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Devil Drink
Don’t blame it on the stars,
It’s just a little twist of Fate,
Sometimes the hands don’t meet
In the figures’ drawn on eight.
I asked the devil for a drink
He led me to his watering hole,
‘Son, this here’s some holy stuff:
A barrel bottom’s also gold.’
So in a swig and in a swig,
The earth took the sky for a spin,
And the next thing I knew
Reality’s birth without, within.
Dear mother Fate at last we met
When still the starry night was cast
The devil took me hand in hand,
And matched my fortunes missed at last.
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In Marketing 1 Lecture. I’m taking it as a ‘university requirement’ so that I can graduate into the type of person the university wants me to be. It’s been awhile since I sat in such a huge lecture hall. Everyone around me looks really fresh and young; and not in the I-just-bathed way.
I wonder to myself: was I really like that four years ago? Some bright-eyed, possibly idealistic, probably cynical boy-man, yet to realize the direction which the world turns.
Skip ahead four years later. Milling around listening to the lecturer compare Windex to Clorox (Tissue Wipes), I’m a quarter-of-a-century old, and I’m questioning if my biggest achievement so far is to write some thoughts down which attempt to be quasi-poetic.
Quarter-life crisis?
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A Club named Aura
Hey lady with your knee-high boots:
sweet innocence has met her match
and all you had to do was shoot
your pistols, oh my what a catch,
it must have been some dizzied day
your rocker-chic, came strutting in,
she stole the stage with just a sway
her hips they surely caused a din.
and garland, garland by the buy,
around your neck: new sins were born,
only after the drinks were dry
did dancing leave dear lady morn.
