Archive for the ‘blogging’ Tag

My Brain, and Other Curiosities

Saturday, May 11th, 2013

Hello to all cats, valiantly attempting to find the newly sprouted bean plants and eat them, slippers on floors, and harmonicas in the key of C.

Part of the reason I haven’t been blogging much lately is because I got this video game called Skyrim, became desperately obsessed with it, sucked up all the internet time, and then lay shivering in a corner from Skyrim-withdrawal. It was a dark time. Also, it’s spring, and I’ve been enjoying the springiness. I’m going to start softball on Wednesday, and boy am I nervous– last night I had one of my super-realistic anxiety-ridden dreams about it. I went to some sort of tryout in a large abandoned parking lot in Montreal, where I had to wait in line all day for various skill assessments and never got a turn, and then there was a giant squid that ate everyone except me and the coach, who blamed it on me and killed me with a softball made of fire.
I figure Wednesday won’t be QUITE that bad.
Anyway, spring is nice– it feels more like summer than anything, though. Spring no longer exists in this part of Ontario– it’s been burned away by global warming, is what I figure. It’s nice to be out and about, though, and tomorrow my friends and I are going to Comiccon to be nerdy and stuff. Wil Wheaton from Big Bang Theory (and Star Trek TNG) is going to be there and I’m going to try and get his autograph, possibly on my hat. I’ve got another hat that was signed by Brett Spiner last year. I am so cool, man. I’m going to take pictures, too. I won’t even be embarrassed by the fact that my entourage is three nerdy teenage boys, two with braces, all in shorts and sandals. One possibly in shorts and sandals with socks. I love my friends.

I’ve been feeling good lately. The world seems promising to me. Everything seems funnier, too– I could fill up a whole volume with funny things I’ve noticed, which I guess is sort of what this blog is, but I swear– there’s funny coming out of my nose lately. I can’t keep it in. There’s way too much funny. And most of it isn’t even funny, it just is in my brain, but the minute I say it out loud I realize how non-funny it really is, and then everyone looks at me and politely doesn’t say anything. Up there in my brain, it’s like a never-ending, not entirely well-directed B movie.
In fact, if you took a diagram of my brain, it would probably look a bit like this:
my brain

I forgot stuff like for instance “family” and “friends” and “good-heartedness” but let’s say they take up the other side. This side that you see is the left hemisphere or something.
So I’ll see ya later, Blog-Reader. I’ll probably put some pictures up from Nerdfest tomorrow, and who knows, maybe you’ll even get a post about how Wednesday will go. If there’s giant squids…
… I promise I’ll tell you about it.
Yours truly, the most truest of them all, ~Onceabasementdog

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The Dubious Coming of Spring and Softball

Sunday, April 14th, 2013

Hello to all dogs running in excited circles, rocks being thrown at windows, and reindeer standing in backyards.
It’s sort of spring now. Sort of. There’s a two foot high pile of snow in the backyard, but you know. Spring.
I haven’t blogged in a while, because I’m embarrassed about my previous post, where I rambled on about God only knows what for five minutes or so. I THINK I was trying to get across some point about green energy but I’m not even sure anymore. Anyway, I’ve finally faced the embarrassment and here I am, bloggeging again. (That’s definitely how you spell it.) Anyways, a lot of stuff has happened in the last few months, which I’ve neglected to write about– less than a week ago there was a SNOWSTORM, because you know, IT’S SPRING AND EVERYTHING, but the good news is that the sun is melting most of it away and winter seems, finally, to be retreating to let spring take over. There are flowers growing in the yard and squirrels running to and fro. I like spring a lot, because it always feels like you’re waking up from a long cold dream.
This year I’m going to be playing softball. Let it be known that I despise softball. But I’m not even sure if there’s a baseball league for girls my age, or if there is it’s probably not in Canada– and I really wanted to play some sort of game involving a ball and a bat and a baseball field. I settled for softball, and I’m excited. And nervous. I keep having these unfortunate softball dreams to reflect my anxiety– in one I was on a team where everyone else was dead, except me. They were still playing and running around and stuff. Just… they were dead. Last night I had a dream where I forgot to bring my glove to a game and couldn’t find one that fit me; I was forced to put on this tiny pink glove and it didn’t end well.
I think I’ll be all right. I’ve played baseball for five years (with the exception of last year) and I am by no means an awful player.
I’m already all out of words. I’m serious. The words just aren’t flowing today. Maybe I’ll write a poem, and call it a day:

An Ode to Softball

Softball, softball,
A ball large and green
Never such an unsightly thing
Have I ever seen.
Thou art far too big for my hand
And also difficult to throw;
I want a regular baseball
You get me? Y’know?
But alas, there’s no league
For a girl to play baseball,
And I don’t know what rhymes well with baseball
Except maybe, “face stall”.
This year as the spring comes,
And to the diamond all us softball players run
There will be no baseball
And definitely no face stalls.
Whatever a face stall is.

