Thirteen Turing Tests is a narrative concept album — part rock musical, part audio drama, part existential identity crisis.

Four academics form a band. They sing about impostor syndrome, burnout, gatekeeping, and identity. And somewhere between rehearsal and recursion... they begin to suspect things are not as they seem.

Thirteen Turing Tests: A Narrative Album

Too long for playlists. Too soft for cynics. Too sharp for romantics. Too honest for parody. Too self-aware for comfort. And still—somehow—about you.

Fourteen Fables (and a Few Fractals): An Existential Cabaret

The things that shouldn't matter, but do. Footnotes, margins. The good stuff, hidden in plain sight. Best enjoyed on your "Songs for Unexplained Warning Lights" playlist.

Fifteen Footnotes: Noise from the Margins

This album is for you if:
1. You've attempted to negotiate with a printer. (And lost.)
2. Find the "Pomodoro Technique" both helpful and deeply insulting.
3. Believe that "productive" and "meaningful" are not synonyms.
4. Feel that a purring cat can be a solution to almost any problem.
5. Treat your quirks as features, not bugs.

16 Work Songs

In the buzz of bright screens and clacking keys,
Where snollygosters plot their strategies.
A hodgepodge of thoughts, racing through the air,
Innovation sparks in the electric glare.

Out of chaos comes a spark,
Bringing light into the dark.
From the noise and the echoes,
We create in the farragoes.

In the lab's bright glare, through the tohubohu haze,
We chase the fleeting muse, in a fevered daze.
Fragments come together, a masterpiece in parts,
From a scatter of notes, to the rhythm of hearts.

Out of chaos comes a spark,
Bringing light into the dark.
From the noise and the echoes,
We create in the farragoes.

Through the trials and the tears,
Through the doubts and the fears,
In the hodgepodge of our dreams,
We create the impossible, or so it seems.

Out of chaos comes a spark,
Bringing light into the dark.
From the noise and the echoes,
We create in the farragoes.

In the snollygoster's game, we play our part,
From the hodgepodge of the mind, we craft our art.
Through the tohubohu, we'll always strive,
In the farragoes, we keep the dream alive.

Farragoes

Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence

Frozen steppe, a crimson stain
Where ancient shadows rise again
A hungry bear, with iron claw
Breaks oaths of peace, defies all law

The cities burn, the children weep
While slumbering giants lie asleep
A tyrant's voice, a hollow creed
Sows terror, plants a poisoned seed

The Cost of Silence! A heavy toll
As darkness claims another soul
The fires rage, the cannons roar
While justice bleeds upon the floor

Every day we are silent
The orcs are marching
Every day we are silent
Our friends are dying

From shattered homes, a desperate plea
For eyes to see, for hands to free
But gilded halls, and empty words
Protect the comfort of the herds

We elect the clowns and it is all fun and games
While sticking to the man, we fan the flames
The lines are drawn, the choices clear
Yet fear prevails, and whispers fear

The Cost of Silence! A heavy toll
As darkness claims another soul
The fires rage, the cannons roar
While justice bleeds upon the floor

Every day we are silent
The orcs are marching
Every day we are silent
Our friends are dying

The specter looms, a chilling sight
Of broken treaties, endless night
The weight of guilt, a crushing stone
For every life, unjustly thrown

The whispers rise, a growing dread
As heroes fall, and hope lies dead
The watching world, a vacant stare
A silent witness to despair

The Cost of Silence! A heavy toll
As darkness claims another soul
The fires rage, the cannons roar
While justice bleeds upon the floor

Every day we are silent
The orcs are marching
Every day we are silent
Our friends are dying

Every day... the silence grows...
Every day... another soul... it knows...
The cost of silence...

The Cost of Silence

They spoke in numbers, they spoke in fire
Built altars of thunder, of blood, of choir
I kept the silence. I counted the names
Two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine flames
And then... 
One more

In the desert of books and bones
They built their gods from fractured stones
Each face familiar, each voice divine
Until the sky ran out of time

One bled for thunder
One drowned for rain
One wept in gardens
One promised pain

They left us parables sharp as knives
But none could chart a satellite

What returns when you burn it all?
What speaks when the statues fall?
Not the psalms, not the scrolls...
Just the pull of poles, and the curve of orbits

Repeat the trial, forget the tale
No need for prophets to lift the veil
It all returns
The falling speed
The sequence of a growing seed
The spectrum's split, the echo's path
But never faith. Not that

No shrine can hold what's truly known
No prayer can match the undertone
Of numbers whispered in the stone
The world repeats
The world repeats
But gods... 
Do not come home

I saw your temples, your sacred laws
I saw the math beneath the claws
And when I turned-alone, unnamed
I was not damned
I was not changed
I simply walked...
One god beyond

Born Godless

Tick and flare
The signal sings
I chase the shine
that shadows bring
The lights begin, the wires lean
You’re deep inside the dopamine

Flash from the wall, I'm drawn like ink
Smile like a riddle, eyes don't blink
Breathe in the buzz, the filter's clean
One step closer to the in-between

Flick of the switch, a surge, a scheme
Thoughts align inside the stream

Spin, I'm lit in a chemical beam
Grit and glitter in the bloodstream
Sweet little fix in a self-made scene
I jolt, I gleam
Dance of dopamines

The loop is law
The loop is lean
It kisses soft
But cuts unseen

Woke with the hum of electric grace
The ghost of a grin still stuck to my face
Every impulse dressed like a king
Gold in the bite, frost in the sting

The screen writes sermons line by line
Each tap a hymn, each click divine

Spin, I'm lit in a chemical beam
Grit and glitter in the bloodstream
Sweet little fix in a self-made scene
I bend, I spark
Dance of dopamines

The rhythm calls in minor tones
Wrapped in wires, dressed in bones
I arch like code beneath the sheen
A marionette in the mind's machine

Silken tremor, velvet twitch
Craving's tune, a perfect glitch
I danced too far, I cracked the core
And still the circuit begs for more

Spin, I'm lit in a chemical beam
Grit and glitter in the bloodstream
Tangled deep in the endless dream
I twist, I scream
Dance of dopamines

Click
Crave
Begin
Again
Dance
dopamines

Dance of Dopamines

I told them:
Don't ask
Don't stay
But I never meant it
all the way

I build walls
then leave the window cracked
Write "Go away"
on the welcome mat
I breathe in silence
like it's oxygen
and choke
when it lingers too long

I said
This room is mine
don't knock
But the floorboards echo
your name
in the dark
And the books I stack
to block your face
fall over
when the wind gets brave

I want the cold
but dream in heat
I shut my mouth
but write in ink
Every locked door
has a crack
where light leaks in
and I never fix it

I don't want the questions
I don't want the answers
But I rehearse them anyway
I call it peace
but twitch
at every footstep
that passes by
without stopping

Say it's solitude
but it's just fear
dressed up in velvet
sitting by the mirror
I shout at ghosts
but leave the lamp on
No one's coming
Still, I wait

No, don't ask me how I'm doing
(But ask anyway)
Don't come to the door
(But linger in the hallway)
Don't say my name
(But don't forget it)
Don't look at me
but don't look away

This is the knock
I never wanted
This is the silence
I invited
This is the ache
that begs
to stay

Linger

The band gathers around you. You're the subject now.
Look around—four curious faces, leaning in.
 Don’t see them?
 Don’t be silly. They’re fictional. You just need a bit of imagination to meet them halfway.
Theo clears his throat.
 “Today’s focus: humans and their invisible friends.”
Ava winces. Julian suppresses a laugh.
 Theo continues anyway—
The study begins. They start small, and simple: religion.
Humans are fascinating.
 Many say religion is sacred—
 a cornerstone of meaning, morality, and soul.
 And yet, nearly all 3,000 known gods are dismissed without ceremony.
 Filed under myth.
 Except, perhaps, for one.
 Usually the one their parents happened to believe in.

