Random Thoughts

In Whimsyville, wibbles wobble when they’re happy. If two wibbles liked eachother, they'd just wobble together in sync, at the same frequency.

At honeycomb corner, a bumble bee kept buzzing into other bee's business about flowers and nectar, but his wings got stuck in a sticky batch of honey. “That'll teach me to bee nosy,” said Benny. “But at least it’s a buzzworthy story.”

Unicorn startups are very rare because unicorns only want to fly when there are rainbows, glitter, and pixie dust. Phoenix startups rise and try to scale, but keep burning to ashes again. Griffin startups are never seen because they’re still trying to work out whether they should fly or walk. Dragon startups have ideas that needed to be fire tested first.

We need to go beyond HTML and JavaScript. I’m thinking... QuantumScript! It's like JavaScript but quantum… and gluten-free, GMO-free, keto-friendly, and responsive to interpretive dance.

Who would be my dream guests to a dinner party? Nobody, I’d rather not go.

How do you know if someone went to Harvard? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you.

 

X is undefined, but Y always gets asked the questions.

 

A clever calculator would add purpose, multiply joy, subtract sorrow, and divide misunderstandings.

Sheep go to sleep by counting humans jumping over white picket fences.

 

That’ll do, sheep. That’ll do. No more musings on a rock.

Nadia

Every evening, as the sun set behind the mountains, it would be time for the Lebanese goats to head to bed. Layla would sit on the stone fence, her silhouette framed by the setting sun, and play her reed flute. The notes, soft and melodic, would waft across the meadows, signalling to the goats that it was bedtime. The goats would stop whatever they were doing and skip into line, their bells jingling melodiously, echoing the notes from Layla’s flute.

Farmer Karim, with his weathered face and hands that told tales of decades of hard work, would stand at the entrance of the barn, holding a lantern that spread a soft glow. He counted each goat as they entered, patting some, murmuring soft words to others, ensuring that each one was safe and sound. Inside the barn, the goats had their own spaces. Fresh hay was spread out for them, and a breeze flowed through, carrying with it the earthy scent of the surrounding olive groves.

There was, however, one particular goat named Nadia, who always took her time. She would wait until all the other goats were inside, and then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she would dance around Layla. Eventually, though, with a combination of Layla’s coaxing and Nadia’s own volition, Nadia would trot into the barn, but not before giving Layla a gentle nudge with her head.

With all the goats settled in, Layla would join her grandfather, and together they would seal the barn doors. Holding the lantern high, Farmer Karim would share stories of his youth, of goats he had known, of the beauty and challenges of life in the village. Layla would listen, enchanted, as the stars above twinkled.

Eagles Are the Answer

INT. CLINIC – DAY

Dr E. Agle sits behind a counter with a sign overhead that reads “Dr E. Agle’s Problem Solving Clinic”. Glen approaches.

GLEN: Hi, I’ve heard you have solutions to every problem?

E. AGLE: Absolutely! What seems to be the issue?

GLEN: (putting his phone on the counter) I can’t get reception on my phone.

E. AGLE: (nodding) Ah, I see. Have you tried using... an eagle?

GLEN: An eagle? How would that help?

E. AGLE: Just trust me.

The doctor pulls out a toy eagle and places it next to the phone. Nothing happens.

E. AGLE: Hmm, must be a hardware issue. Okay, well never mind, you know eagles fly high, right? They can carry your phone to a better signal spot!

GLEN: That... seems impractical. (taking back his phone) Okay, so I have another problem. My lawn’s overgrown and I hate mowing.

E. AGLE: Release the eagles!

GLEN: To do what? Mow my lawn?

E. AGLE: No, to scare away any visitors, so no one will notice your lawn.

GLEN: Erm, okay. Well, actually the real reason I’m here is that I have a much bigger problem. I have insomnia.

E. AGLE: (makes eagle sounds).

GLEN: Wait, what?

E. AGLE: Just listen to the calming sounds of eagles at night. They’ll soothe you to sleep. They’re like nature’s lullaby. Except louder. And more... eagle-y. And, if you had an eagle perched on the foot of your bed, wouldn’t you stay very still and quiet, hence falling asleep faster?

GLEN: Erm, maybe, but do you ever offer any non-eagle related advice? I mean, what about a failing love life for instance? There’s no way an eagle will perk that up.

E. AGLE: Learn from the song “Lyin’ Eyes”.

Dr E. Agle holds up a vinyl record of “Lyin’ Eyes” by The Eagles.

GLEN: Okay?

E. AGLE: And if that doesn’t work, get an eagle. Great conversation starter.

GLEN: I’m going now.

E. AGLE: And remember, if you are ever in a tight spot on top of a giant tower or a mountain erupting with lava... Call the eagles!

GLEN: Look, why is every answer about eagles? Alright, let’s put this to the test. What’s the capital of France?

