I understand that I cannot know,
seven dancing hews of rain glow.
Roy G Biv wiped across the sky,
friend to all, but yet, not I.
Rods and cones struggle and schism,
a life devoid forever of prism.
Gone from eye but felt in mind,
a disease of vision, 'Color Blind.'
Genetic in nature, bizarre in effect,
unable to capture, light's intersect.
Institution of spectrum dull and faded,
complications internal, chroma jaded.
A joy I'm sure to see those views,
not dim but bright, with reds and blues.
My world of sight to yours is duller,
carried on forever, sans your color.
Yet I do not hate you Mr. Biv,
for what you take you also give.
Unique for me, I'll never show,
I understand what I cannot know.
If we could switch for just one day,
then I would smile and you would say,
"I get it now, why your brown is black,"
then you'll pause, "now let's switch back."
Friday, August 17, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Grass-Eaters and Weed-Hoppers
Weed-Eaters in all their fury send grass hopping and flying about.
No bag have they to catch or digest their damp earthy cuttings,
so really there is no eating of weeds or grass happening at all.
It was foolish to name a mechanical tool as a consumer of organic produce,
should have called them Electric-Eating-Grass-Hoppers.
Now Grass-Hoppers, they eat weeds and grass.
The grass itself is not hopping, though I will give them their name,
they do hop from grass to weed and back again.
What we should have done, was call them Grass-Eaters.
Or better yet, Grass-Eating-Weed-Jumpers.
Not all Weed-Eaters are electric, some older more industrial models run off oil and gas.
This could change everything, we would have Oil-Gas-Industrial-Grass/Weed-Destroyers.
Grass-Hoppers almost have oil as well.
Pick one up and it vomits a dark brown oily substance from its mandibles.
As children we knew this as Tabasco-Sauce.
Now we have Oil-Puking-Grass-Eating-Weed-Saucers.
No bag have they to catch or digest their damp earthy cuttings,
so really there is no eating of weeds or grass happening at all.
It was foolish to name a mechanical tool as a consumer of organic produce,
should have called them Electric-Eating-Grass-Hoppers.
Now Grass-Hoppers, they eat weeds and grass.
The grass itself is not hopping, though I will give them their name,
they do hop from grass to weed and back again.
What we should have done, was call them Grass-Eaters.
Or better yet, Grass-Eating-Weed-Jumpers.
Not all Weed-Eaters are electric, some older more industrial models run off oil and gas.
This could change everything, we would have Oil-Gas-Industrial-Grass/Weed-Destroyers.
Grass-Hoppers almost have oil as well.
Pick one up and it vomits a dark brown oily substance from its mandibles.
As children we knew this as Tabasco-Sauce.
Now we have Oil-Puking-Grass-Eating-Weed-Saucers.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Solarfibroptics
I'm not certain why every time I think about what I want to do or what I may end up doing, solar panels and fiber optics come to mind. I know absolutely jack about both, but it seems like they would be great careers for Future-Randall.
Perhaps I could combine them, into a new hybrid technology.
Solarfibroptics.
They would know me as the father of that and maybe other words.
Perhaps I could combine them, into a new hybrid technology.
Solarfibroptics.
They would know me as the father of that and maybe other words.
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