NOW THAT YOU'VE GONE
AND DONE IT
(little man's bio)
I can't type worth a shit, yet I've been doing it for years;
not the right way, mind you, just my own way : while
looking down, eyes on the keys, typing away but not
seeing the screen. I'm blind, but not that so yet.
-
It's a little mystery to me how all those mummies have
learned - they're running fingers a mile a minute and just
staring at the screen, the words of which they've typed.
Seeing it instantly must be a gas. For me, no, alas, it's
a task. I have a horrible notebook, and a blackened
finger's horrid grasp.
-
So, instead, I just relax and try to figure out some other
open meaning for some other open world : asphyxiated
on oxygen as a human as on grass or any one of those
wonder weeds they're always talking about. And - before
this gets any further out of hand - it's not me; I don't
smoke, weed either, and only drink to chase down food.
-
This little stupid bio has put me in the mood : you've got
me off now and saying too many things. I'm out - now
that you've gone and done it.
No comments:
Post a Comment