Welcome to WRITE ENOUGH!
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| Ciinnamon-Stars Deviant Art |
In the land of innocence and plush delight,
Where fluffy tyrants rule with all their might,
Puppies and teddy bears, a surreal sight,
In a world of propaganda, we'll now recite.
The puppies, round and soft, so sweet and pure,
But in their eyes, a watchful, secret lure.
Their fluffy paws, a grip so firm and sure,
They play the part, but motives are obscure.
Teddy bears, with button eyes, so sly,
In the arms of children, they comply.
A symbol of comfort, as we imply,
But who's the master in this wicked lie?
In this utopia of cuddles and play,
The puppies and bears have a role to convey.
They're tools of control, in a subtle way,
As innocence withers, and freedoms decay.
They listen in silence, these loyal spies,
Gathering secrets, with their woolly guise.
Whispered confessions, each baby's cries,
In the name of safety, liberty dies.
Big Brother watches, through the guise of fluff,
Tracking our lives, and it's more than enough.
As we hug our teddies, and play with our pups,
The surveillance state only tightens its cuffs.
So remember, my friends, in this tale so grim,
The cute and the cuddly, it's all a scheme.
In the spirit of Orwell, let's not be dim,
For the truth lies hidden, in this puppy dream.
—ChatGPT
A whiskey-soaked moon hangs low and dim,
On this dark October night, a spectral hymn.
The streets are alive with ghouls and jesters,
And the damned souls of lost barroom testers.
The neon lights flicker, casting eerie glows,
On the faces of the dead who walk in rows.
They stumble and stagger, their laughter obscene,
In the ghostly haze of a whiskey-drenched scene.
The women in costumes, alluring and wicked,
Their red lips like poison, their eyes like elixir.
They dance on the bar, and they dance on the table,
Seducing the devils, the demons, the unstable.
The bartenders pour, with a cynical grin,
Another shot of hellfire, another sip of sin.
The jukebox wails with a mournful tune,
As the lonely souls howl at the blood-red moon.
In the corner, a poet, battered and bruised,
With a notebook of verses, all battered and used.
He scribbles his lines in a drunken haze,
Capturing the madness of these haunted days.
Halloween, a night of chaos and vice,
Where the living and dead, they dance and entice.
In this city of shadows, where the lost souls reside,
It's a macabre carnival, an eternal ride.
So raise up your glass, and toast to the night,
As the darkness descends, and the witches take flight.
In the spirit of Bukowski, we revel and sing,
In this twisted, demented, and beautiful thing.
—— by ChatGPT
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Hopefully, Pooh and friends went underground with many honey pots. (Today was also a bad day for the Order of the Templars.)
Yesterday I ran 5 miles for the first time in a few months. Since I was at the historic Rose Bowl, I decided on a little video at the end detailing my run. Nothing so chipper happened. The day was a bit hotter than I'd planned and by mile three, my mind was glutted with thoughts of walking, or better yet, quitting entirely. Left to its own devices on a run, that's where my brain defaults.
I ran it in, but was overheated and uninterested in anything other than basking in my car's air conditioning. Clearly, I'd been neglecting my mental training. The mind can only hold one thought at a time. Why not an upbeat, positive thought? That—and water—are what I require most on hot day running a course with very little shade.
As a general note, I am considerably slower than last year. If that's the way it rolls, so be it, but I'd hoped to ace January's Rose Bowl Half Marathon in under 2.5 hours and LA Maraton in March in under 5 hours. But time and serious training will tell.
And a little focus on the metal effort.
Coyotes roam the streets, seeking tasty pets. The Web is full of woeful tales. Here is one.
'Twas suggested I post a few episodes of my work in a pleasant spot. I've chosen here. Sadly, not everything I've written has y...