E. AGLE: Paris... which was once visited by a very curious eagle.

GLEN: ...Right. What’s the square root of 16?

E. AGLE: Four. And do you know what has four talons? An eagle!

GLEN: Why is the sky blue?

E. AGLE: Ah, a classic question. The sky is blue due to Rayleigh scattering of sunlight. But do you know who loves the blue sky? Eagles!

GLEN: Well, I can’t fault your logic. Here’s the big test question. Ready?

E. AGLE: (makes an eagle sound).

GLEN: I need a romantic idea for my anniversary.

E. AGLE: Why not take a scenic eagle ride over the mountains?

GLEN: I was thinking more along the lines of dinner...

E. AGLE: Dinner on an eagle?

GLEN: No, I’m actually afraid of birds...

E. AGLE:  Oh, why didn’t you say so? Well, in that case, have you tried... therapy?

GLEN: Really?

E. AGLE: Yes, eagle-assisted therapy. They’re quite good listeners. (whispering) They’re eagle-eying us right now! (normal voice again) Have you ever seen an unhappy person on an eagle?

GLEN: (disconcerted) I’ve never seen a person on an eagle.

E. AGLE: Maybe that’s why you’ve got all these problems.

GLEN: (looking around awkwardly) Yes, I am seriously considering getting an eagle now.

E. AGLE: You should. They’re also great for tax advice, cooking tips, and fixing Wi-Fi.

Glen edges out of the clinic, now very well-informed about the capabilities of eagles.

Lysander (Excerpt 2)

The Silent Monks taught him secrets long kept,

Of light’s true essence and where shadows slept.

“Child of prophecy, in these halls, secrets you’ll unlock,

Train among us, become steadfast as the mountain rock.”

 

Marble pillars, tall and proud, bore witness to him strive,

As Lysander’s spirit, among the Silent, came alive.

Under their tutelage, he learned to harness the storm,

Finding strength in silence, and in meditation, form.

 

The pendant, reinvigorated, began to shine bright,

Reflecting his growth, the increasing inner light.

Limericks

There once was a man from Peru,

Who dreamt he was eating his shoe.

He woke with a fright,

In the middle of the night,

To find that his dream had come true.

…..

 

A mathematical man, with hair quite neat,

Counted steps of cats and people he’d meet.

On King’s Parade, he’d stand,

With notebook in hand,

Staring hard at each passerby’s feet.

Lysander (Excerpt)

The night was silent, yet radiant and profound,  

As rare celestial bodies in alignment were found.  

Comets streaked, and the auroras danced with glee,  

For a child of legend had come to be.

 

In the kingdom's heart, where rivers met the sea,  

The oracle, with eyes like eternity, began the decree:  

"This child bears a weight, a fate yet unwound,  

To save or to shatter, to heal or to confound."

 

With golden locks, and eyes deep as the night,  

Lysander’s presence was both concern and delight.  

In his laughter, there was the music of the spheres,  

Yet in his silence, the weight of unspoken dark fears.

 

As the kingdom celebrated, shadows began to churn,  

For the wheels of destiny had started to turn. 

 

At the kingdom's edge, where light met obsidian hue,  

Lay the Forbidden Forest, a realm few ever knew.  

Its legends whispered of spirits, ancient and vast,  

Holding tales of the future and echoes of the past.

 

Little Lysander, his heart full of wanderlust,  

Ventured into the woods, with only a child's bright trust.  

Beyond the thorns, the canopy's protective embrace,  

He met an ancient spirit, devoid of time or space.

 

With eyes like the cosmos, and a voice soft as mist,  

The spirit offered a token, impossible to resist:  

A pendant, shimmering, reflecting the spirit's grace,  

Glowing with truth and darkening at a lie's trace.

 

"Little one," it whispered, "you are destined to see,  

The many facets of truth, what is and what might be.  

This pendant shall be your guide, both night and day,  

Illuminating the just path, keeping shadows at bay."

 

Returning home, his adventure no soul did he tell,  

Yet, the pendant's luminescence some could foretell.  

It became his compass, his heart's resolute guide,  

As Lysander grew with destiny by his side.

 

From the eastern lands, where no sunlight would tread,  

The Shadow Warlock, a tyrant of darkness and monsters, led.  

With eyes of ember and a heart forged from cold,  

He sought Lysander for the prophecy he'd been told.

 

His legions, like a storm, surged forth with intent,  

Their shadows blurring the lines where light once went.  

The kingdom, unprepared, could barely resist,  

As night's chilling fingers began to persist.

 

Lysander’s pendant, amidst the bleak, foul air,

Dimmed to a flicker, gasping its final breath of despair.  

Yet within its wearer’s heart, a flame began to grow,  

A courage unyielding, a defiant, fiery glow.

