We're ruled by them.

Eat.
Sleep.
Fuck.
Shit.
Repeat.

Like shambling, fumbling marionettes

we move
       scrape
            shuffle

Drunkenly stumbling through life as four squabbling puppeteers struggle for control.

A yank this way, eat; a tug that way, sleep.

Sometimes the strings get tangled. This can lead to embarrassing mishaps.

Automatons led by impulses

Herky-jerky robots fed instructions;

Four basic inputs through miles-long tin-can telephones and we think life has meaning because we think we think real thoughts

Instead of interpreting through colored glass filters the same instructions as everyone else.

Imperatives.

But on the plus side, chicken wings are yummy. </font>

Tags: humor, poetry
hey little fella, how are you doing today?: restless
soundtrack: U2- "Where the Streets Have No Name"