There’s my half-hearted poem. Happy spring. This was a terrible blog post. Don’t hurt me. ~Onceabasementdog

I Babble On About Green Energy

Wednesday, March 20th, 2013

I really hope I know what I’m talking about.

Why, Hello Spring

Saturday, March 9th, 2013

Hello spring, today I will say hello to no other, for thou art the center of mine attention at present.
Ha! It’s spring! Well, not officially, not until the twenty first of April (unless you’re one of those weird people who defy the calendar and think it’s the twenty-third), but boy does it feel like it already is. I went out with the Mother for a long walk around Onceabasementdogville, and I actually got too hot to wear my spring jacket. No, not too hot to wear my WINTER jacket– too hot to wear my SPRING jacket.
My SPRING jacket.
Can you comprehend how unbelievable this is? Where I live, spring only hesitantly pops its head around the corner around mid-April, when finally the snow stops falling and things start melting. But this is March ninth! Dude, it’s not supposed to be spring yet! Us poor, poor, frozen Canadians always expect the frigidity and the evilness of winter to only melt away after Easter, never before. I’m probably jinxing the entire country by being so positive that it’s already spring, but who cares. It’s spring dammit.
I just finished reading Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Graveyard Book.’ I wasn’t actually very impressed, which is kind of surprising, since I would’ve thought I would really enjoy his writing. I mean, I love him on principle because he’s dark and depressing and writes about graveyards. But I did not totally enjoy The Graveyard Book. Also I think he’s stealing my ideas, because I wrote a book that is uncannily similiar to his. People have to stop stealing my ideas, seriously– I had the idea for Avatar (the animated show) waaaayyy before it got on TV. I mean it. I wonder if Neil Gaiman and others have put a camera in my head so they always know what I’m writing about. Seems unlikely, but who knows? Writers have connections, man.

Anyway. I realize it’s been a month since I’ve last bloggeded. (That’s how you spell it: bloggeded.) I think I’m either getting lazy or just can’t find inspiration as easily any more– I’m still writing a lot of stories, but the waters of the blogging well have become dangerously shallow. Yes, I have a blogging well. Don’t you? I dug it last year, it’s right outside, but not for public use.
So what HAVE I been doing lately, if not blogging? Well, I’ve written lots o’ songs. I have one of those Bandcamp things, and put up one of my recordings. As I said I’m also writing pretty steadily, trying to finish off my one trillion page fantasy story, and I just realized something amazing: a mustache emoticon is possible to make. Like this:

=;o

Do you see? The equal sign is the eyes, the semi-colon is the mustache! That HAS to catch on. How could it possibly not catch on.
I don’t have much else to say, because it’s SPRING here in Onceabasementdogville and I’ve got to go and appreciate the sunlight some more because I’m sure I’ve jinxed Canada and tomorrow it’s going to be minus twenty.
Yours forever I, ~Onceabasementdog

A Pause For Some Reflections

Thursday, December 27th, 2012

Hi.

My God, is it snowy out there. From my spot on the bedroom floor I can just see the top of a roof, covered in this fluffy layer of white, that looks fake, like a bad Christmas movie. The sky is utterly white. I remember once in grade two or something, the teacher asked us what colors the sky could be. Those unimaginative seven year olds replied, ‘Blue!’ and I said, ‘White!’ And the teacher looked at me and said, ‘No, the sky can’t be white.’

Oh, indeed?