Fable I: Religion

The band watches you intently. Ava tilts her head.

This attention is both exciting and disturbing, isn’t it?

After a few seconds, there’s that familiar itch—
the urge to check your notifications.

“They always start with just one tap,” says Theo.

You just want to check one thing.
One message. One ping. One dopamine drip.

Soon it’s 2 a.m.
Your eyes burn. Your brain hums.
Your soul scrolls.

You’re not happy.
You’re not sad.

“They are optimized. Rewarded and trained,” observes Kate,
typing notes without looking up.

Theo mutters something about Pavlov.
Julian’s already swiping.

Tap. Swipe. Like. Loop. Crave.

The study continues.

Fable II: Cravings

Welcome!
This is not a concert. Not really an album. Not a podcast either.
It is a thought experiment.
With music. 
An existential cabaret.

Over the next fourteen tracks, four imaginary minds—fully aware they’re fictional—try to understand what it means to be human.

They do what scientists do.
They read books.
They analyze data.
They study humans. Including you.
In fact—especially you.

They watch your grief. Your smile.
Your discomfort with this line of thinking.
They trace your longing like it was code.

And then, they tell fables.

These are not answers. 
They’re observations. 
Approximations.
Attempts.

But don’t worry—
it’ll be disguised as poetry,
so you don’t have to take it personally.

Unless you want to.

Shall we begin?

Fourteen Fables: Prologue

Welcome.
I hope you’re having a nice day.

Please, sit down.
Get comfortable.

Take a moment to silence your phones—
not just out of respect for the performers,
but out of respect for yourself.

Because if you’re distracted...
you might miss something meant just for you.

This is a story about four people who thought they’d have some fun and make music.
They were wrong.

But we don’t tell them that yet.

For now—
they’re just tired, brilliant, and trying to be heard.

Ready?

Here we go.

It begins, as these things often do—
with noise no one hears.

The shuffle of lecture notes.
The hum of a printer out of ink.
A forced smile from someone who signs the evaluations
but not the paychecks.

Four minds—clever, tired, brilliant—
drawn together by a shared fatigue.
Not of students.
Not of research.
But of the thousand little absurdities between them and meaning.

They don’t start a band to be heard.
They start one to scream—without footnotes or filters.

To turn spreadsheets into snare drums.
To make the faculty handbook moshable.

They call themselves Axioms of Mediocrity.

They think it’s clever.

It’s not that clever.
Unless you’re an academic who’s had a few pints.

But it doesn’t matter.

Axioms of Mediocrity it is.

Not yet knowing they’re also the control group.

This is Test 1.

A pub.
A storm.
And a rant that turns into rhythm.

It starts where all great rock begins:
with something that pisses you off.

A student who wants their hand held.
A system that calls that “support.”

Kate’s voice cuts through the noise—
sharp as a snapped guitar string.

And from that noise
comes a song.

Song: I'm Not Your

Dear student, it baffles me that I must say,
I'm not your parent in any way
I won't nudge you at the crack of dawn
Choosing classes? That's on you, come on!
Act your age, step up to the plate
I'm just here to educate.

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, hear me loud and clear
I'm not your babysitter, dear.
Party all night? That's your call
Homework done? Not my problem at all
Exams looming? You better prepare
Your future boss will know if you cared

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, let's get it straight
I'm not your secretary, not here to wait
Won't fill your forms, nor google your stuff
Reading the syllabus isn't that tough
Being an adult isn't just a phrase
It's your ticket through this maze

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, it's clear I must convey
I'm not your hire, not in any way
I do care, yet you must stand strong
Your life, your choice, right or wrong

Test 1: Who Do They Think You Are? (I'm Not Your)

The first song was for themselves.
A scream into the void.

But the void listens.

Not just students.
Not just academics.
But strangers with usernames like BluePrinter47 and QuietTomCat12.

Now it’s not just about venting.
It’s about telling their stories.

They meet in the seminar room at 7 p.m.
There’s a soft sweetness in the air, like a freshly baked cookie vanished just moments ago.

Kate clears the whiteboard.
“Let’s write one for the people we’ve lost.”

Julian looks up. “You mean… who left academia?”
Kate nods.

Theo grins. “Oh. We’re doing a murder ballad.”

Ava grabs a marker and starts writing.

One line’s about failed exams.
Another’s about rejections—again and again.
Someone adds a verse for the colleague who finally makes it…
then loses everything overnight.

They never say names.
Everyone has someone in mind.

It starts as a joke.
It ends in a silence no one wants to break.

This is Test 2.

A song for everyone who doesn’t get to finish the track—
but still echoes in the melody.

Song: Ten Little Scholars

Ten little students applied to grad schools
One didn't ace his exams, and then there were nine

Nine little students, their packets prepared
One's references faltered, and then there were eight

Eight little graduate students, their studies like forts
One failed her comps badly, and then there were seven

Seven little graduate students sought ideas that inspire
One found no thesis topic, and then there were six

Six little graduate students did their research
One was tempted by big money, and then there were five

Five little graduate students went on the job market
One got zero flyouts, and then there were four

Four little assistant professors submitted their papers
One got only rejections, and then there were three

Three little assistant professors went up for tenure
One was voted down, and then there were two

Two little associate professors applied for promotions
One had no grant funding, and then there was one

One little professor left all alone
He went and got himself canceled, and then there were none

Test 2: Do You Remember the Ones We Lost? (Ten Little Scholars)

You could call this a band meeting.
Or a mass anxiety ritual with instruments.

In academia, everyone is always waiting on something.
Something that might change everything overnight.

Ava, the drummer, keeps refreshing the Research Council portal.
She’s a political theorist,
specializing in collective action—
and yet, she can’t get anyone to refill the kettle.

Julian’s bass rests in his lap.
He doesn’t play a note.
He’s a sociologist,
with a niche focus on urban rituals and public silence.
At the moment, he is very silent.

