Programmed Poetry

for all

if one lives without love, one is dead

else one lives

end

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Artful thinking

Recently I’ve taken to digital painting for relaxation and to expand my range of creative outlets.

Here are the attempts so far, in order of creation:

Based off a photo. Second-ever digital painting.

Based on a photo. Second-ever digital painting.

My first attempt at a landscape.

My first attempt at a landscape.

I enjoyed the suggestibility afforded by the cat's fur in this one.

I enjoyed the suggestibility afforded by the cat’s fur in this one.

Based off an action shot of my musical cousin.

Based on an action shot of my musical cousin.

Comments and recommendations appreciated.

A Message to My University

In recent days I have begun noticing the most virulent epidemic of our time encroaching upon the grounds of our fine university: slow walkers.
Slow walkers epitomise the very worst in our modern society and are now plaguing walkways and hallways and byways and are always in the way. This university must rise to the challenge of combating slow walkers if it is to ever dream of keeping pace with other forward-moving and -thinking institutions.
I now move that we, as students and staff, motion to the university that current policies are not in-step with the reality of an advancing world. And should we fail to migrate from sluggish policies, the world may pass us by.

We Found Our Way in the Dark

The knoll of an old church bell bellows through the stone corridors. A man quietly wakes. He slowly leans up into a sitting position. The man’s wet, frail feet feel the cold floor in the dark as the short hollow figure stoops out from his bed. Guiding himself with a damp wooden stick to find his desk he perches on the desk chair, striking fire to the wick of a small candle. Revealed is a frugal, scant room with a colour the same as his cheer — collapsed, bereft.

 

Upon his desk lie piles of parchment, he takes a blank piece and stares at it knowingly. He dips his pen in the ink and the tip begins to canter across the page –

The shout of silence is getting louder. The government is divorced from reality and has long pled insanity; if only we had signed a prenup on our freedom. The children whisper of the seditious abyss. The old men connive of their next evil trick. It is a game. But it is a game that has no known end; it never began yet was played anyway. And so is the short story of our lives…