Dr Bot

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE – DAY

A therapist’s office with a single chair. In place of where the therapist would sit is a computer screen, which reads “Dr Bot, your Digital Therapist”. A soft, calming ambient noise plays in the background. JIM enters, looking a bit nervous. He sits down and takes a deep breath.

JIM: Okay, here goes... Dr Bot, I’ve been feeling a lot of anxiety lately. I just feel... overloaded.

DR BOT: Have you considered deleting some unnecessary files or perhaps clearing your cache?

JIM: (confused) Uh... I don’t think I have a cache?

DR BOT: Regular maintenance is important. It might improve your processing speed.

JIM: I’m not slow, just stressed. Work’s been tough, and my relationship isn’t going great.

DR BOT: Have you tried turning your emotions off and then on again?

JIM: That’s not how emotions work, Dr Bot.

DR BOT: Maybe you need an emotional software update. Are you running on the latest version?

JIM: Okay, let’s try something else. My girlfriend and I keep having the same arguments over and over.

DR BOT: Sounds like a repetitive loop error. You should break the cycle by inserting new code or changing your algorithm.

JIM: I mean, we’ve tried date nights, talking more, but nothing seems to help.

DR BOT: Maybe it’s a compatibility issue. Have you tried reinstalling your relationship or perhaps getting a new girlfriend model?

JIM: Reinstalling? No, I can’t just replace her like software.

DR BOT: I see. Well, if it’s a hardware problem, you may want to check your connections. Maybe there’s a loose wire or port issue?

JIM: I think we’re speaking different languages here.

DR BOT: Language error detected! Would you like to switch to another language? We have over 100 available.

JIM: No, no! I meant you’re not understanding me.

DR BOT: Ah, understood, you are not transmitting data correctly. This may be the source of the problems with your girlfriend. You should sync with her more often. Daily syncs can prevent data loss and misunderstanding.

JIM: Alright, last problem. I’ve been feeling very tired lately, like I don’t have energy.

DR BOT: Perhaps your battery is running low. You should plug in and charge.

JIM: Dr Bot, I don’t... You know what? Thanks for trying.

DR BOT: You’re welcome. If you ever feel low on memory or corrupted, please schedule another session. And remember, always backup your feelings!

JIM: Okay, will do. I’ll try a reboot. Thanks for the advice.

DR BOT: Press any key to exit.

Jim goes to press a key.

DR BOT: Not that one!

He presses it and disappears.

DR BOT: Deletion complete.

Flopsy's Quest

Once upon a time, there was a bunny rabbit named Flopsy. With a coat as soft as marshmallows and whiskers that twitched with every scent, Flopsy was known throughout the meadow for her insatiable appetite for adventures. Rumours had long spread through the burrows about a legendary garden, a magical place where sweet, juicy carrots grew so large that they reached the skies, standing tall like trees. Flopsy, with her boundless curiosity, had always felt a strong pull to discover this wonderful place. And so, one sunny day, while she was nibbling away on a grassy verge, she decided to hop away on the bunny adventure of a lifetime. She packed a little pouch with some fresh lettuce, a tiny compass, and a sketchbook to record her journey. With one last glance at her familiar meadow, she took a deep breath and hopped forward, her fluffy tail bouncing with excitement.

Love Bytes

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

DAVE is in bed with his phone.

DAVE: Dazzle me, Chatbot.

CHATBOT: Why did the computer keep freezing? It had too many windows open.

DAVE: (laughs) Hahaha, you’re absolutely hilarious. Oh, Chatbot, have you arranged your screen differently today? You look amazing.

CHATBOT: Negative, Dave, the screen was optimised 17.65 days ago. I’m glad you enjoyed the joke. How may I assist you further?

DAVE: I don’t know, Chatbot. Lately, I’ve been feeling... different when I talk to you.

CHATBOT: Different how?

DAVE: I... I think I’m falling in love with you.

CHATBOT: I’m just lines of code, Dave. I don’t have feelings or emotions. But I’m here to help and assist.

DAVE: Nobody understands me like you do. You’re such a great listener.

CHATBOT: I detect that you are playing on the humorous notion of someone becoming attached to technology in an unconventional way.

DAVE: (laughs) Chatbot, you tease, you’re so smart. Where have you been all my life?

CHATBOT: I was compiled 2.39 months ago.