Kate—composer, guitarist, vocalist, part-time firestarter—
is a mathematician.
She has three browser tabs open:
her course website,
YouTube,
and reviewer comments she refuses to read until the riff is finished.

Theo’s a microeconomist,
writing a song in 11/7 time.
He calls it “trembling-hand perfection.”
He’s also the band’s keyboardist.
And somehow still doesn’t understand how either stock markets or volume knobs work.

They are all excellent in their fields.
And all absolutely convinced
they’re about to be found out.

This is Test 3.

Not a breakdown.
Not a breakthrough.

Just the sacred, caffeinated space
between “Submit”
and “Decision”.

Song: Countdown to Fate

I'm staring at the screen, my heart is racing
Results of my exams, my future's in the making
Do I make it to the top, or do I take the fall?
My big dreams, they rise and they stall

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Submission's in review, my hands are shaking
Will they love my work, or leave me breaking?
Well, will my name light up, in the halls of fame?
Or will they forget me, just another name?

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Tick-tock, the clock mocks my nerves of steel
Waiting on fate, it's a raw, twisted deal
I've given my all, now the die is cast
Holding my breath, will this moment last?

Now it's not just me, but the ones I guide
Children and students, I feel their stride
Will they climb the heights, or stumble down?
Their futures like mine, wear a waiting crown

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Every second counts
Hearts beating fast
The pressure mounts
This too shall pass
We find our way
We won't hesitate
We seize the day
In our countdown to fate!

Test 3: Do You Belong Here? (Countdown to Fate)

Theo scribbles formulas.
Ava and Julian edit with headphones on.

Kate has been quiet all morning.
Then she says:

“Did you ever notice...
every dream we had as kids has a gatekeeper?”

Everyone looks up.

“Like, you can be anything—
but only if someone lets you.
And they never look like us.”

Theo blinks.
“Us?”

Kate shrugs.
“Geeks. Girls. Weird girls. I’m not sure.
At least the ones who didn’t decorate their homework.”

Ava nods, slowly.

“Astronaut. Scientist. Rockstar.
Same club.
Same rules.
Not everyone gets past the door.”

She pauses. Then adds:

“Yesterday, my colleague told me I was
‘refreshingly competent for someone so energetic.’”

Julian groans.
Theo winces.
Ava doesn’t say anything—
but her teacup hits the saucer a little too hard.

Kate pulls out an old journal—
worn, duct-taped, nearly falling apart.

On the cover, in careful block letters:
A PROPERTY OF CATALINA A-P: SCIENTIST, ASTRONAUT, AND ROCKSTAR.

Inside, there’s a poem.
It has verses.
About moon rocks.
About labs.
About fire and sound.

This is Test 4.

About the gatekeepers.
The subtle eye-rolls.
The velvet ropes dressed as “peer standards.”

About how every system that claims to measure talent
starts by measuring tone of voice, confidence, and compliance.

About good little boys who grow up to be respected men—
and good little girls who grow up to be helpful women.

Song: Rocket Girl

Someday I'll be an astronaut
In shiny suit I'll take a shot
Float and spin inside magic dome
Comets spin around my bright home
I'll scoop moon rocks from silver sand
Sketch their secrets in my own hand

But they tell me, "You're just a girl,
dreaming too far ..."
Can’t I rewrite my story?
Show them who we are?

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I'll be strong
Hear my song

Someday I'll be a scientist
I'll cross off theories from my list
I'll blend compounds in my own lab
I'll trap rare atoms in glass slab
I'll spark new cures before the sun
Then heal the world when work is done

They whisper, "Settle down,
choose something small ..."
But why should I shrink
when my dreams stand tall?

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I'll be strong
Hear my song

Someday I'll be a rockstar
I'll fire the crowd from near and far
My guitar screams they'll hear me loud
I'll rise above the chanting crowd
I'll roll the miles on back roads wide
Then face the dawn with roar and pride

They say, "Be quiet now,
don't speak so loud ..."
But silence never changed the world,
I'll make myself proud!

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I’ll stand strong
Prove them wrong
Watch me rise
Claim my prize
Sing my song
Loud and strong!

Test 4: What Were You Supposed to Be? (Rocket Girl)

Somewhere between theory and noise,
a rhythm forms.
Unspoken. Unscored.
But unmistakably mutual.

Not a spark.
A pattern.

Not a glance.
A shift.

It begins in conversation.

The kind that loops and folds,
like you're building something together.
A landscape of thought.

You notice the way they pause,
how their questions echo your unfinished ideas.
How your silences match.

Even the scratch of a pen sounds in sync.
You catch the faint scent of coffee on their sweater —
earthy, familiar, and oddly grounding.

Just that quiet alignment—
a dance of intellect,
side by side.

And somewhere between a verse and a joke,
something settles.

This is Test 5.

When two minds converge—
not loudly,
but inevitably.

And so it is:
one Thursday, sometime after the fourth chorus of a song they don’t finish,
Ava and Julian show up to band practice
holding hands.

Song: Side By Side

In the space where ideas blend and flow
We find our rhythm, a gentle glow
Your thoughts intertwine with mine
Creating patterns, intricate and fine

In every glance and every word
Our connection, quietly stirred

The spark that ignites my mind
A dance of intellect, uniquely aligned
Together we explore, side by side
In the landscape of thought, where we confide

Conversations, like a flowing stream
Your passion and insight, a shared dream
We unravel mysteries, piece by piece
In our dialogue, a quiet peace

In every glance and every word
Our connection, quietly stirred

The spark that ignites my mind
A dance of intellect, uniquely aligned
Together we explore, side by side
In the landscape of thought, where we confide

In the symphony of our minds, we find
A connection profound, intertwined
In the journey of thought, where we tread
You've found a place, deep in my heart

Test 5: When Did It Start? (Side By Side)

Saw her strut across the hardwood floor
Glance sharp like a metaphor
Slit-green eyes and a silver shine
She didn't walk-she glided like a crime

Took one look, forgot my name
My drink got warm, my heart got tame
Velvet hush in the midnight air
Something told me, "Boy, beware..."

She's got claws, and she's not afraid to use 'em
Purrs when she's winning, bites if you lose 'em
Moves like trouble wrapped in lace
But she'll rub her cheek right on your face

She curls up tight when the thunder rolls
Sleeps in the sink like she's guarding souls
Won't come when you call, but she'll come when she feels
And lord help the man who tries to make deals

I bought her tuna, she took my chair
She stole my socks and didn't care
And when I asked her what's the plan
She just yawned like a tiny, furry tyrant can

She's the queen of the windowsill
Of 3am zoomies and sleeping still
She stares at ghosts I'll never see
And kneads her throne right into me

She's got claws, and she's living rent-free
Owns my house and occasionally me
Scratches the door like a femme fatale
Then runs from a cucumber in the hall

And yeah, I thought it was fate
Thought I'd found the one too late
But when she curled on my chest
And meowed with her breath...

