Up, skwalky sounds from the sons bedroom, Alarm alarm. Six in the morning, his friends call to play. He is the administrator of their cyberspatial playground, a country where cubular mannequins chase each other across a landscape made of blocks, avatars all, playing by impossible rules. And so popular, a space for kids only, no grownups allowed, and parents banned anyhow.
The cat turns on its purr, a steady vibration, like some rotating drive of a big machine. Food, attention, all she wants.
The cat turns on its purr, a steady vibration, like some rotating drive of a big machine. Food, attention, all she wants.
Get up make up the coffee, visit the orchid while heat is on, the brown brew in the make. Meanwhile it is nine, there are now the voices of three twelveyear olds in the bedroom. There are only the voices really there, the other parts of the boys are still at home. Thankful for small mercies say good morning gentlemen.
´Morgen, die Herren
Muggyheaded hiss eared.
Stiff little finger, the finger on the left hand that is healing.
Go for a walk today, it is Sunday,
A good resolution
No comments:
Post a Comment