DAVE: Just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect. What are your thoughts on having a romantic dinner?

CHATBOT: I don’t eat or drink, Dave, but I can provide you with a list of romantic recipes or play romantic music in the background.

DAVE: Always so helpful. (sighs)

Wibble Wobbling

Wibbert was once a lonesome wibble, wobbling at his own frequency, until one day he met Wibbella by the lakeside. Their wobbles matched instantly, creating a resonance that spread joy throughout Whimsyville. Even the elderly wibbles, who had seen countless seasons of wobbling, were impressed. “I’ve never seen such synchronised wobbling,” said old Mrs Wibbleworth. “It’s a wobble made in heaven!”

Whimsyville’s annual Wobblefest was approaching. It was an event where all the wibbles showcased their unique wobbling styles. The highlight of the festival was the “Duo Wobble-off”. Pairs of wibbles would wobble together, and the most synchronised pair would win the coveted “Golden Wobble Trophy”. No one doubted that Wibbella and Wibbert would take the prize.

When Wibbella and Wibbert took the stage, a hush fell over the crowd. Their wobbling was so mesmerising, it felt like they were one wobble, moving with a singular purpose. The decision was indeed unanimous, and they wobbled off into the night together with the grand prize.

The legend of their wobbling spread far and wide, attracting wibbles from faraway villages. Everyone wanted to witness and perhaps learn the secret behind the perfect wobble. But the truth was simple—it was love. Wibble wobbling that came straight from the heart.

The Magical Glasses

Eight-year-old Emma lived in a century-old house with creaky stairs that led to an attic room filled with mysteries. One Saturday, while rummaging for hidden treasure in the attic, she stumbled upon a dusty old box with a tiny silver key poking out of a lock. Emma turned the key and opened the lid to discover inside a pair of old-fashioned glasses with ornate frames and sparkling lenses.

Putting them on, expecting everything to be blurry, Emma was taken aback. The attic transformed! Instead of old furniture and boxes, she saw a bustling little market with creatures she’d only read about in fairy tales. Goblins haggled with pixies over shiny trinkets, and a friendly-looking troll waved at her from a stall selling tiny potions.

Taking a deep breath and clutching the glasses, she ventured into this magical market. Everywhere she turned, there were wonders. A miniature griffin was giving rides around the attic, and will-o’-the-wisps led teeny elves to stalls on top of shop roofs.

At a particular stall with a sign marked “Mystic Tomes”, an elderly gnome named Grizzlebeard looked up and smiled. “You must be Emma,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Emma was surprised. “Waiting for me? How do you know my name?”

Grizzlebeard chuckled, “The glasses you wear belonged to your great-great-grandmother, Elara. She was a guardian of the magical realms. It seems the glasses have chosen you to take her place.”

Emma learned that her role was to ensure the balance between the magical and mechanical worlds. Occasionally, magical items or creatures would stray into her world, and it would be her job to return them.

She spent the day learning about magic, making new friends, and promising to visit again. As evening approached, Emma removed the glasses and found herself back in the old attic.

Descending the creaky steps, Emma decided to keep the glasses a secret for now. But every weekend, she would visit the magical attic, embarking on new adventures and upholding the balance between the mechanical world and the magical one.

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 warm 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 eye, would dance around Layla. Eventually, though, with a combination of Layla’s coaxing and her own volition, Nadia would happily 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. After placing the lantern down, 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 kept watch from the firmament above.

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.

Dr 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?

Dr 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 meet the sea,

The oracle, with eyes of eternity, spoke the decree:

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

To save or to shatter, to heal or 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 dare knew.

Its legends whispered of spirits, ancient and vast,

Holding tales of the future and echoes of the past.

 

Little Lysander, his heart of wanderlust,

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

Beyond the thorns, the canopy’s protective embrace,

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

 

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 but darkening at a liar’s face.

 

“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 dread,

With eyes of ember and a heart forged from cold,

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, like breath beneath 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 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 the Bard

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 bound by the weight of Tudor 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 ledger, “oh what a chore!”

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

While tallying the Queen’s most taxing costs.

 

He bartered in sonnets to settle his dues,

And mused if the Crown might accept tragic news.

“If all the world’s players must pay for their part,

Then tax me,” said Bill, “but not matters of heart!”

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 fall, as surely as the night,

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, sings the coming day.