Monday, November 11, 2013
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Quarter to Five (A Zombie Poem)
(reposting one from 2009)
*
*
He works as a zombie from 9 to 5. He climbs
into a catatonic state and performs duties
as are assigned to him. He's under the spell
of employment. (It could be worse.) His
co-worker, Barton, said, "You scare me.
You look like the living dead." "Don't worry,"
he said, "I'm just behaving professionally. After
work I become vibrant and garrulous."
"But I don't get it," Barton said, "--what
job-title around here requires a person
to behave like a zombie?" "In my particular
case," said the man, "it's Chief Deputy for
Zombic Affairs." "And what is it exactly
you do?" asked Barton. "Barton," he said,
"you don't want to know." With his blank,
unnerving, but professionally appropriate
affect, he resumed his duties, for the clock
read only quarter to five.
hans ostrom 2009
*
*
He works as a zombie from 9 to 5. He climbs
into a catatonic state and performs duties
as are assigned to him. He's under the spell
of employment. (It could be worse.) His
co-worker, Barton, said, "You scare me.
You look like the living dead." "Don't worry,"
he said, "I'm just behaving professionally. After
work I become vibrant and garrulous."
"But I don't get it," Barton said, "--what
job-title around here requires a person
to behave like a zombie?" "In my particular
case," said the man, "it's Chief Deputy for
Zombic Affairs." "And what is it exactly
you do?" asked Barton. "Barton," he said,
"you don't want to know." With his blank,
unnerving, but professionally appropriate
affect, he resumed his duties, for the clock
read only quarter to five.
hans ostrom 2009
Friday, November 8, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Monday, November 4, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Garbanzo Opera
When I was six, garbanzo
beans felt like grainy
mud-pebbles to my mouth.
They tasted like a menacing
nothing. When I picked
them out of a salad
and marched them to the edge
of the plate, a parent's
order became inevitable:
"Finish them." Finishing them,
I gagged. They became
soft bullets of
esophageal assassination.
Now I love the little
bastards. I bathe them
in olive oil, bequeath
unto them garlic and pepper.
I now know their nom de
guerre: chick peas.
People may not
change, but their taste-
buds do, and I would pay
good money to go to
see a garbanzo opera.
hans ostrom 2013
beans felt like grainy
mud-pebbles to my mouth.
They tasted like a menacing
nothing. When I picked
them out of a salad
and marched them to the edge
of the plate, a parent's
order became inevitable:
"Finish them." Finishing them,
I gagged. They became
soft bullets of
esophageal assassination.
Now I love the little
bastards. I bathe them
in olive oil, bequeath
unto them garlic and pepper.
I now know their nom de
guerre: chick peas.
People may not
change, but their taste-
buds do, and I would pay
good money to go to
see a garbanzo opera.
hans ostrom 2013
Corporations Keep Rats
Corporations keep rats.
They keep them running.
The rats have some cash,
which they pay
the corporation for stuff
the corporations make.
Run there! Pay here!
The bait is technology.
Hey,rat, run after
the new eye-fone 18.3Z!
Pay cash first! Or
put it on a rat-card!
Imagine if the rats
turned around one day
and said, Rat Master,
we don't want any
more stuff right now.
We like the look
of your throat. That's
what we want. For free.
hans ostrom 2013
They keep them running.
The rats have some cash,
which they pay
the corporation for stuff
the corporations make.
Run there! Pay here!
The bait is technology.
Hey,rat, run after
the new eye-fone 18.3Z!
Pay cash first! Or
put it on a rat-card!
Imagine if the rats
turned around one day
and said, Rat Master,
we don't want any
more stuff right now.
We like the look
of your throat. That's
what we want. For free.
hans ostrom 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
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