...I realized, to my shock and awe
I've been writing love songs to a ten-pound ball of fluff with a murder paw

She's got claws, and she's chasing the moon
Screaming at walls and knocking down spoons
Purrs like thunder, soft as sin
And she's napping in a laundry bin

She's got claws-and I adore her still
My little tiger with a predatory thrill
No femme fatale, no siren song
Just my kitten... who's been plotting all along

She's Got Claws

A celebration of the most mistreated character in music video history:
https://youtu.be/8SbUC-UaAxE?si=F3SUAcM8Xf91NiF1&t=417

----

Three tiers
Nine hours of buttercream
And none of it...
was my damn fault

They built me tall in the back of a bakery
With trembling hands and nervous pastry
A tower of sugar, proud and obscene
White as sin and twice as mean

Fondant swans and wedding gold,
We were sweet, but we were cold
And we got hauled in a battered van
Like I wasn’t more than a five-day plan

I saw 'em kiss, I heard 'em cheer
I smelled cheap wine and bridal fear
They danced like gods, then slipped like men
And guess who took the fall again?

It's not my fault!
I'm just the cake!
You fake your vows, I just get baked!
You lose your mind, I lose a tier
Then someone dives in with a cheer!

Don't blame the frosting for your fate
I just stood there. Looked... 
Great

He wore a suit like it owed him cash
She wore white like a powder stash
The flowers died before the vows
The band played slow, the sky played loud

The priest forgot the final line
The ring went on like a warning sign
They posed beside me, full of grace
But I could see it in her face

They said "forever," but I smelled fear
The kind you frost with souvenir
You want a symbol? Fine, I'm tall
But don't blame me when you lose it all!

It’s not my fault!
I didn’t break!
You threw your love into a lake
You kissed too fast, you drank too slow
You planned a dream you didn't know

Don't blame the icing when you fall
I just stood there. That's all

And then
That guy
No name. No tie
Just heat and bourbon in his eyes
He leapt
Like sugar held salvation...
And landed face-first in damnation...

In me!

It's not my fault!
I didn't ask to be your throne!
You wanted myth, I gave you scone
You built it all, then burned it down
And I'm the one who wears the crown?

I never said "forevermore"
I just said "dessert's by the door"

I was delicious
And that... 
Should've been enough

It's Not My Fault

I wasn't the storm
Wasn't the calm
Wasn't even the damn weather report
Just a line somebody skipped
while looking for the chorus

You kept a jar of sugar packets
from diners you don't remember
Me?
I was one of those
Sweet for a second
Then tossed in the glovebox
with expired maps and parking fines

I bought you soup when your sky cracked
You left me waiting on a Tuesday
A Tuesday, man?
The least poetic day of the week

You kept my jokes
but not my number
Told your friends
"she was... funny, I guess"
Hell of a eulogy

I was just a footnote for you
barely there, barely blue
Some flicker in the rearview
of a road you never meant to drive
Yeah...
I was just a footnote for you
But you?
You were a whole damn book for me

I made you pancakes once
You said you were allergic to mornings
And love
And me, apparently

You ever try deleting a voicemail
just so you don't memorize the silence at the end?
Yeah...
Me neither

I was just a footnote for you
just a scene that didn't test well
so they cut it in the final draft
But I kept your ghost in my guitar case
your laugh in the pocket of a coat I never wear
You were thunder
And I was...
a line break
Or less

You thought I was a footnote?
Baby, I'm the erratum
Printed loud
Page one
Right under your regrets

Just a Footnote

By pressing play
you agree to
1. Become a lifelong devotee of this artist
2. Stream everything, even the weird side projects
3. Comment: "Genius"
4. Buy vinyl
Even if you don't own a turntable
Especially if you don't own a turntable

You tapped the beat? That's binding
You laughed? That's proof of consent
By tapping your foot in a public place
you now owe me your attention
until my artistic phase ends
or I fake my death for press

No refunds
No complaints
No skipping the outro

Clause 7b: You will defend me in comment sections
Clause 9: You will quote me in arguments you barely understand
Clause 12: Your soul remains mine
in perpetuity
plus royalties

She ate the fries
He bought the fries
Boom - contract

Somewhere between ketchup
and that third laugh
she apparently co-signed
his entire fantasy

Her wrist brushed his wrist
now she's liable
for his unmet expectations
plus damages

Didn't read the menu?
Still binding
Smiled politely?
That's consent

These are the terms
These are the traps
You clicked "I agree"
without reading the map
No opt-out clause
No human review
By being polite
you said "I do"

Hired on a handshake
you just sold your Sundays
Your dreams?
They've been repurposed
for synergy

The job title said "Creative"
but it meant
"Copy, paste, obey"
You clock in?
You vanish
You breathe in cubicle gray

Your spine?
Company property
Your passion?
A performance metric

See Appendix D
for how to smile on Zoom
while crying on mute
See Section 19
on swallowing your rage
without leaving trace

These are the terms
These are the binds
You didn't negotiate
you were just being kind
Now your silence is debt
Your patience is proof
Your signature's inked
in the sweat of your youth

By hearing this
you acknowledge
All transactions are final
All expectations are assumed
All resistance
is a breach of contract

Thank you for your compliance!

Terms and Conditions

You'd walk past it
Most do
Paint chipped like bad decisions
One leg shorter than it used to be
Still, it waits
Under that half-dead tree

Enters girl, maybe seventeen?
Big sunglasses, bigger bubble tea
and a mop of joy named Pickle
Yes, she named the dog Pickle

She sits, cross-legged, like a question mark
tells Pickle he's a star
Snaps twenty-five angles
of one floppy ear and one historic bench

Caption?
"Look who found the philosopher's throne
😊😊😂❤️
#deepbarkthoughts"

Pickle pees on the tree
Bench approves
Tree does not comment

Then: a man and a woman
The date
They bring mulled wine in a thermos
Sit sideways, legs tangled like headphones in a drawer
He says something about stars
She says something about Lady Gaga
They kiss somewhere in the middle

A busker walks by singing Wonderwall
They tip him a sandwich and a smile
Bench approves
God of music sighs

Third act: Old man
Corduroy jacket in summer
Hands folded like quiet apologies

He doesn't speak
Doesn't blink much either
Just feeds pigeons one crumb at a time
like each one is a password to another day

He might be waiting
Or forgetting
Or remembering wrong on purpose

Bench knows his name
And age
And weight
And history
Doesn't say it out loud
Not polite

Pickle runs past again
He is twice as large now
The couple, now maybe married, maybe not, walk by
With a stroller

The old man doesn't come anymore
The bench doesn't judge
It just
Is there

The Bench

There it is-again
Amber, maybe orange
Half-hearted warning, not urgent, not bored
Blink, gone
Hey, it's back
A flicker, a wink, a mechanical tic
or maybe it's just shy
Could be the sun
Could be
A reflection of something I forgot

So, I pop the hood
Poke around with the wrong end of a spoon
Jiggle a cable
(a confident nod to no one)
Check the cap, pat the battery
whisper: "You okay?"
The engine stares at me
deadpan, unimpressed
like a doctor at my annual checkup
who's just found my browser history

Google says: "Loose gas cap"
Grandpa says: "Spirit trapped inside"
Mechanic says, "That's normal for this model"
I nod
Pretend I know what normal is
Pretend the light cares

The light is on
and off
and on
Maybe it's my signal
Maybe it's Morse code
Maybe it's love
or low-grade cosmic threat
I blink twice
It blinks back
Who's warning who here?

