Robots
Robots enjoy nothing more than hanging out with friends over the weekends. When thinking about what they do in their 'of-time' more questions than answers arise. For example: Where do they go, what do they drink, how to they laugh if they have no vocal chords? How do they know when It's weekend if they are in the far-side of the galaxy.. What is time, what IS time to a Robot, what is time to me? And most curious case, what music do they listen to? we might never know these things, not even the people that created these machines know anything other than:If you don't let a Robot leave When the clock hits 2:30 on a Friday afternoon, The Camel Drive will go rogue, followed by a rogue going Robot... Many a wars have been fought between Managers and Robots in regards to working overtime on weekends, many were never seen or heard from again.
Skyriders!
In the heart of every man, or brain of every monkey if we're speaking on intergalactic terms, is the desire to travel fast.Every time the thundering frequencies of a V8 engine or the high-pitched puffs of a speed bike trying to change gears reach the ears of man, something snaps. The sudden need for phenomenal acceleration has long been the unspoken goal of humanity and thus, after the discovery of the Cameldrive, man had only one question: "can this thing make things go fast?" They soon found out that that was a yes, with an exclamation mark and the skin from a peeled face afterwards...
Definition:
(an epical, fantastical and totally uncontrollable flying vehicle with a very un-epical and hideous rider).
A little story
Johny was once started by a Scyrider, thundering across his veranda. This resulted in him dropping his coffee. The coffee fell down, way down into the lower parts of the
Skytower. A strange snaillike creature discovered the power of caffeine and now runs a underground chess club. Snails are strange.
Foxy
Foxy is a fox that lives on a hill somewhere, thats it really.
A few thoughts
To soar on wings like Camels... the most graceful thing to ever fly.
So close, so far
I little man-type-thing with more than the world on his back,
Realized he's still not happy, there is something he lacks.
His gaze falls down upon a lovely flower in the air,
Floating freely without care.
Can't you see it, aint it clear,
She is both so far and near.
Will he let go of the life he built,
To love the flower without guilt.
To find her wherever she might be,
Together can they be free?
Or will he just keep carrying on,
Till night and day and life is gone.
The story is long but has to be told, Life without love is very cold.
Writings from: Junkfood Poetry.