Lesson # 1 - Teh Internetz.

So, we're back with Comic # 2, even though it's really Lesson # 1. Though if you were the discerning reader I would hope you were, you'd have noticed that the file name of the last one was "Honest does not work on teh internetz". Which would probably be the first lesson. Except I really can't be bothered.

I know I'm using pretty much the same setup for this comic, but I think it's a valuable lesson. Also, I had another comic lined up, but it isn't really internet related, except that it's based on a quote from Bash. Thought originality should take precedence over chronology.

Hope you guys like this one.

Washed Clean

Pristine, pure and frigid streams,
Of change and stasis that seems -
To describe the life of reform,
That must now become my norm.

Early mornings no longer escape,
Attention through heavy drapes,
That hide the lights and sounds,
Of the fucking early birds that abound.

Jarring sounds of helpful devices,
Averting a near certain crisis,
As people scramble to be awake -
There's far too much at stake.

Waiting for the space to arise,
Where we can wash our sleepy eyes,
And trudge the long walk of shame;
Girls of yesteryear are to blame [1]

Hopeful looks at mechanical chariots,
Of fire and pistons for those who buy 'em,
And rush for the fast filling spots,
Except for the haves; the poor have nots.

Entry to the hallowed halls of learning -
Sitting with day dreams, so full o' yearning,
The fires of ambition constantly burning,
But the motivations are always churning.

And finally, being saved by the bell -
This place being a customised, individual hell;
But soon we'll be well qualified to sell
Our services, to save clients from their acts fell.

Innocence dies at the midnight hour,
As for means of intoxication we scour -
Taking sustenance for the coming day,
As the toll for all our tortured minds we pay.

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[1] - This is hearsay, but was also corroborated. I was told in my first year that the current boys hostel was originally meant to be the girl's hostel, but within a few months those stalwart ladies of yesteryear complained of 'creepy crawlies' and the distance, and the men were forced into a swap we're still cursing. This was corroborated by an old building plan that used to be lying around in the Common Room.

This is pretty much a Law School only thing, at least in my head. But I'm sure a lot of people feel the same way about college in general. What really surprises me is the creeping realisation that many years down the line I'll probably consider this the best time of my life.

A (productive?) use for my time.

This is the first one. I might make more. I'm bored enough.

Random oddities in the Internet Era

The internet era is odd.

I'm online, chatting to someone who is a very close friend I ought to have stayed in touch with more, and Stumble threw up this amazing webcomic series called Last Place Comics.
I'm simultaneously reading Bash quotes online, and am astounded at the amount of funny things that one can find online.

Of course, I do occasionally think that the internet is a bit of a waste. Many have already said so, right? The amazing potential to do incredible things, but Aldous Huxley (in Brave New World, if I remember right) might have been the closest to predicting things when he surmised that in the future we'd all be cowed into submission by being flooded by inane information and base pleasures. Humankind is clearly not a species of the mind.

But when I think about the people from various parts of the world that I can speak to, get in touch with, comfort, start conversations, resolve issues, learn new things, find new sources of awesome, it all seems worthwhile.

Even though Al Gore thinks he invented it, kudos to the internet! :-)

Bad/Good determination - one indisputable instance

This is too amazing for words.

Wonder

Everytime I stop to think
And look within, trying to understand
The thoughts that go into who I am
Forever breaking away from the plan.

Am I a free spirit, ne'er to be held?
Or just a clumsy and unlucky oaf,
Who suffers times only fell -
These questions never stop,
And step into the inane;
Why must I only write poetry,
When most of my work remains?

There is some irony there,
Or maybe a lot -
I cannot know,
I'm just a dot -
Tiny and without depth,
In a world beyond perspective -
Wishing he was alive in another world,
Where Batman was truly the greatest detective.

So while I play the music in my head -
Yellow sung in Amber's squeaky voice;
I lie awake in my messy bed,
Thinking of the nature of choice.
Absurd as it is, I cannot figure
Why the circlets of silver and gold I treasure;
For they lock me in and mark me out,
Yet emotions mean I can't do without.

In any case, as I've sad 'ere before -
The secret of poetry,
It's very core -
Lies in knowing when it should end -
And yet I've overmade this, as I oft tend.
So without much ado,
I bid adieu -
To you, you, you and you.
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Silly whimsical poetry, but it's true - all this only happens when I'm up at night trying to get some damn work done on my bloody project. Mayhaps there is some merit in handwriting projects - Al Gore's 'information superhighway' won't be this temptation that's always around. However, it's good to know that the cell I'm in is now in full capacity, and has a new food cooling unit in it. :-)

Oh, and I've also realised that sketching doesn't happen unless you shouldn't be wanting it to happen. I took the pencils, took a sketchbook, went home for the holidays - and there was NO inspiration. None. And I'm back, without the sketchbook, and I'm making faces on ruled notebooks all day.

Someone has my puppet strings, and is being quite a jerk about it.

PS: Extra points for spotting the really sad pun.

Pandora

So here we go again, down the same old road to places less travelled. Yes, I'm sure Robert Frost doesn't quite like the rehashing (or as someone else might call it, 'rapeage') of his poetic lines. But frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. Life is too bloody short, isn't it?

I've been through a lot, and there's a lot more to go through - but that's life for you. It doesn't make me special, it doesn't make me anything, it just is. One of those basic facts that can't easily be escaped, however much society might wish it so. I'm deriving some measure of peace from the idea that these are paths and feelings that have previously been traversed, and problems I can solve and deal with just as well.
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PS: I'm on Google suggestions! Don't know how/why that happened. Odd, innit?

EDIT - This made NO sense. :-)

The End.

Over the rising and setting of many suns,
Many tales that have ended and begun -
Paths crossed and intermingled,
Sparks and stares that always did tingle;

Ideas and dreams that are long gone,
Cleaned away like wisps in a new dawn -
That burns and chases away hope,
While you rub your eyes trying to cope.

This is the end, beautiful friend -
A beginning, a middle, and conclusion that rends
Through the heart of a time
When things were greater and sublime.