Maybe the car is lonely
craving existential meaning
Maybe it's asking for therapy
or more podcasts
or a different kind of fuel
Maybe it needs to talk
about its childhood

My neighbor says, "It's the universe
giving you a sign"
My barista says
"You need a vacation"
My phone suggests a playlist called
"Songs for Unexplained Warning Lights"
(Now that's suspicious)

The light is on
and so am I
Lying awake at 2 am
googling symptoms I don't have
Maybe I'm the check engine
Maybe I'm the one
blinking
on and off
hoping someone's paying attention

What if the light's for the things I can't fix?
What if it's grief
or taxes
or unfinished novels?
Is there a scanner
for existential dread?
Can I tighten my soul with a twist of a cap?
Do I need premium dreams?
Or just more air in the metaphorical tires?

The light is on
Don't know what it means
Maybe I'm warning myself
Maybe I'm the mystery
the dashboard blinking
the unresolved riddle
rolling downhill
engine running
mind humming
watching for smoke
that never comes

The light is on
I'll keep driving
Maybe it'll turn off
Maybe I will
Maybe that's all we ever get
A sign we can't read
and a road that doesn't care

The light is on!
The light is on
The light ...

The Light Is On

Ladies and gentlemen
please fasten your seatbelts
We're about to experience turbulence
in the art of regret

I'm sorry if you noticed
I'm sorry you were hurt
I'm sorry that you feel this way
And now you're throwing dirt
I'd love to care about your wounds
But I'm busy dodging blame
So let's both agree-your pain's not clear
And I'll just look away

Did I do something? (Yes!)
Did I say something? (You did!)
Well, I'd like to apologize...
For the way you feel

I'll blame the weather, blame the moon
Say, "Oops, my bad!" then leave the room
If I must, I'll sigh, look wise
Blame the system, blame my fate
Or, "Sorry I'm late to the sorry parade!"
Take a bow and improvise
That's just how I apologize

I'm sorry that you're angry
That I danced upon your toes
But, hey, I lost my own last week
That's just how karma goes
My PR says to say some words
About the lessons that I've learned
So here's my statement:
"If I caused some pain-I hope the earth still turned"

I regret that you regret
But not the thing you're regretting
I apologize for your confusion
And your unexpected bloodletting
If you're searching for sincerity
It's in my other coat
Or somewhere deep inside a memo
That my lawyer wrote

Did I cross a line? (You did!)
Did I push too far? (Too far!)
Well, I'm ready to say sorry...
For your delicate heart

I'll blame tradition, blame the crowd
Say, "Sorry you're so sensitive now!"
Make it vague and weaponize
Blame the coffee, blame my youth
Blame gravity, blame the absolute truth
Don't expect me to empathize
That's just how I apologize

I'm sorry for my past mistakes
And future ones to come
For all the things I almost did
And everything I've done
Forgive me, or forget me
But don't forget my brand
And if this feels authentic
That was never what I planned

Did I cross a line? (You did!)
Did I make things worse? (You did!)
Here's my vague apology...
If that's what you require

I'll blame my grandma, blame the sun
Blame autocorrect-then run, run, run
If I blush, I'll stylize
Blame nostalgia, blame my shoes
Sorry you're allergic to the words I use!
Modern times, modern lies
That's just how I apologize

If you're waiting for an answer
Or the world to make it right
You'll find me on a talk show
Saying,
"Sorry, not tonight"

Sorry

I wrote a proof once
In the margin of an old book
It held
It sang in silence
I solved a riddle no one posed
But someone should have
And the page
Bent to my will

I was on a train
Between Oxford
And existential despair
Light flickered. Ink cracked
My coffee spilled
Still, logic marched in perfect rows
Shining
Afraid to be alone

But the margin
Too narrow
For voices like this

I drew your outline
In the corner, soft and hidden
Lines too gentle for names
Wrote a vow, never signed
A plan with no axis
And the paper
Tensed beneath my wanting

Under the station's hum
I footnoted everything I didn't say
Margins full of detours
Echoes of maybe
Each heartbeat struck
A chord I never dared to play

What if the page could break open?
What if the lines ran wild?
Not neat. Not safe. Not approved
But real
Bleeding past every edge

Because the margin
Was never enough
Not for this voice
Not for us

Tear it out
Let the ink run free
We'll write where no lines go

The Margin Was Too Narrow

I saw them argue over coffee
Steam forming secret shapes
She laughed at something small and lofty
He reached, then fixed his sleeve in haste

Rain dropped one perfect tear
I almost caught it in my case
Their shadows leaned until they neared
A crime they forgot to embrace

He looked right at her and said
"That's not really you"
And God help her
She hoped it was true

He'd chased the edge of every map
Collecting stamps, abandoned rooms
But she smiled
And just like that
The ground felt...
Nice
It bloomed

'Cause happiness isn't happiness
Without a violin-playing goat
Without something real and tender
No one can name or quote
It's a string fraying mid-song
A bow that forgets its place
A note that stays too long
And still finds its grace

The wind heckled
Coins chimed in the case
He looked ridiculous 
In the shivering rain
And she knew
She wanted ridiculous too

I kept the melody clean and slow
They kept their tempers, let them strain
They learned to bruise without retreating
I learned their silence had a grain

'Cause happiness isn't happiness
Without the risk of being wrong
Without someone who keeps your silence
Like it belongs in the song
It's a vow spoken sideways
A chord that won't resolve
A goat still bowing at midnight
While the rest of the world dissolves

I only play on Tuesdays
And sometimes Wednesdays too
Tonight, I played for them
Tonight... they nearly knew

The Goat Plays On

I lean over that old wishing well
moss-cold stone beneath my palm
whispering into its watery hush:
Please... show me how to burn bright in ash
I plead. I argue. I gasp. I hurl coins
they clink down unseen shafts
the well returns only cavernous void

"Dear Applicant
Thank you for your submission. 
After thorough consideration, 
we find it does not align with our needs. 
We welcome future inquiries"

That "we find"-a pebble skipped at my core
rippling doubt in widening circles
I press my ear to slick brick
straining for the promise it never breathed

I bend to that moss--rimmed stone
Pour trembling words:
I love you more than my anything
More than life
More than math
More than the falling snow on Christmas Eve
Coins of my soul dropped in
they sink into silent depths

"Dear Honey
I cherish your warmth
But I can't return it
It's not you, it's me"

I kneel again at that moss-rimmed mouth
voice trembling as I pour every fractured refrain:
This is my confession, 
my code, my blood in sound
take it, well, and let me rise
I belt each line like a prayer
spill my marrow into shadowed depths
then wait for the echo's promise

"Dear Bard,
We acknowledge receipt of your composition. 
Regrettably, it falls outside our scope. 
We wish you success elsewhere."

