Incorrect file format blues

I put my attachment in, wait to send it

Then I get a message, that I shouldn’t temp fate

‘Cause it all goes wrong, it won’t send its too long

I try to zip it, but that’s not going trick it

It still says you shall not pass
-chorus:

Oh I’m singing the file format Blues

Format not supported or size to big

I’m going to have a fit!

Oh I’m signing the file format Blues

I once tried to send by FTP, but it wasn’t going to let me

Just hit one of those firewalls,

shouldn’t have been such a chore

Made it onto a CD, then when I get to the other machine

It chews it up, crashing like a Sinclair!

-chorus

I thought I found my savior in a PDF,

I tried my luck to no success

It came up telling me it wasn’t a suppored file

I converted it back to doc, I’ve then written over my file with characters that look like tire tread!

– chorus

It’s just going to have to be printed out

Shorly that won’t take to much of a test

Out of toner!

Give me a rest!

I singing, I’m signing the file format blues.

Ducklings reflections in a lake

Nb: this is not about me. It is my feelings though.

In the day.

It’s spring. They come out at night. Flowering.

The hate from them is like pollen. Like a stench of the past. Because it is death.

Watching these ducklings on the lake I can’t help it. Towering.

Above us it sits. The useless skyline. Technology can’t do it. It’s just keeping a sense of the real life. Clever it was meant.

Those ducklings are happy. Quacking along. Mother keeping them in toe. I think of how many more springs that are coming for me. Cowering.

These nights. These days. The mostly white flowers here are to some pure. Really they are a lot of metaphors. Lies. Pretty lies in my mind. Lament.

In the night.

Is that night? A little sky full of stars? The ducklings are asleep in my hands. Mother on my lap. How can I keep them safe? From the dark? From the monsters? Questions. 

I feed the mouth. This visceral tooth holding flesh attached to me. Sickness in. I’m not going to be hear next spring. I can hear the monsters in my mind. They are close. So close. They. Can try and eat me. But I fight. For my ducklings. For their mother. I’m going to be here as long as I can. For as many of the best things. 

The night. I know they are scratching me as I sleep. I see the scars. I smell them on my clothes. My ducking share safe. Their mother is safe. I will probably eat something more soon. Better food. They will play again. On the lakes surface. Never know that they are on the surface of my mind. Reflecting what is good. Those blessed things.

The sun.

The morning. 

I’m alive still. Monsters gone. How much longer? I’m going to find out. I’m going to know. The ducklings will they miss me? I’m not sure. Even when I’m dead I’m sure to miss them. Like a bells ring.

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Riding the noises in the forest fae

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Strange library, evergreen, oh don’t mind me

Pinky promises flowering essence, cool Ghostly presence

Little strange new dreams of machines, none of them clean 

Rocky colors, shook the duller capture 

Fresh kill to the bones of the Trill, they’re after the carrion fill 

Hot cups, gimlet luck, blue blood, true mud

Flicking others, shadows like cothered muffeled mussel 

Dripping with spite their is the spike, and the hill of the place of the armsted respite 

Besides that their it is, a spokesman for the next new species 

A fairy and a robot, a gathering thought, waves

It’s hand is up, sucking on the teat

Newborn, but not a newcomer

How quickly will it learn? 

Of the spiders, birds, books and nerds? 

Endures, the Perl

Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system 

I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions 

Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes

so I hear they melted down the ox’s

Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views

Ques, cues

I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions 

Curly, your just like them 

Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin

Lonely, like a oyster 

You will blame the system then the others

Never see the ocean of muck you are in

Is that your fualt? Your future?

I’m just a pearl

I’ve got no cleavage to cut with

I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.

I’m part of a potion

Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude 

I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me. 

Longest canopy tendrils

Be sentenced, denting the nose of ticklish airs

Gum to you the sky is the only thing to reach 

Opening up to you she heard your crazy cries

Wearing earrings on your branches, the company of the sun

Access the vessel in cloudscape to wounderd drops 

Grasping the points on your faces infamy, you poison the growths 

The sentence is completely done, denting this nose in ticklish airs

Koala, never a bear

Camp etTongue 

Angry angels antagonistly anticipate an average apocalypse.

Bored Bandicoots bandage brassieres to bring back bebop.

Centralized Centuars counter argument that most creationist of creatures the Cat.

Taking to talking in telling tounge twisters Toucan told a tale of tinkling tendrils to tantalize the thoughts.

Lion Leo lounged luxourosly licking lenticular lines lazily.

Frenzied fur seals fouruouisly flounce figure eights while fishing their fill.

Mindindfully meditating on malice and fishing minced meats out of his mandible, Manticore mislayed the latest edition of men’s weekly, featuring the mets. 

Watching wistfully Wesal went about her wisend ways and wrestled with her winter stockpile of walnuts.

Chilled chinchilla commissioned Cockeral to count consecutive children in the counterintuitive hope it would chase away the chills.

Friendly Fox found finishing frittatas in a fry pan a feindishly futile fellowship.

Generally Goose gives out grapeshot but Goanna grabbed the wrong goods.

Entertainment Eels and enchiladas, Elephant eases into his role as lord Eastwick. The Eels later endeavor to enscribe his entertainment as electrifying.

Jaguar just jives the night away.

Carrion

Given into the dark

Rotting, slouches of flesh

Eating, crunching, mandibles slicing

Casings filling the remaining bits

Soil, aches full of the noises

Revving, is the true job

Dirty, dark, disgustingness is the frame

Really, you are just a nessasarry part of the whole 

Carrion, I salute you 

Spilt essence of light

The cookies and milk served to the star gazing kids

The musings and silt in the bed of a man panning for gold

The name of the police woman who gave you directions

The little eventual feeling of warm you know will come when spooning your soup

The first flower that pokes out of the ground

The thunder that lets you know that the storm is over

The warm screech of the violin that plays afar in the kitchen radio as your parent makes dinner as the other plays games with you

The feelings that that person on the park bench will never be able to remember as the cold cinders of night rots at their brain

That comfortable mystery you feel as you think about something you think is a universal truth but cannot be experienced by all