I’m all out of funny. It’s just not there today. I had a panic attack/breakdown over the fact that I haven’t had any exercise at all in the past three or four months, and I need some soon or I’m going to explode. The weird thing is, I remain exactly the same weight, and skinny. How, I ask? It’s relieving to know I can do nothing but eat and play on the computer for three months straight and gain about half a pound– but I mean, I think I’d better start going for walks or something, anyway. I feel desperately out of shape and it turns out I can only jog three blocks in the middle of the night before I get winded and have to stop. Of course, the middle of the night has nothing to do with anything, except that’s just when I jog. I sprint around the block in the silence, with no lights on anywhere and no cars, and that satisfies me, somehow.

I’ve been reflective lately. Really reflective, and I don’t mean like when I go outside I’m shining with reflected sunlight. I mean, I’ve been thinking a lot about things. For one, my evil stepmother got a lot eviller just the other day, and the whole situation’s been bugging me like a worm eating away at an apple– with the apple being my head, and the worm being my stepmother. I can deal with it, but not especially well, it turns out. I managed to get through the flurry of Christmas, drowned as it was in far too many pieces of turkey and so, so many people to interact with– but now that it’s over, and I can fall back into my routine of quietness, it’s all hitting me full force. I just can’t deal with emotional things very well, and every problem I have seems to be entirely emotional.

But the good news is, I got an accordion for Christmas, and it’s like a small piece of heaven dropped onto me. George Harrison, who’s in a band with me, will be extremely annoyed when he finds out. He said we don’t need the accordion in our band.

But don’t we?

(He doesn’t get to decide, heh heh heh.)

So look at it out there. Buried in so much snow. I want to go explore the forest behind our house, but it’s cold, and I’m tired, sleepy, and drained from everything, from my small breakdown and Christmas, and whatever else, all the little problems that add up. I finished a book yesterday and I’m annoyed because it could have been really good but wasn’t. I went to see The Hobbit yesterday with my dad and my uncle and it was incredibly enjoyable– if a little less epic than the Lord of the Rings ones. I miss my dad, I want to go on long walks at night and talk about philosophy and the state of the world with him. My mom’s good for talking with, but I’m almost completely sure she wouldn’t exchange opinions about modern society versus ancient society for an hour straight on a nine o’clock walk around the neighborhood.

I have so much more to say, but I’ll be here all day if I said all of it. It’s kind of refreshing to write a blog post that doesn’t have to be funny, for once. I can hear my cat digging and sniffling at something from downstairs, so I’d better leave and go check on that.

Yours sincerely, (for once), ~Onceabasementdog.

Impersonating Fictional Characters Is Fun!

Thursday, December 13th, 2012

Hello to all feathers, drifting softly through the sunlit air, coconuts on beaches, and airships caught in hurricanes.

If you’re on an airship caught in a hurricane: first, check to make sure you’re not just a reference of Skybreaker. If you’re not, then try flying above the hurricane into clearer sky. If this is not possible, batton down the hatches, or whatever you do on airships, get ready the parachutes or lifeboats, in case you’re flying over the sea. Send out a distress signal for help. And take a picture while you’re at it– I need stuff to blog about, thanks.

So, it’s a moderately cold Tuesday (or… Wednesday?) here in Onceabasementdogville, and obviously I’m VERY up to date, because I really do know what day it is and everything. Lately I’ve been avoiding my blog as much as possible, due to, well, stress mainly, because I’ve got like TWO DOZEN followers holy moly, jeez, where’d you all come from? And that’s a lot of expectations to satisfy. I feel like I have to be funny every time I blog, and sometimes it just doesn’t come to me. I try, but the funny plays a wicked game– sometimes I can write for ages and all of it’s mildly amusing, and sometimes I just stare deeply into the screen trying to desperately come up with a way to make something funny out of the word bookmark. Maybe I shouldn’t have been trying to make something funny out of the word bookmark. It’s just… not a funny word. Book-mark. Book… mark. It marks books, okay? That’s all it does.

Anyway, today I was getting into politics. I could like, talk about that… but no. I have something more interesting to relay to you, dear Blog-Reader.

It’s no secret two thirds of my waking life is taken up with staring at walls and scribbling sketches of dreamy fantasy heroes and then throwing them out because I feel like no one should ever look at them. (I’m probably right. Even MY eyes hurt when I look at them, and I created them.) So often, in the midst of this extreme wall-staring boredom, I do crazy things. Sometimes I interview the ladies who work at the local bookstore with my camera and pretend I’m doing a ‘documentary about bookstores’ so it isn’t so weird. Sometimes I dance in frightful, spasmatic circles in my room while I listen to Arcade Fire songs. Often, I take up residence on the chair in my room and gaze at the walls. Today, though, I held an interview– with myself.