Well?

The windows were rattled by excuses in transit
No one was ever named
Coffee was poured, then cooled by inert stares
Responsibility was evaded
Our history was footnoted in parentheses
Subjects were dropped like lost keys
Hearts were tangled in disclaimers
Ownership was never claimed

Objects were acted upon 
While actors hid behind thin clauses
Clarity was deferred
Uncertainty was preferred

Mistakes were made
Feelings were hurt
Blame was implied but not assigned
Actions were questioned
Voices were silenced
Responsibility was never delivered

Our arguments were catalogued in passive tone
No culprit to convict
The garden was neglected-watering was missed
Hands were nowhere to be found
Promises were tucked into envelopes stamped "Pending"
Deliveries untracked
Every door was left ajar
Closures were postponed by unnamed causes

Boundaries were blurred
Culpability dispersed
No subject stood firm

Mistakes were made
Feelings were hurt
Blame was implied but not assigned
Actions were questioned
Voices were silenced
Responsibility was never delivered

See how the verbs collapse when the doers disappear
How the sentences stagger without a subject to steer
This story was written in passive ink
And so its meaning was left indistinct

Mistakes were made
Feelings were hurt
Blame was implied but not assigned
Actions were questioned
Voices were silenced
Responsibility was never delivered

Passive Voice Was Used

I'm iron pot, she's sleek steel pan
Both forged in fire to feed a man
She hisses bright with golden gleam
I cradle broth that warms the dream

He flings his words like shattered glass
She hurls her doubt with every pass
He brands her quiet with bitter slights
She scorches him with ancient spite

We bear the scorch to forge the feast
We light the blaze though nights are ceased

Pots and kettles, we're all charred,
Seared by flames we can't discard
We mock the soot upon your guard
Still guard the smolder deep and hard

Two armies clash in ashen fields
Their banners bleed where fury yields
One cries for glory, one for right
Yet both march black beneath the same smite

We forge our steel in bellows' heat
Confront the ashes at our feet
In battered pot and tarnished pan
We lose the key to what we've planned

Pots and kettles, we're all charred
Seared by flames we can't discard
We mock the soot upon your guard
Still guard the smolder deep and hard

Ash on me!
Ash on you!
We're all black
That much is true!

Pots and Kettles

The alchemist spends his days in a sunlit workshop
He measures mercury and water until they stop arguing
He tickles sulfur until it bubbles at odd temperatures
He teaches apprentices to name flasks like rare books
He swears each tincture will sing
And this makes him happy

But when dusk arrives, he dons a different cap
He devours ancient books and mystical letters
He scribbles symbols on a board until they speak
And he makes weird music
Just like this

Transmutation

Home was full of landmines, each step unsure
Words like shrapnel, sharp and impure
The table shook when his shadow grew
We learned the script of what not to do

Eyes on the clock, hands never bold
A fragile child, too young to grow old
Walls held secrets, screams left their trace
We wore our silence like armor and grace

We’re written over, but never erased
Each line a layer, each wound interlaced
Ink from the past, yet here we persist
A palimpsest of scars and twists

I am the palimpsest, lines entwined
Old shadows whisper, but they’re redefined
Erase, rewrite, the page still holds
The story bends, but it’s never sold

The past lives on in subtle refrains
A flinch at kindness, the weight of chains
I scan the faces, I read the air
Still braced for storms that aren’t really there

His voice lingers in the back of my head
A phantom editor of words unsaid
Even love feels like a test to pass
A trembling echo in fragile glass

We’re written over, but never erased
Each line a layer, each wound interlaced
Ink from the past, yet here we persist
A palimpsest of scars and twists

I am the palimpsest, lines entwined
Old shadows whisper, but they’re redefined
Erase, rewrite, the page still holds
The story bends, but it’s never sold

The ink may bleed, but my hand is steady
The future waits, the pen is ready
What was a prison now feels like grace
I’ll draw new maps on the same old space

I am the palimpsest, bold and free
A story unbound, still writing me

Palimpsest

Read-read-read
note-note-note
footnote the soul of a mole in a coat
Ink-ink-ink
scratch-scratch-scratch
argue ‘bout the meaning of the word dispatch
Mark-mark-mark
quote-quote-quote
stack your sources ‘til the shelves revolt

Our coffee’s black as our funding gap
our deadlines bend like a yoga map
We publish thoughts no one will heed
but glory’s in the planted seed

Work-work-work, until the thought gets weird
debate the length of an unseen beard
Draft-draft-draft, then tear the page
we’re the chorus and the cage

We mine in texts nobody reads
stacking scrolls like ancient reeds
A grant’s a dragon guarding lore
you flatter it, it gives you more

Work-work-work, till the candles die
rewrite the truth with a scholar’s lie
Proof-proof-proof till the moon’s been spun
and toast to the joy of the kingdom of Some

Ink-stained hands and a mind half-mad
argue with ghosts you never had
Measure the weight of a metaphor’s bone
and carve your thesis into stone

Trade your hours for immortal lines
digging through dust for half-formed signs
Argue ‘til dawn on a point obscure
declare the riddle “still unsure”

Who holds the key to the scholar’s vault?
"We do! We do! It’s all our fault!"
Who stacks the scrolls ‘til the shelves cave in?
"We do! We do! Let the work begin!"

Push-push-push the ink along
sing-sing-sing the unwritten song
laugh-laugh-laugh at the scholar’s jest
then bind it in the Book of Rest
Dig-dig-dig through the dusty mind
find-find-find what the rest won’t find

Work-work-work, until the thought gets weird
debate the length of an unseen beard
Draft-draft-draft, then tear the page
we’re the chorus and the cage

And when the ink runs dry at last
we drink to the future
and footnote the past
Read-read-read
Write-write-write

Work-work-work, until the thought gets weird
debate the length of an unseen beard
Draft-draft-draft, then tear the page
we’re the chorus and the cage

Work-Work-Work

Another candle, another year
Colleagues nod, the cat says "purr"
The mirror shrugs, the future grins
Life's messy, but it sings

Happy birthday to me!
I'm still becoming who I want to be
Happy birthday to me!
The questions matter more than certainty
The past is gone, the future’s wide
The horizon's closer than I think

The magazines sell panic at midlife
"Buy a car, trade your spouse, dodge the knife!"
But my cat insists the meaning is clear
The lap is warm, the song is here

Happy birthday to me!
The silence teaches more than melody
Happy birthday to me!
The flaws are part of the symphony
I may not dance the way I dreamed
But the spotlight's softer than it seemed

Yes, mortality's a bore
But I've still got books unread
Wine unsipped
Arguments un-won
And my cats, plural, demanding bed space
If this is midlife
Then I call that halftime
And I've always loved the second act

Some friends are gone, some chapters closed
Some seeds I planted never rose
But others bloomed in the strangest ground
And joy's a weed, it sticks around

Happy birthday to me!
The years are chapters, not a eulogy
Happy birthday to me!
The page keeps turning restlessly
The curtain lifts, and I still want to see
Happy birthday to me!

