Get over it.

A pwem:

Lauren is my wife. Life.
I can't not tell a lie, which means something.
Isn't that just the most?
If your skin was a business suit, I'd dirty it with my sweat.
Launder that shit, raw dawg.
Do you love me?
Don't even know me.
You say goodbye, but I say mellow.
Eat pie for your taste, not your health.
Get over it.

My Life As Meat With Hands

I am Google Reader.
I am Kotaku.
I am my iPhone.
Gmail. Me. We are the same.
I live in settings and preferences.
I exist in options.
The sky is up there.
I can smell it.
I like to look up on nice days and think, "Breathe. This is what it's all about. You are so relaxed and appreciating everything right now."
But I am Words With Friends,
And I am Chess With Friends.
I am checking the Apps Store for updates, and I am disappointed with iterations that have two decimal points before them.
I am sort of Facebook, but I hold onto the pretense that I am am not.

I am shortcuts.
I know my properties and extensions.
I live in folders and archives,
and my clock is ticking.

A Pwem

This night, it is not Passover
Tonight it is was band practice
Today it was crunch
Crunch wunchy
Blue whales are so big
So so big, and yet
I wish they were bigger
Wishing they were gods, I wish
There were gods

Here
At one point
We believed in gods
Gods that could be crazy shapes and ways
We still do
Who's we?
Me?
Nope. Pro'lly not

Yes, Virginia, there are vaginas
Don't tell me what to do, Devil Woman
Loved life lost is lovely life lived
No?

Getting towards the end now
Gas tanks have fumes
Is red pie the best kind?
Doubtful
Maybe
For some
Sing a song
Night night