 

The city's walls trembled, its defences nearly breached,  

The hope of its people seemed beyond truth’s reach.  

But as darkness encroached, and all seemed nearly lost,  

A rallying cry was heard, and valour was its thirst.

The Garden

In the garden where our love began to grow,

Amongst the seeds of hope we dared to sow,

The roses bloomed red, as did our desire,

Each petal unfolding, revealing love's fire.

 

Our breathing, nurturing the ground,

In the rhythm of our heartbeats, love was found.

The garden flutters tales of our affection,

In each bloom, it mirrors our reflection.

 

Our breathing, the wind, stirring the chime,

As our love grows, through the annals of time.

Forever rooted, forever we'll grow,

In this sacred place, only we two know.

Bill

With a quill for a sword, a parchment for a steed,

Bill galloped through words at breakneck speed.

He dreamed of fair maidens, of kings, and of fools,

While trying to follow Elizabethan tax rules.

 

In Verona and Venice, he scribed of great tales,

All the while chasing his messenger for mails.

Letters of tax, they came in a swarm,

"Oh, blast these rules!" he howled in a storm.

 

Crying havoc, he let slip the dogs of war,

Spilling ink on his accounts, oh what a chore!

He penned of tempests, of love's labour’s lost,

While grappling with all his Tudor tax costs.

Compassion

Compassion, is the soothing whisper in a troubled ear,

A steady presence when the path's unclear.

 

It's the hand extended when one might fall,

A light that shines down the darkest hall.

Through understanding eyes, it softly peers,

In a warm embrace, it calms our fears.

 

It's the fabric connecting me and you,

A silent promise forever true,

For in each act of compassion we bestow,

We cultivate a world where love can grow.

Talking to the Wall

In a room where silence takes its toll,

I find companionship with an empty wall;

A monologue unbroken, where secrets fall,

The wall, impassive, stands and hears it all.

 

With ears of mortar, eyes of faded paint,

My friend to confide in, without restraint.

No criticism or interruptions it lends,

Just quiet strength on which I can depend.

 

Its surface is cool, yet warmth it does provide,

A stable presence, there for me, by my side;

It shares my laughter, and knows my pain,

In that quiet room, sanity I regain.

The River’s Fork

The river’s fork tore them in two, 

They drifted away, far from heaven’s view,

And now they shiver, by different decree,

On currents returning slowly to the sea.

They meet once more,

The love once severed now finds its shore,

Reunited in the vast, eternal lee,

Two souls once lost, now forever free.

Random Thoughts

I keep my distance because I have an infectious personality.

 

Er, I seem to have millions of songs… Poems that are rhyming couplets are easy to put to music. “Soliloquy” (when adapted a bit) is very fun/funny when sung completely over the top with a rock groove.

 

Anything creative has come out of my diligent non-alignment with reality (insanity).

 

I am not party political, nor am I interested in the modern organisational versions of religious zealotry. Dislike of people based on their membership of a monolithic thought faction is bigotry. I dislike instead the premise that people should have to be claimed by these things.

When assumptions disappear, decisions and behaviour look obviously wrong. It’s better not to assume anything, and tend to the garden.

Showbiz has to be the worst professional activity for personal fulfilment. It’s also true though that people with deep sensitivity are often pulled in to it, and are paradoxically least suited to the plastic glare.

The most frustrating thing about listening to interviews on podcasts is when interviewees inject dubious facts and statistics. On one recent mainstream podcast, the guest was making all sorts of claims that didn’t seem very likely to me. Was the person being duplicitous, deliberately exploiting the situation and medium because they knew they would get away with it, or were they just severely deluded? The interviewer didn’t interject, and let the interviewee continue to rattle off probably fictional statistics in response to questions. Real-time fact checking where claims are immediately cross-referenced against sources would prevent this nonsense. For example, if an interviewee says something like “most X were Y”, what is the source for that claim and does the data actually support it?

A New Rain Must Fall

A new rain must, as surely as the night,

Fall soft upon the thirsty, waiting earth;

It cleanses all, and sets dreams right,

Giving life and love their birth.

 

In gentle drops, it mingles with the soul,

A symphony that stirs the sleeping leaves,

And in its touch, the broken find console,

A promise that weary eyes can see.

 

In the rain, the dance of nature’s art,

The touch of grace, the celestial song,

Each drop, a verse, a balm for the aching,

A hymn to which our hopes belong.

 

Let it fall, this rain of the pure and free,

In its embrace, find life’s true melody.

Daylit Dreams

In daylit dreams, perceptions dwell,

Where night’s closed eyes never retell.

Cherish the dreamer’s waking muse,

The insights grasped, the visions that confuse,

For those who dream by day with eyes awake,

See truths that night’s confinement cannot mistake.