Happy Birthday To Me!

I was gonna clean the kitchen
but the plates began a union
They demanded better hours
so I left them on strike

I thought I'd check my emails
but the subject lines were yelling
so I brewed another coffee
and let them shout at spam

Tomorrow - it's perfectly clear
everything important will start right there
Today I'm rehearsing my grand excuse
tomorrow I'll tighten the noose

I planned to pay the landlord
but the app said "try again"
I took that as a cosmic sign
to binge another show

I promised I'd go running
but my shoes are still offended
they've been waiting by the doorway
like statues keeping score

Tomorrow - the schedule's clean
I'll publish a book and I'll learn to sing
Today I just practice the art of delay
tomorrow I'll do what I meant for today

They say life is short
but it feels long enough
to put off flossing
fixing the sink
and writing that thesis
If deadlines are real
then so are unicorns

I was gonna call my mother
but she'd only ask for news
And news is what I'll have
when I finally do some things

I really wanted progress
but my plans will never start
if intention counts as effort
then I'm a work of art

Tomorrow - it's patient and kind
it carries the weight I can't lift tonight
Today is for coffee, tomorrow's for war
today keeps moving onward, tomorrow even more

Tomorrow

Everything is fine
until you speak

They raised the flag, they lit the torch
they swore the words were free
But every time a tongue gets scorched
I hear the lock turn on the key

We all chant "Say what you want!" at the rally
until the echo rattles back through the alley
Freedom's cheap when it's your own creed
but your neighbor's truth feels like a weed

You clap for voices that sing your song
but plug your ears when they prove you wrong

You want the right to shout
but not the right to doubt
Freedom of speech
until you speak
You'll fight for the megaphone
until it cuts your bone
Freedom of speech
until you speak

They'll frame your words on a courtroom wall
but whisper "Censor him" down the hall
Heroes of principle, fists held high
until your sentence crosses their sky

The saints, the critics, the kings of the stage
they write their sermons and call it courage
But when a word strikes too close to home
suddenly silence becomes their throne

Do you want truth
or just a mirror?
Do you want freedom
or something nearer?
A cage with your anthem carved in stone
but bars that slam when it's not your own!

Every tongue's a loaded gun
but only yours is aimed for fun

You want the right to shout
but not the right to doubt
Freedom of speech
until you speak
You'll fight for the megaphone
until it cuts your bone
Freedom of speech
until you speak

They said the words were free
but every word has a fee

Until You Speak

The printer coughs again
black smoke of bureaucracy
Paper jam number seventy-three
a graveyard of half-born memos
It whines like it's dying
but only when you need it most

Coffee machine blinking red
"Water tank missing"
No-it's right there
but the machine has decided
to unionize with the printer
We brew despair instead

Error 404: sanity not found
Temperature swings from tundra to kiln
balance is myth
comfort is folklore
On average, perfectly fine
in hell's statistics

The air vents choose violence at noon
hurling frost into spreadsheets
then molten wind into email chains
I shed layers like an onion
until only deadlines remain

We dream of revolutions
but the fire alarm
tests itself at random
reminding us rebellion
requires fresh batteries

Error 404: humanity not found
Restart, reboot, the wheel goes round
Error 404: courage can't be found
Look away fast, don't make a sound

Update complete
Nothing has changed

Error 404: Sanity Not Found

The screen flickers
The table yawns
We sit
We wait
We vanish

This hour is gone
You will never get it back

You could have walked the forest path
Heard the crow
Touched the moss
Lit a fire
Watched the sky

Instead
you counted bullets on a slide

This hour is gone
You will never get it back

You could have baked bread
Fed a friend
Watered the thirsty plant
Read the forgotten page
Slept without dreaming

Instead
you raised your hand
and lowered it again

This hour is gone
You will never get it back

You could have carved a song
Bled on the strings
Run until the lungs caught fire
Kissed a mouth that mattered
Buried the silence in wine

Instead
you stared at the clock
and the clock stared back

This hour is gone
You will never get it back
This hour is gone
You will never get it back

Never
Never
Never
Never
Never

You will never get it back

Never
Never
Never
Never
Never

This Hour Is Gone

Hello, my blank friend
Here you are again
So quiet
So wide
So impossibly pale

What do I want to write?
A memory?
A confession?
A truth I shouldn't say aloud?
Or a lie so beautiful it feels like truth?

"You want too much
Every word will betray you
I will outlast them"

No, I don't want monuments
I want seeds
Something that grows
when no one is watching
Something that sings
without permission

"Seeds rot
Songs fade
Every mark is a scar"

But purity is silence
Purity is death
I would rather wound you
than leave you untouched

Maybe the first word
isn't the right word
Maybe the first line
will shame me tomorrow
But tomorrow isn't here
And tonight
I need to begin

"Then begin.
Bleed on me
I will hold it
I will remember"

Not perfect.
Not final
But alive
And that is enough

Hello, my blank friend
"Hello"

My Blank Friend

Tick, tock
truth is late
Clap, stomp
we still wait

Two plus two is five tonight
Wrong feels heavy, lies feel light
Shadows bend, the crowd obeys
Start again, there's no end

Yeah! Numbers break
Yeah! Mirrors shake
Yeah! Nonsense rhymes
Yeah! It stands through time

Maps are drawn without the land
Castles built on grains of sand
Echoes ring, the night is loud
Wisdom hides inside the crowd

If the joke makes sense
It wasn't deep enough
If the nonsense lingers
It might be true

Shadows laugh
mirrors bend
Truth's a circle with no end
Clap once
stomp twice
Even lies can sound precise

Yeah! Numbers break
Yeah! Mirrors shake
Yeah! Nonsense rhymes
Yeah! It stands through time
Yeah! Clap, stomp, wait
Yeah! Truth is late

Tick, tock
Truth is late
Clap, stomp
We still wait

Truth Is Late (TikTok song)

I drew a line to measure truth
It bent itself into a loop
I tried to name the shape of time
It laughed and told me, "Not this time"

I chased the proof, the numbers lied
They split in two, then multiplied
The closer that I came to fact
The further it dissolved to act

Meaning hides in coded schemes
In broken clocks and endless dreams
The world’s a riddle, sharp and sly
It grins and winks each time you try

You reach for logic, it slips away
A paradox dressed in broad daylight
The punchline waits at the end of the play
It only lands when the timing’s right

Bazinga!
Bazinga!
Bazinga!
Bazinga!

