside,
it happened too fast, cut, butchered, gone, then
the wrists, but in all the wrong ways.
Now you are propped up,
well preserved, yet falling into pieces.
sorry for the morbidity, I got carried away with the theme set in the first line, and once that happens I just run with it no matter how crazy it gets (actually I do censor myself to a certain degree). This poem makes me sad.
was written on one of your bio papers.
But really, it seems so clean to me,
just a scalpel, latex, formaldehyde
and all systems are go. First you cut
the memories, time for picking the brain,
next is the assault on the senses and emotions
then the rose that blooms somewhere inside,
it happened too fast, cut, butchered, gone, then
the wrists, but in all the wrong ways.
Now you are propped up,
well preserved, yet falling into pieces.
sorry for the morbidity, I got carried away with the theme set in the first line, and once that happens I just run with it no matter how crazy it gets (actually I do censor myself to a certain degree). This poem makes me sad.
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