put an a

put an a in front of something, put a something behind an a. creation. this is so simply a paradoxical nightmare, suck on this alphaville robot

incestuous words

try to write a page without any puns. i would write, without the use of puns but this suggests said puns could be a tool, being controlled and used at will by the pun user. even the idea of a "pun user" suggests this.
i believe they are not tools, used to express meaning and validate intelligence but an unwanted byproduct from a system that if physicallized into a human context, would resemble an incestuous family, so deformed over endless generations, garbling nonsensical noises, mistranslating each other via broken vocal chords, slack tongues and generational social difference.
future generations are kept in test tubes along side their ancient ancestors, unwillingly pickled and preserved to be viewed but not seen by the present concoctions of self proclaimed humanity, judged by a kitchen blender of rules and norms that somehow can be linked to this strange collectives ideas of culture with words.
this serial killer cliched family often; as the movies suggest, prey upon stray travelers, lost in the vast and unforgiving desert of self motivated exploration. captured, mutated, exchanged, raped, married, fed pickled juices and brainwashed until their assimilation into this heinous family is complete and all identity is erased and hope of resolution destroyed.

robot ponders whilst smoking

the comfort cigarette
he needs to be comforted
thoughts that penetrate the face

the dew on the grass is only a barrier
an inverted state, looking up an imaginary mountain

creeping light creeps on him
like a bird that does not creep
sooth away says the bird
make your path

sparkling dew is the rush that comes quietly
arrive ten minutes early

he doesn't realize this transitional transit
conceited narrative melts in the sun
the candle as it once was

the unnoticed clouds make way
their absence
sustain euphoria

dew on the grass
no lesser a barrier
the light is transferred

may there always be clouds

robot observing moments and placing in first person

she licked the tears from my face
the disgusting irony was swallowed but not digested
i couldn't help but smile
her innocence
her infectious, blissful ignorance

                                                                             tears induced by the loss of moments like this

moments that will be romanticized, cherished and despised
i didn't care
free fuel for this heartbroken figure