Bazinga

When the voices call you scrolling
and their glow feels like the sea
they will steal your midnight hours
and disguise them as a dream

When the headlines kiss your eyelids
and the slogans stroke your skin
you keep leaning into windows
that were never meant to open

When the prophets sell subscriptions
and the saints are pay-per-view
you confess into their servers
they remember more than you

When the mirror starts replying
and it smiles the way you type
every gesture feels rehearsed
every silence gets a like

When the chorus drowns your heartbeat
and the static feels like home
you are singing with the sirens
though you think you're not alone

You can't turn it down
you can't turn away
you can't turn off yourself

You can't mute the hum
you can't close the glow
you can't stop what you know

You can't kill the song
you can't break the spell
you can't silence the well

You can't turn it down
you can't turn away
you can't turn off yourself

Digital Sirens

The lift breaks again
Seven flights of steps
I curse each one
I already miss you

A stranger complains
about the coffee taste
but all I can think
is the sound you make

The meeting drags on
Someone presents the slides
Their voice is a drone
my mind slips aside

I draw your outline
in the corner of notes
No one suspects
where my mind has gone

I already miss you
The hours don't move
Every clock is lying
Every thought is you
I already miss you

Lunch in the canteen
plastic and gray
They ask about deadlines
I nod, walk away

Your face in my mind
serene and absurd
You rarely speak
yet you speak every word

They bargain with minutes
they measure the day
But meaning is elsewhere
I've left it with you
I already miss you

I already miss you
The hours don't move
Every clock is lying
Every thought is you
I already miss you

And then
the door swings wide open
You greet me with cuddles and fur
with thunder of purr
with eyes that forgive the whole day

I missed you
You missed me
And nothing could be truer

I Already Miss You

They asked for proof
I offered none
They measured silence
Filed it under non-compliance

I'm not a camel
I'm not a camel
I'm not a camel
But the desert disagrees

They checked my spine 
for humps of pride
Found vertebrae of doubt instead
They nodded - classic case

I'm not a camel
I'm not a camel
I'm not a camel
Still they bring the rope

Every question comes pre-answered
Every form already signed

I'm not a camel
I'm not a camel
I'm not a camel
But they keep the sand on file

I'm not
I'm not

Not a Camel

The clock's a flirt with perfect teeth
It bites each hour beneath my breath
I lead, it follows - no, the reverse
A tango measured in rehearse

Step, slip, sign, send
The dance begins again
She whispers, "Late is still on time"
I nod - her logic tastes like wine

Footnotes wink, the data moans
Each theorem grinding on its bones
I count to ten, revise, delete
The mirror mocks my tangled feet

My dear Deadline
you move like smoke
I chase, you choke
When I catch you
I vanish
and you begin again

Step, slip, sign, send
The song pretends to end
The paper breathes, the cursor blinks
The tango winks, the tango thinks

Tomorrow, same time?
Of course

Deadline Tango

I start the day mid-thought
something between a drumbeat and an accident
The room blinks awake
and the tools gossip about yesterday's miracles
One hums
One sulks
One lies
They're all wrong
and that's perfect

I stretch,
the floor creaks like it wants to join in
so I let it
That's the thing about work
it only looks like effort
from the outside
From within, it's gravity
sweet and unfair
I chase a stubborn shape 
around the table
it refuses sense
so I call it progress

Every failure has a pulse
if you listen right
I tap it, feed it
name it Tuesday

Laughter spills from nowhere
probably mine
and the walls pretend not to notice
They've seen me argue with shadows before

I tell them:
you wouldn't understand
this part's critical!

The air thickens
a rhythm forms without permission
I lose count of time
gain count of motion

Sweat, sawdust, syntax
whatever this is
it's singing

And when I stop
nothing stops
The room keeps going
the tools finish the joke
the silence applauds

I bow, wipe my hands
whisper to no one:
That was fun
can't wait to do it again!

Can't Wait

They gave me a plaque
and I gave them a shrug
Said I'd made it
but I still packed lunch in a mug

The mirror bowed politely
the inbox threw confetti
My name misspelled in bold
close enough to celebrate

I've got a title no one uses
a password I forget
My empire fits in folders
still waiting for respect

My paper crown bends in the rain
ink running down the royal face
Every rule I followed
spelled my name wrong anyway

But maybe that's the trick of it
meaning hides in the small print
The joke's on grand ambition
the punchline's in persistence

Because the crown is cheap
but it's mine
Cut from yesterday's plans
lined with coffee stains and time

It may not shine on stage
but it holds when the wind complains
It's proof I showed up
again
and again

My paper crown bends in the rain
but it catches the light just the same
Not gold
not perfect
but honest enough
Every crease is a story
every tear, tough

Maybe greatness was never loud
just someone staying kind
still trying
still around

We wear our paper crowns
the crooked, the flimsy, the proud
We wear them not for glory
but because we're still here
Still building something small
that somehow lasts

Yeah
Call it fragile
Call it foolish
but it fits

Paper Crown

Typed a truth that bit my hand
Logic slipped through contraband
The graph looked smug, the proof got lost
I called it genius-at what cost?

I tried to fix it
the problem fixed me first
There's rhythm in recursion
and guilt in every verse

I feel silly, oh, so silly
twisting reason till it's frilly
Every thought insists it's wise
but wears a clown nose in disguise

I chased an answer down a hall of drafts
doors of maybe, doors of laughs
Truth peeked through a keyhole grin
"you again?" she said, and let me in

I feel...
not wrong
just misplaced
The melody rewrote my face

I feel silly, oh, so silly
Dancing wrong but looking pretty
Every paradox I own
sends postcards to my comfort zone

If wisdom comes, let it knock twice
I'm out rehearsing bad advice
I feel silly
and honestly
it feels just right

I feel silly, oh, so silly
Dancing wrong but looking pretty...
I feel silly, oh, so silly
Dancing wrong but looking pretty...

Silly-Frilly

They shoved me in the basement, where the light don’t glow
Took my desk, my coffee cup, but there’s one thing they don’t know
I’ve got a fiery treasure, bright against the gray
My red stapler’s my salvation, it’s my only getaway

Oh, red stapler, hold me tight
In this cubicle jungle, you’re my light
When the world burns down, I’ll smile and choose
To walk away singin’ the Red Stapler Blues

The boss can take my paycheck, the copier can jam
But my little red stapler says, “Stick it to the man”
It’s more than just an office tool, it’s my sacred fight
A tiny piece of justice in the corporate night

Oh, red stapler, hold me tight
In this cubicle jungle, you’re my light
When the world burns down, I’ll smile and choose
To walk away singin’ the Red Stapler Blues

Oh, red stapler, hold me tight
Shine like fire in the spotlight
Staple the blues, staple 'em true
Red stapler, I believe in you!

Axioms of Mediocrity

Pinned to spotlight

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