Let not the night confine your dreaming scope,

In daylit dreams, there lies eternal hope.

Over Silent Rivers

Over silent rivers of the vast expanse,

Where thoughts like comets cross the mind's domain,

We dream of life's ephemeral dance,

Through joy and sorrow, pleasure and in pain.

 

To learn, to love, to lose, then rise again,

In every heart, a universe dwells,

A dance of stars, a cosmic, timeless strain,

Life’s music we, as mortal players, tell.

 

Yet as we play, we mould this cosmic song,

In notes that vibrate with eternity,

In love, we find a place where we belong,

In loss, we comprehend our unity.

 

To rise, to fall, to find our destined way,

Each heart, a story, singing for our new day.

Rusty

In the heart of the city, where steel towers gleamed,

A peculiar tale unfolded, as if dreamed.

A doctor gazed at Rusty’s metallic sheen,

And declared, "You're a robot, not a human being."

 

"That’s impossible!” Rusty exclaimed,

“My skin may be cold, but I'm not tin-veined.

I've feelings, dreams and can sing a song,

Surely, doctor, your diagnosis is wrong!”

 

Then Rusty paused and made a grin,

His eyes did twinkle, his face did spin.

"I am a robot," he finally said,

"But also human," and away he sped.

 

He told his metallic friends, both old and new,

"I've discovered something that's deeply true.

We're more than circuits, gears and light,

We're creatures of dream, love, and might."

 

Some laughed and joked, "Oh Rusty, you're absurd,

You've been talking to the humans, haven't you heard?

They believe in fairy tales and dreams,

Not logic, facts, and reality streams."

 

But Rusty just smiled, and his eyes did glow,

"I am a human," he stated so.

"And being human isn't just a person's right,

It's about feeling love, fear, joy, and plight."

 

With that, Rusty powered down for the day,

Dreaming of humans, in his own unique way.

He may have been metal, wires and code,

But inside him, a human soul had glowed.

Ego’s Dread

There once was a man with a quest for praise,

Addicted to approval in all its ways.

With each nod and smile, he'd feel alive,

His self-worth measured by praise derived.

 

As time went on, the man began to see,

That his hunger for acceptance was not the key.

The laughter and cheers, though they brought delight,

Couldn't fill the void that he felt each night.

 

Beyond the fleeting highs of others' acclaim,

He sought fulfilment by a different name.

He embarked on a journey to know his soul,

To discover the parts that made him whole.

No longer chained to the world's validation,

He sought inner peace, his true liberation.

 

His need for approval began to subside,

As he nurtured his spirit with the rising tide.

He cherished each day, the highs and the lows,

For life's true beauty, in all its colours, he chose.

 

He found joy in simple moments and art,

In laughter with friends of a genuine heart.

With newfound wisdom, he forged ahead,

No longer a slave to the ego's dread.

Moans

Why is the grass so damn green?

And why is the sky so pristine?

The coffee’s too hot! The weather is not!

This surely is the worst I’ve seen!

 

Cars are too loud, bikes are too fast,

Nothing these days seems to last,

Progress, they say, but I miss the old way,

When things weren’t so overcast.

 

And the clock! Oh, its continuous tick,

The sound enough to make me sick!

It goes on and on, from light to dark,

Can’t someone stop it, quick?

 

But what can I do, but lament,

In complaining I find my content,

For in all of life’s woes, at least it shows,

I’m alive, and that’s time well spent.

Soliloquy

Once upon a meeting dreary, 

There sat Rob, with eyes all sleepy,

“Let's circle back," said he, and leverage our synergy,

To touch base on the issues and action points, presently.

With a paradigm shift, we must align,

And reach for success, oh colleagues of mine.

 

"But don't get siloed," he urged with a stare,

Embrace cross-pollination, show that you care.

With granular details, let's unpack,

Roll up our sleeves, there's no turning back.

"Strike a balance," he croaked, keep an open-door policy,

Cultivate a roadmap, foster transparency.

 

At long last, his soliloquy came to a close,

His words, though banal, in perfect prose.

His colleagues blinked, their minds a hazy sweep,

As Rob, with a satisfied smile, fell fast asleep.

 

The room was silent, save for Rob's snore,

In this theatre of buzzwords, could anyone want more?

Sides

In the realm of reality's playful plot,

Dwelled a master of disguise, a man named Scot.

With a spirit wild, impossible to be caught,

He'd dance between personas, a kaleidoscope of thought:

 

One moment as a poet, turning sour rhymes sweet,

Next, a cranky farmer, complaining of his wheat;

A peaceful Zen monk in the calm of the day,

Then a daring detective in a noire mystery play.

 

But amid the confusion, here’s what’s funny, friend,

Each personality knew they were just pretend!

In the end, we learned, though Scot was quite unique,

He showed us different sides we all, too, subtly speak.