Time Spent Dreaming

I think we all have that feeling
From time to lonely time
Of longing for a world- a life that isn’t yours;
Isn’t mine

Sometimes I play a game
Or hear a song
That echoes yonder through my head the whole night long,
Siren’s call cascading til the crack of dawn

Waves upon waves upon waves
Drown me slowly
In twirling visions of worlds that aren’t mine- of pure fantasy
Longing so sharp elicits images light and misty

I sometimes believe I’m too otherworldly-minded
To really be any earthly good
My mind’s pages written in some obscure language not yet understood
Jaded faith in the minds whom devised the worlds I once called good

I suppose in a way we’re all searching for a world that doesn’t exist
Our minds and our maps drawn in ink-filled mist
Formatting lands to fit our careful checklists
Lands full of light, air, and only slight misery

Dreaming the day away about worlds we’re unsure we could live inside
With nebulous people we could never thrive alongside
Because they aren’t really there
Only wishful mirages formed by night air

Yet still we lie dreaming
Yet still I’m drawn in
By a place I’ve not been to
By a life that’s not
By a life that will never be

One I can,
in time, call
“mine”.
 

Do PC programs dream of death by old age? Or are they happy simply being forgotten by time?

Sometimes
I forget that most people don't
use
old as fuck computer software               daily...

It feels as natural   as    breathing 
to me
most of the time! 

 

Working out the kinks
of troublesome programs 
has begun to        really feel like a second         language
to me
over the last few years. 

Browsing Wayback for the sites of 
old PC programs I could use to put     video files
on my DS Lite,

Scouring Reddit for ways     to get old CD Rom games working on the
good ol' megashitlord of an OS that is Windows 11

Using every old version of RPG Maker I can get my hands on
from 95 to VX Ace

Using Vocaloid 1 and Vocaloid 4 because 
my PC 
can't run 5 and up

Pirating Windows 2000 just for Clippy
but ending up liking it so much
that it becomes the main thing I
write     stuff      in
on my PC

 

Now, please keep in mind, this
is not at ALL 
a condemnation of those who use largely modern software.

It is simply an observation of 
and meditation on
yet another way I sometimes feel disconnected from the world.
Not fully set aside, but not fully in line with everyone else, either. 

 

 

 

I dunno. It's weird. Bleh.

:P 

boooooo school

 lol i hate school

the amount of work is just. blegh. blargh. waugh. woagh. boo.

at least the end of the year is coming soon; can't wait to graduate lmao

 

 

bleghhhhhhhhhh

 sigh.... call me garfield cause i hateeee mondays. school is pretty boring and today is made especially so by the dismal landscape (aka gray skies) outside. i believe i may work some on polish for the full finished version of my text adventure, castle of the phantasm, to stave off the boredom. i'm in the home stretch of development, i believe. music + soundscape implementation and whatnot, ykyk

”Keyboard”

Click clack click clack
Click clack click clack
Click                   clack  
          clack click 
fears turned into sprawling words
uniform
standard size
times new roman
sometimes courier new
I’m never quite sure what I mean
When I write the things I do

I write pretentiously about stupid things
Like songs and shows and really weird games
But nothing seems to express the pain 
quite like writing can do
LOL that last line was so angsty
Teen edginess galore
I guess I’ll end this poem now
Cause I’ve gotten much too bored.

”A Poem I Wrote Whilst Falling Asleep”

Here I lie
tangled in wires
like in Serial Experiments Lain. But, you know. Lamer.
My computer is watching me type this. 
My phone would be too, if I didn’t have its camera smothered by blankets at the moment. 
Sometimes
I don’t know
Why I even make things.
I mean- I kind of do. 
but not entirely. 
I probably just make to make
To let things out
To let things in
Express myself and my inspirations
"I’ll finish this later"

...But I never did.

"The Heavens, As Viewed From Below"

Our measly god has shunned the world
Learn from me the truth, unfurled
In his domain is where you begin
He'll croon and whistle, twirl and spin
Hoping you don't leave him alone again.

Our measly god has shunned the world
Views himself above child, boy, and girl
Maybe in truth, he really is
Above us all, a building whiz
But that matters not, in no view but his.

Our measly god has shunned the world
Twisted words he hesitated to hurl
Atop the hill
He observes the thrills
And yearns for a friend shunned long ago.