Tuesday, March 20, 2012

I Am

My mechanical heart does not beat,
a human heart would be obsolete.
My metal frame contains no blood,
instead, I hold an energy flood.

A human brain is not in my possession,
those were the cause of the human recession.
My head is filled with wires and cards,
and pieces of glass filed from shards.

My light filled eyes are made of glass,
they are of the highest class.
My vision will never be impaired,
and all my visions can be shared.

I don’t sleep in the way humans do,
I restore the energy my actions chew.
There is a port on my silicone embedded head,
where a plug enters and energy is fed. 

Technology is replacing the human race,
they’re being removed from the planet’s face.
I am not flesh or blood or bone,
I am an android, cold as stone.


In English, right at the beginning of the year, we had to write something that would describe any chosen person/object using poetry or paragraphs etc.
I wrote this poem about a dystopian-era android describing herself.

Best Wishes

Saturday, March 10, 2012

“Oh, you naked bitch”

So, my noted best friend, Claudia, has been visiting me on this fine evening for a lovely treat of Sherlock fangirling.
She has developed quite a fondness for the perfect being that is Benedict Cumberbatch.
At the moment of writing this, we are watching the episode entitled “A Scandal in Belgravia”, featuring the apparently subtle romantic interest of our dear Sherlock, Irene Adler. Claudia/Mop/Moriarty finds herself in a pit of anger and emotion.
I sit here listening to her rantings about how stupid Ms Adler is, simply for being in the presence of our favourite consulting detective.
And now she is calling the American agents bitches as well as The Woman.
This is quite an interesting little phenomenon of jealous fangirling I bear witness to right now.
She has desires that involve the removal of each molecule in Ms Adler’s body.
Granted, I feel similarly toward my friend and her wishes, but I have mental filters that repress the anger, while Claudia finds herself devoid of any form of filter whatsoever.
And now she is rolling around in anger as a result of the violence imposed on our beloved Sherlock.
“I am going to kill her. How. Dare. She. Slap. Benedict. Cumberbatch.”
“You naked bitch.”
“You narcissistic bitch. The poor man. The poor, beautiful man.”

My friends are awesome.
This is going to be an interesting viewing experience.
Thanks. And stuff.