Except, it wasn’t technically with myself. I mean, it was. But I was pretending to be this character from a Kenneth Oppel book. It was fun. I must be losing my mind, but it really was fun– I think I’ve got some strange, best-kept-secret talent for impersonating random characters from fantasy books, or sometimes from TV shows. I do a mean Drusilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Anyway, it was the middle of the day and the house was empty, and my sister Little Girl of Horrors was out with my dad, and I had a sudden itch to interview myself with my old analog camera. I’ve done that in the past– conjured up imaginary characters and interviewed them. You don’t even want to know how weird it’s gotten. So I pulled on a black coat and assumed the persona of a fantasy character. I owned it, seriously. I hear they’re making a movie.

(HELLO SUMMIT PICTURES. I’M RIGHT HERE. I’M NOT A BOY, BUT I DO A EXTREMELY CONVINCING PORTRAYAL OF THE YOUNG VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN, YOU’D BETTER BELIEVE IT. I DON’T LIE.)

Yes, yes, I was assuming the character of Victor Frankenstein. Maybe that’s the absolute height of weirdness, but who cares? It was fun and as long as nobody ever sees that video, I won’t mind that it exists.

There’s probably something else of interest to talk about. Dunno. If you like books, then you’ll be glad to know I like books, too, and I’m reading this one called ‘The Scorpio Races’ by the lady who wrote that series that tried to imitate Twilight, except it was about werewolves. I never picked up that series, but The Scorpio Races is pretty good, so far. There’s something to it, anyway. I don’t like that the heroine is kind of lame, but she has her moments of coolness, so that sort of makes up for that. The hero is the usual teen fiction romantic interest stereotype. Calm, collected, powerful– can command man-eating horses. And by the way he would ‘be almost handsome if his features weren’t quite so sharp.’ Well, that’s that. I’m glad I know.

So, that book I’m trying to get published is still floating around not being published yet, and I’m still waiting for the possible rejection letter. The heroine in it is NOT lame at all, and I wish more heroines would be that way. They say girls are being better represented in books these days, but I still don’t quite believe it.

Anyway. I feel all sleepy and bored. I was going to write a poem about bookmarks, but all I can come up with is this meager offering:

Once I owned me a bookmark;

Twas eaten along with me book

By an angry book-eating shark.

There you are. ~Onceabasementdog

The Terrible Teen Section

Friday, November 23rd, 2012

Hello to all USB sticks sitting in places where I’ll definitely forget about them, dogs on airplanes, and solar-powered monkeys.

Ah! It’s almost winter again! Don’t you just love winter? What with the holidays and the snow and the ice and the darkness and the NEVER-ENDING FRIGIDITY–

Never mind. I hate Onceabasementdogville. I want to live in a volcano or something. I bet it would be nice and warm THERE.

So, I like libraries. I do. I think I like them because they’re quiet, and familiar, and they always smell like books. (Well, that’s a surprise.) There’s a library pretty close to my house, and I bike there sometimes to peruse the various sections that I find an interest in. Usually I end up gazing blankly at the teen section, trying to decide which book I should take out, My Love Is A Beautiful Vampire, or The Day Everyone Turned Into Robots, solely on the basis of which one looks less horrible. Because, see, the teen section at my public library is an actual hell of paper and ink. I’ve only taken out maybe three good books from that wall of blatant torture, and they weren’t even fantastic or anything. I don’t know why the teen section has to be so horrible, it just is. I still have suspicions about the librarian hiding all the good books from me when I drop by.

Anyway, a while back I took these pictures of some books from the Terrible Teen Section. Assuming they don’t burn out your eyes the minute you look at them, I think you’ll be able to examine them and understand why exactly my faith in literature and human kind in general is plummeting:

Oh, but this is just a taste of the many horrors of the Terrible Teen Section, my dear Blog-Reader!

I almost have no words for this one. But I’ll try. So, you’ve got this invisible boyfriend. And you know, it causes all sorts of complications, I assume. I mean, all the other girls can SEE their boyfriends! But she can’t! Oh my God it’s so awkward!

Next one. It’s almost worse… somehow.

But what does that even MEAN? Is she more real than your average Joe? Or what? I can tell you one thing, though, with absolute honesty:

This is the best title I’ve ever seen.

