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Location:Texas, USA Naturalized US Citizen of Irish extract -   Fixed Wing and Helo trucker.Interests: "The Absurdity of Man". I am a proud supporter of Blarney, Nonsense, and Hooey. I enjoy being a chopper jockey, and trying to figure the world, people and belief systems out. I'm just not very good at it, so it keeps me real busy. I scribble, blog, run this website, mess with rental houses, ride motorbikes, and read as much as I can. I went solo 44 years ago, and I like to say I'm gonna get me a real job one day. When I grow up. ("but not just yet, Lord, not just yet") For my aviation scribbles see www.chopperstories.com.... enjoy! I wish you Peace in your Life. May you always walk with the sun on your face, and a breeze ruffling your hair. And may you cherish a quiet wonder for our awesome Universe. Life isn't always good. But it is always fascinating. Never quit.
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Into this rushing, cyber world
INTO THIS RUSHING, CYBER WORLD



Into this rushing, cyber world,
Helter skelter, I got hurled,
Screaming like a new born mite
Plummeting out into day light.

Computers and the World Wide Worry      
An Arachnid, charging, frantic flurry          
Flashing pop-pops in my face
Vying for my mental space.
               
Is there also plenty hid      
Concealed beneath an encrypted lid
Is their agenda on the grid           
Open to the highest bid?

But how we crave that needle click
Surfing with a Gigga stick
Taking our particular Byte
Tripping out with all our might.

Smoking Spiders, bots and ghouls
Mesmerizing junk food rules                        
Facebook and a slice of Spam
Rush and grab it while you can.  

Media Moguls plan the beat                     
Boob tubes flash the latest tweet                  
Talking heads point out our way
Marching minions in their sway

I didn't ask for all this noise
The falsity, faint prose and poise
Delusions of a superior mind
Towering over all mankind

I'm really just a dreamy  dolt              
Not exactly a lightning bolt              
Wishing only for my lot
A quiet, mellow, thoughtful spot.                 

All that I think I try to say
In my fumbling, halting way,
I wonder if this frantic pace
Elevates our human race.

I'll come around, from time to time
Fill the slot with my worn dime
Play the juke box with some zeal                            
Pretend it's all a pukka deal.        

But somewhere in my tiny mind
And I don't mean to be unkind,
I crave a refuge, hidden, still                    
Away from Man and all his ill.                 

If I could travel past our Sun    
beating Light and having fun                    
Would I turn around a lot
To ponder, wistful, our Blue Dot?

Or would I be content to stray     
Far beyond the Milky Way
And never wish to hear again
This strange cacophony of Men.

  

Usehead

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on July 18, 2014, 7:19 pm
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
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