O' P, Where art thou?

Recently the P key of my laptop keyboard left me in the lurch as one fine night it decided it had enough and just took off.

Reconciled with it over a couple of days and got it back into it's place. Like they say, as new as brand new. But those couple of days! *sigh*

You know that phrase, "You realize the worth of something when it's taken from you"? Well, it's true. There is no word but "sheer-horrified"; more apt to describe living sans your P. I have been there, and it's not a very happy place to be. A life sans the P, the emotions, the tensions, that void...

Oh P, dear P, why'd you leave me alone?

P oh P, my dear P, don't make of your heart as stone!

Hear me P, serious-lee, don't play games with me, hun',

Hop back into your place, so i can again stick out my tongue.

P, my P, I'm sorry, i really am my dear key!

Won't you forgive this enlightened boy? Come back to me?

Come P, back to me, I miss you sin-see-err-lee,

Back we'd go to the days, when all was cool and happy.

I might just crack a lame one, but the punch is lost,

For without you P, sarcasm... is just cold as frost.

Many came, left unhappy hurt by words,

Something you, dear P with colon; did help curb.

Emotions betrayed, feelings misconceived,

As jest and humor, in your absence none perceived.

If not for me, for the sake of 'em innocent people, return,

Whom sticks and stones can break and words can also burn.

I apologize, my P, my dearest key; I'm on my knees,

Lets forget the past and turn over a new leaf.

I know I've been foolish before, but no-more to you,

If I've got to fool around, not with my P I'll do.

Hear me P, hear my plea; under the lonely sky,

Wait for you, as i do, under this pale moonlight.

No number of stars can fill, O' P this void that you left,

So return! Return to me P, without you, I'm bereft.

A lot of moaning and boning I've done over you, this is it,

I'm going rough on your ass now, time to shove you where you fit!

P, you're a key! Just some chips and logic-gate assembly!

Heck I'd interface you all i want, if not for my MuPee D!

I hope you learned your lesson P, you can't just go give up,

I'll find you, fix you, push you, shove you back.. till the time you're stuck!

Remember P, don't play with me! I play with you; once inserted,

I'll just use you here so none of the lines above will at-all sound perverted!   :P

Ah. It's good to have you back. :P

The 2-D limit

Of words on paper, a life in the pages,
A book, outside it all; its shell, bustling.
Beneath, a world so flat, wages,
The life, in all it's flat splendor rages.
So free, yet confined,
So opinionated, yet submissive,
Multi-dimensional, yet living in just two.


When you start spending too much time with books, you know it. You just get to know it. How, you ask? When your jokes start to sound like a physicist on drugs, you know you're in way too deep. Broadly classifying people from this perspective, we can define the distinction of the clique that DO things, and then there are those who DO books. Yes, i hate books. Books. In all their "knowledge" and "views", somehow bring about a whole new idea of an end. Of being limited while promising the limitless. Nah, i don't hate books. Books are just a means to distract us from OUR life, OUR problems. No better than RGV movies screening in halls are a cheap excuse for sly couples making-out in the dark corners. No, books are not bad. Their idea though, is a whole different issue! I just don't enjoy the concept of there being an end to something so boundless. Putting a period on the world that the last 400 odd pages bulit.

If an escape is the search, O' voracious one,
Why, does one lead to the other,
Forever in look, words come, pages go,
Yet elude doth, still looking are you?

Books can make you laugh, cry, sick, and lost. Books evoke, you fuel. What more solace can 400 odd pages offer you that you cannot yourself? What excitement or entertainment can those words provide that watching a fat kid fall off a sofa cannot? Bah.. I hate books, i really do. They are long, boring, have too many words, big words, and more often than not, they END. Those two words that ever evoke more emotion than any of the other 10 thousand in the book, THE END. Everything you were in the last dozen hours snaps, as you face that ugly bunch of homework/office-work that was slyly tucked away behind the puppy-eyed jacket that you hold. A book is not your escape, you are. It's what you percieve. Perception is your escape. One man's bore is what another adores.

Spill forth the lines, break the confines,
Beyond any end, limits that never expend.
Burst forth from the page, life's firey rage,
This, friend; is your creation,
... devoid of an end and it's stagnation.

I just hate books, sorry.