Now, here’s the last one. Brace yourself…

Audrey, wait!
What? Why? What’s HAPPENING to her?

So, there you have it. If that doesn’t convince you modern teen books are spiralling (apparently literally) into absurdity, I don’t know what will.

Yours semi-truly, only when I’m not making fun of things, (and that’s never), ~Onceabasementdog

The Quietness of Saturday and Worms

Saturday, July 28th, 2012

Hello to all apples with little stickers on them, avocados with smiley faces, cats on footstools, excellent pictures on Instagram, lame chick-lit books on tables, well-chosen curtains hanging from curtain-rods, staircases, doorknobs, silly movies from 1979, Olympic athletes, smudges on the floor, fridge magnets, captains of Star Fleet ships, dogs in mud puddles, Coke bottles in the recycling, left shoes, stars on the back of notebooks, never-used gift cards, and wind chimes on your neighbor’s front porch.

My wrist is feeling better.

Maybe I shouldn’t be typing with it– maybe I shouldn’t be playing the E minor chord on guitar (it’s the easiest– doesn’t hurt!), and maybe I shouldn’t be concocting devious plans to take off my cast for a couple of minutes and run around feeling pleased with myself… but I am.

I don’t think a bone got fractured. If it did I wouldn’t be typing. I mean, it does hurt while I’m typing, but it doesn’t hurt hurt. Besides, the cast doesn’t control me, man. I’m a free spirit. Free like a wild horse. Uh-huh. Anyways, it’s a calm, quiet, blue and warm and pretty Saturday, and I’ve spent the last half an hour taking pictures of stuff. Mostly my cat. He’s sooo photogenic. In one of my attempts to market myself I’m going to tell you I’ve got an Instagram account and I go by the name of parrotqueen. By the way I have zero followers. Why don’t you go fix that? Hmmmmm?

There’s not much to do around here. I feel sorry for myself. My gross, sticky, yellow knee is kind of hurting– when I fell off my bike I broke the fall with my skin. Bad idea. I don’t know why there wasn’t a mattress waiting helpfully for me to fall on– aren’t there people who do that sort of thing? Place mattresses on the ground at tricky spots where one might fall off one’s bike? If I was the prime minister, I’d look into that. In any case, I don’t like my gross sticky knee and I don’t like that it hurts. In the Hunger Games I’d do so badly. I’d stub a toe and sit down and yell, ‘Oh, just kill me! Go ahead, kill me!’

I’ve been thinking about things lately. Among the thoughts is a theory on the creation of the universe, and the other is my great dislike of worms. Let’s talk about my dislike of worms. The gross little creatures squiggle around underfoot just asking to be stepped on and squished– like ‘Here are my guts! Make them explode!’ The other day I saw one, a really, really disgusting white one that was kind of bluish (yecckkk, yecckkk), and it was squiggling itself across the pavement, and I thought, Who’s the genius who came up with worms? ‘Here’s a good idea! Let’s put these slimy little animals in the ground and make them come out when it rains! And let’s not give them heads!’

Why don’t worms have heads? Do they have two, one for each end, or no head at all? Is there a tail? Is there not? This line of thinking is too disgusting to continue. I wish caterpillars would replace all worms. Caterpillars are furry sometimes, and furriness is much more acceptable than sliminess. My friend once caught a red caterpillar and named him Dave or something. Dave died. But I liked Dave– he wasn’t gross like a worm.

If I didn’t hate worm guts more than worms themselves I’d go around stepping on all of them. Because, as much as I’m for animal rights, a worm is a worm, and that explains all.

I should stop typing now. But the pain is minimal, and I firmly believe it’s only a sprain and not a fracture. Maybe I’m wrong and I’ll suffer long for it, but it’s hard to give up guitar, in any case.

Remember. Go and search parrotqueen on Instagram. Then follow her. If you do the next sandwich you eat will grant you three wishes.

Did that sound convincing enough? Yes, yes, it’s true. Yours as ever sort of sincerely, but without the sincere form of sincerity, ~Onceabasementdog/parrotqueeen/you know I’m on Twitter, too?

 

Woe and Misery and So Forth

Tuesday, July 24th, 2012

Hello to all WHATEVER.

