Found Humor #1

WHAT?!?!
Who is this guy? Why is he angry? Who drew him? Why does he appear on page 301 of my library's copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls? Who does he think he is!?

Dancing towards Marathon

Bees use honey as a source of energy,
and a green— err— yellowhouse to trap the heat of the world
to warm their lives and larvae.
Long gone cultures gave honey
to their warriors, filling them
with energy and courage.
Other long gone cultures
used honey to embalm their dead.
Some people put honey in tea
to flavor it up.
Giving warmth or
giving energy,
honoring those you care for,
making bitter things taste sweet:
these are all good uses for honey,
and i have heard of none that are bad.

The need to run
to run and not stop
no matter how it hurts
how much wind is knocked out of you
how much energy has leaked away
each step
brings you closer to the end.
And here the end has two meanings;
there's two ends you are running towards
just like Pheidippides (although he didn't
know about the second end of his race,
he had no honey to keep him going).
The end you can choose to stop chasing
is the one you should never stop running for
ever
except to take a breather.
Take a breather.
It will hurt a while more before things stabilize
before your heart starts beating normal
before your throat stops burning,
and once the symptoms pass
we all run again
and on until
we reach the end we were going towards
since the beginning.
But that's the end that doesn't
really matter.

Bees telling each other where they've been,
where they're going,
where they are,
by dancing.
They spin about each other,
never touching,
dancing towards Marathon,
and neither of them
will fall to the Persians,
they'll both watch each other's
backs. After all,
what is the best offense:
escape or attack?
Friendship.

I lit my arms on fire,
"Warm arms" I quote.
"mmmmm... perhaps too warm," someone says.
I put the oceans into a thermos.
"Drink," I say.
"No one is going to drink that. It's salt water," someone says.
Forks and sporks pop out of my knuckles
like Wolverine I war growl-scream,
"Kitchen UTENSILS!"
*sigh* goes someone.
So, instead I put on a sweater
and a blanket,
mix up a couple of hot cocoas,
and put a spoon in each
to stir the marshmellows with.

"Someday," I say to you,
"we'll have to look back at all this
and tell what we thought it meant
and explain
what it precisely meant,
because I have the feeling I only got
half of it, for sure,
no matter how clever and quick you think
I am."

JumpBox: The Game!

So, I've finally uploaded my first flash game, JumpBox, over at the Kongregate.
The link should take you to the page.
I'm very excited.

Update:
I am disappointed. No one understands it. Everyone thinks I'm being a jerk.
:(

http://forums.tigsource.com/index.php?topic=6297.0

But, that's okay. This is the way things roll sometimes.

Update 2: Some people are starting to get it.

Caduceus

Conversation Reflected:
"Is this a helmet or a
bucket?"- "Whatever
it is, make use of it."-
"But if I use it like a
helmet then the bucket
will break, and if I use
it like a bucket I will
never be able to carry
the treasure inside of the
helmet."-"But a decision
has to be made."-"This is
bogus."
the dance: two dancers,
limbs twisting sweat
glistening in steps and
sweeps around each
other like snakes about
a wand. sometimes the
spinning makes it hard
to see what's going on
but doesn't make the
dance less beautiful.
the daughter of the sun wonders if the dance will bring a
blizzard and he does not know, Prometheus' words are
muted by the eagles beak, and he is the son of Orpheus
so how can he not plunge forward.
Hazard: At the edge of
the snowstorm I stood,
waiting. "what are you
waiting for?" There was
something left among
those snow flakes amidst the vapor, perhaps i can get it
back. "Does anyone want you to?" I look towards the snow.
the search: the last few nights i stalk the kitchen trying to
find what i want to eat. not chips, not fruit, not sandwiches.
i want something soft, something whole that will comfort
my being. then each
night i realize what
i'm looking for is
banana bread
muffins

Ambassador

prologue.

someone else's voice
speaking the words of my heart
this momentary mirror

is it destiny
or accident

1.
A king, questing, came to a castle.
He hesitated, holding a hand
over scars scored in sieges
and ripped during routes.
He proffered his poet to probe
the defenses and to divine if destiny
was written on the walls.
The bard bawled out ballads bellow at the base
and awaited an answer from anyone above.

2.
inked lines form
Rorschach tests
ink reflecting my own past
like light on the mirrors of a telescope

like Narcissus I see myself
in every blotch of light
that took so long to travel back.
is it because i am there
or because i want to be
as the light hits the ink does
it spell out "this is for you"

or form the shape of an ink spill
I will only reach for it with metaphor
just to be safe,
to buffer the heat of the stars

3.
I tried to grow a cafe
but, sneakily, it grew into a temple.
do i drink tea and never pray,
pretend the windows aren't glowing colors
and the pillars don't hold up the sky?
does drinking tea and chatting about proust
ever turn a temple back into a cafe?
no

epilogue.

a voice in a cage
two sets of lips
sip on the lip of a tea cup
against the softness that filled the air
with warmth and itself
being held by holding
the king of hearts: "my king's heart throbs at the cards you put down"

Zogatar visits flattop grill

Once, back in the past, I went with some friends to a restaurant place. The comic is the only good thing that came of that day.

The Happy Lords: #50-57

He is saying, "My lords, notice its parking capabilities."