hee hee hee

This is my Hell Yeah badge.

:P

er...yes...um...that was the point.

Little?

You sit on a throne of lies. 'Twas not little, 'twas big. Very big. Grandiose, even. It's largess was largely larger than largeness itself.

Nevertheless, 'twas excellent.

...Hmph. You are overrunning my blog.

A Not So Little Poem

In fact, this is a short story. A folk tale.

The City of Myth

There are many ways to start a story. There’s the classic “Once upon a time, in a land far far away…”, the “A long time ago, in a place far far away”, the eccentric “It all started with…”, and many others, but out of all of those, none of them started like this one

In this story, there was a stone. This stone was at the bottom of a very deep and very dark lake, and in it was embeded a very noble sword named Excalibur, which was surrounded by a very large, very deep, and very strange forest. Now the name of this forest was the very large, very deep, and very strange forest; and only a few ventured there when entering into and out of the city of Myth.
Now the city of Myth was a very strange place; in fact, it was almost a myth. If you would venture into the blacksmith’s shop you would see him hammering out words, piecing them together, bit by bit, into sentences, paragraphs, even entire stories. Zeus, the mighty thunder-god, could be seen throwing lightning at the archery range; Poseidon, the horse-god, would be seen on a golden chariot with two incredible white horses with golden shoes and most noble eyes, riding through the marketplace, and maybe even the mighty Imhotep constructing the pyramids of abstraction.
It was the city of Myth. On market day, you would see all types wheeling a dealing, the number two wanted to be able to prove that it equaled two of one (which greatly aggravated the ones), Thing 1 was sure there was a God simply because the idea of God existed, while Thing 2 was convinced that there was no thing as God just as much as there weren’t imperfect squares. But, at for the city of Myth, there was no God; so as most ideas felt, if God existed, he must have been in the City of Mortals. But that’s another story.
Along with these, there were many other strange sites to be seen: Pi wanted to prove it was unique and couldn’t be written (much unlike those plain real numbers), Sleeping Beauty was getting sick of the Seven Dwarves constantly following her everywhere, and the shadows on the cave wall were constantly arguing whether they were real or not.
But, alas, although I could talk for a very long time about the City of Myth, its stories, it’s wars (for example, the bloody war between Communism and Democracy), none of that is a story.
The story starts with a young lawyer living here in the City of Myth. Now this lawyer was of very high blood, in fact he was very closely related to the Pythagorean Theorem, was distantly related with Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, and it was rumored that he was a direct descendent of Aristotle.
Now this lawyer had just finished law school at the City of Myth, during which he had learned a many important things including many of the laws of Science, Logic, Reasoning, the three government branches of Creative, Logical, and Mythical thinking, had much on Property Rights and Land Use, for example, you couldn’t just leave a Sudoku puzzle on your lawn and forget about it (the last time that happened it caused almost 300 years of distraction). He also learned many other such things, but most importantly, this lawyer was almost an expert on the Constitution of Myth.
At this point in mythological life, this lawyer was practicing for a law firm that specialized on certain cases concerning the Constitution of Myth. He was dealing with a rather difficult case now; the governor of poetry was suing than the governor of short stories for 222 million (who was presumable using all the words), and the governor of short stories was counter suing the governor of poetry for 222 million ideas (they always use them up).
Now both governors had become secluded, dropping almost all exchange of both thoughts and ideas, and because of the huge drop in quality, many prophesies were pointing to the arrival of the 21st century.
This was currently causing a nation-wide raise in word-prices, and the war on haikus was costing much of the annual capita.
The myth was that things were bad. Really bad. So bad that this young lawyer who was a rumored descendant of Aristotle knew that the simple process of the law could help no longer. So the rumored descendant of Aristotle thought of a plan, to search in the very large, very deep, and very strange forest for the lost mythical sword in the stone, because he knew, that whoever could pull the mythical sword out of the stone in the very large, very deep, and very strange forest at the bottom of the very deep and very dark lake, he would become the king of the City of Myth, and peace would resume.
So he started his journey through the very large, very deep, and very strange forest. When walking through the very large, very deep, and very strange forest, the first very large, very deep, and very strange member of the aforementioned forest he met was a very large, very deep, and very strange frog that was also green. When he saw the very large, very deep, and very strange frog that was also green the very large, very deep, and very strange frog that had been already mentioned as to have the characteristics of being very large, very deep, very strange and also green, the frog said “Ribbit.”
Now, seeing the danger of reiteration past, the young lawyer who was the descendant of Aristotle continued on his journey in the aforementioned forest. The next thing he met was nothing at all. No creative writing notebook with millions of jotted down ideas here. Nothing. Nothing at all. Nada. Zip. Then, being the rumored descendant of Aristotle, the young lawyer began to wonder if nothing was something. How could nothing be nothing? Wasn’t even nothing something?
And thus, the young lawyer conquered writer’s block, and he continued on through the very large, very deep, and very strange forest until he came to the very deep and very dark lake, at the edge of which he saw an old hermit who simply said: “You catch the one and only fish in this lake, and I’ll give you the mythical sword in the stone at the bottom of the very deep and very dark lake.” And then proceeded to hand the young lawyer a fishing rod. Well, being a lawyer practicing for a firm in the City of Myths, he hadn’t had much time for fishing. But he cast his line, and now he still waits, at the edge of the very deep and very dark lake, in the middle of the very large, very deep, and very strange forest, which surrounded the City of Myth, in which today you will still find cheap fiction that is very cheap, a nation-wide raise in word-prices, and prophets prophesying of the arrival of the 21st century.

:P

Yes...poetry will always fall subject to editing, but alas, the spirit will always remain!

Wait..never mind, you haven't even posted yet.

Wait... yes you have. Perhaps I am retarded.

Heh heh heh...

I just realized I can edit YOUR posts now that you have entered into my domain!!!


"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" --Me

Now I have laughed myself fuzzy. I curse you with a cursing.

Just a little Haiku

Waiting long life out,
Weighing wind against its leaves,

Golden snow to fall.

"ah...yes, beautiful!" -wolfmanrec

Just a little poem

Here's a little poem I thought of when wondering in awe about the savage nature of tree climbing Thesbians running down the street in sandals with gold and silver buckles like the moon:


Like the lapus-lazulia moundtains,
Anger flows like green stone on dark,
Cursing with its vengeance to kill, KILL!
Kill, like the darkness of my heart,
With a vengeance, like her,
Who I never saw, but alas, that dream...

What cause for hate, say ye mountain?
Curse thy children and raise thy hands?
See not Valley there?
It's smooth sloping slopes of green?

Alas, a mountain will always be a mountain.

For, twas' a mountain not a mountain,
It would ever cease to be so.