Today I flew off my bike, writhed in pain for a few minutes, biked to my friend’s house (what would I have done without you, Karate Master!), and have ended up typing a blog entry one-handed and by the way it’s really, really hard to do a right bracket with one hand, you’ve got to stretch your whole hand across the keyboard, and I don’t even want to TRY a question mark because I fear that would end in a dislocation of the thumb so for your information this # is now a question mark. In any case, I fear the rest of the summer will be spent in misery and woe. Know why# Because I can’t play guitar with my left wrist in a cast, nor can I type with any sort of ease, nor can I bike or play catch or LIVE. I CANT EVEN LIVE. Is life even WORTH IT anymore# IS IT# IS IT###

This entry has to be kept short I’m afraid, because it’s a royal pain to type with one hand. Do you have robot-arms at your disposal# If you do, please give me one. I don’t have anything to pay you with, except gauze. Do you want some gauze# Oh, and include a flamethrower or a thing that shoots sleeping darts in my robot arm. No, both.

Hope you’re having a pleasant day, Blog-Reader (plesanter than mine, anyway), and don’t expect any lengthy blog posts in the next two or three weeks, because I simply do not have the patience and besides I have been turned into a helpless invalid. AN INVALID.

Yours truly, ~Onceabasementdog

‘O, Dear Computer’ and Other Poetry

Monday, July 16th, 2012

Hello to all fish swimming around in the weedy depths of the river, loons on dollars, mice in mousetraps and gross, sweaty old people riding their bikes with no shirt on.

Today I went for a bike ride. Bad idea, considering it’s practically the temperature of the inside of a well-cooked ham out there? Maybe. But anyway, bike I did besides that. As I was pedaling up by the side of the canal, a lyric for a song popped into my head: Up the hill by the stream is the nicest house I’ve ever seen. I wonder who lives there, and if they even care. I’m going to put that into my next song. I’ve been feeling in a poetic mood lately. Maybe that has something to do with the enormous hunk of English literature sitting next to the computer, which I pick up to flip through as I wait for the internet to load. It’s one of those university edition thingies that have every boring poem in the universe stuffed inside. Anyway it’s a very, very slow computer. Maybe I should install Adobe Flash Player and maybe I should listen to those Please Update windows that keep popping up, but I’m not convinced. I think my dear old computer is getting fed up with me– before the Adobe Flash Player upgrade was just a little box in the corner of the screen with an exclamation mark, and when I turned the computer on today it was a HUGE box that took up the entire screen, telling me this was Urgent! Update your Flash Player! (You piece of crap!)

I haven’t yet. Besides, I refuse to listen to my computer.  My computer can’t tell me what to do.

To expand on my poetic mood: I’ve realized, flipping through that hunk of boring English, that not only are all great writers insane (in most of the bios about different writers it explains how so-and-so spent three years in a lunatic asylum, so-and-so cut his ear off,  so-and-so wrote an entire ballad about his cat and God), and now I’m starting to worry that I’ll end up being insane, too. I mean, I’m not going to say I’m a great writer. (Yes, I am. Who said that?) I just don’t know if I really want to be that person sitting in a small room with a bed without sheets or a pillow so I can’t strangle or suffocate myself, writing poems about cats and God and stuff.

In any case. I’ve just typed up a storm during the weekend, a twenty five page Hunger Games rip-off that I plan to upload to a fan fiction site. I’ve been thinking up song lyrics like nobody’s business. The other day somebody told me I looked like an artist. ‘Do you play music?’ ‘Why, yes,’ I said. ‘Do you play guitar?’ ‘Uh, yes, I do.’ Apparently all the artistic stuff is starting to boil over in me. Soon I’ll be writing poems about dust bunnies and making friends with inanimate objects. Not like that’s a bad thing, I mean, the computer speaker’s got a great sense of humor.

Nah, don’t worry. I’m still sane.

And here’s my poem about the computer:

O, Dear Computer

Mine old friend, of plastic and wire;

Tis a short time, I fear, before he bursts into fire

For ten long years he has stood as a guide,

To my senseless poor poetry,

In him, I confide.

But soon the days will catch up with him,

And the promising glow of life will seem dim

And therefore, I shall be obliged to divide

The files within him to one, and one side

Before all is lost, and I pay the cost

O, dear computer, I fain imagine my loss.

~~~

Farewell sincerely, my dear Blog-Reader, ~Onceabasementdog