The Accumulated Works of A Bored Genius

I have flown a lot. I've been flying since I was a babe in my mother's arms. I do not revel in the sights and sounds at airports anymore. The ordeal is as mundane as wiping my butt after a shit. It's part of the process. But flying in itself - soaring above civilization, closeted in an aluminium can, separated from the frigid low-pressure air outside by 3 to 4 inches of ice-crusted windows - is always awe-inspiring! This is why I always prefer to sit at the window. I especially enjoy watching the sunlight skid and bounce off shifting clouds and distant buildings. Dots of reflecting light competing for space in the horizon against the overbearing sun. Leaving civilization behind is quite momentous. The captain(s) inform you of their agenda (or whatever they deem fit to convey to us mortals merely sharing this aerial vehicle with them) and within seconds, you are hurtling down a roadway at an acceleration hitherto unexperienced by terrestrial beings and suddenly you cann

I chanced upon this poem quite by accident while searching for some other e-mail in my inbox. Cheers :) Written on Feb 10, 2016: Cheek on palm, eyes just ajar, He dreams in class, travelling afar, To a wonderful place where the ailment of boredom, Plagues the human mind seldom. A utopian landscape with friends and fun, Where you needn't go back with the set of the sun, 24/7 they may do as they please, Drinking from rivers, living in trees. Yet as he readies himself to sleep, Eyes close fully and a smile begins to creep, In on his visage, he is awoken with a start, It seems he had in slumber, let out a fart!

Another one from the writing sessions :D I walked lazily into the room. Another day, another human to catch off guard. As the door shut behind me, she turned around and a silent gasp escaped her mouth. When you've been doing the same job for centuries on end, you lose any interest in pranking these misled fools. "Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my room?" Okay. That was new. Usually, humans prayed or ran for their leather books. How they find solace in leather only they know. "Really? Red skin, horns longer than your arm and you don't know?" "Are you the devil?" Okay, that does it. I'm sick of these humans imagining there's one devil out there and that the same one always comes to them. Like what the actual fuck?! We're not that inefficient! "I'm A devil, not THE devil. Please!" "Whatever man just do what you gotta do and get the fuck out of my room. I'm Skyping my boyfriend and I have