My Little Hobo::
A Brony Love Story
from HiE Productions
Hello—here it is. Sorry for the completely unannounced break. Unfortunately I’ve got some real life responsibilities that kinda have to take precedence for a bit. I’ll continue working on pages, but don’t really expect three updates a week, for a little while. Sorry
Jenny’s dream job has always been to work at the happiest place on earth (Disneyland) and my dream job has always been to work at the saddest place on earth (Hollywood).
Zoe Trent is an ideal role model.
Franz Kafka, the story goes, encountered a little girl in the park where he went walking daily. She was crying. She had lost her doll and was desolate.
Kafka offered to help her look for the doll and arranged to meet her the next day at the same spot. Unable to find the doll he composed a letter from the doll and read it to her when they met.
"Please do not mourn me, I have gone on a trip to see the world. I will write you of my adventures." This was the beginning of many letters. When he and the little girl met he read her from these carefully composed letters the imagined adventures of the beloved doll. The little girl was comforted.
When the meetings came to an end Kafka presented her with a doll. She obviously looked different from the original doll. An attached letter explained: “my travels have changed me… “
Many years later, the now grown girl found a letter stuffed into an unnoticed crevice in the cherished replacement doll. In summary it said: “every thing that you love, you will eventually lose, but in the end, love will return in a different form.”
For me there are two wise lessons in this story: Grief and loss are ubiquitous even for a young child. And the way toward healing is to look for how love comes back in another form. - May Benatar
Imagine there’s no countries
Imagine there’s no possessions
Imagine a world where Skype does not crash
You may say that I’m a dreamer…
trying to figure out someone else’s shower
Don’t think about it too hard.
Based on easily my favorite for real people show, House M.D.
Hugh Laurie is a wizard.
What did happen when Trixie went to the rock farm?
Tree’s are waving welcome home
Footsteps first meet pastures green
Where lily laden meadows yawn
And laughing hills lie down to sleep
I call out to my brothers afar
And fill it with reunions play
Our family ten thousand strong
Let burst our hearts these numbered days
As lively sun comes and joins along
The meadow opts to shy away
The dance floor blushing red with dust
We turn up stones to decorate
As parting ways our dancing dies
The sun takes rest on aging clouds
Torrents fall on thirsty earth
And wash away the lingering sound
In silence now the meadow wakes
The stones surround with vibrant greens
Old trees alight the trodden floor
And foot paths flood to form new streams
The flora find their home again
With hills all dressed in flower beds
The nourished earth forms softer paths
And fauna rouse to dance in our stead
Without even a footprint left
It looks untouched when comes the dawn
Reborn the earth puts us at ease
Our long trip back to Babylon
(written while at rainbow. the whole time which i didnt even pick up my notebook, but the moment that it started raining a poem came pouring out. i find it humorous it seems my inspiration has come to rely on rain. back to my usual iambic tetrameter, although i took a note from my last poem and didnt insist on using strictly 8 syllable as i always have, allowed it to flow a little more loosely. ill probably stick to doing that from now on.)
Giants are building cyclopean walls
With too many gunposts and barracks too small
And the higher they rise it gives way at the seams
But with bleeding out veins they will still build it taller
Now oceans are filled with the blood of new life
For forging our pyramids ten thousand floors high
While submarines frozen await now the sun
Homaging sailors seek substitute light
Now brothers of nations join arms where they reach
Find time to relax on our silicon beaches
But while oversea homes make for towers anew
Their bones are ground for the sand and are whitened with bleach
Yet preachers are preaching the greatness of man
From pulpits sprung forth from the water and the sand
Beneath twisted metal and damnation’s veil
He screams, seafaring vessels care nothing for dams
And the bird with two wings depends not on the branch
Your faith is your fate and you fate is at hand
(first doing iambic pentameter. im rather fond of it, but it will take some getting used to thinking in that rhythm. i wrote this just before leaving for rainbow, i feel like it was preemptively inspired by that same energy though. also, it was written to the tune from the latter half of Madera by Hey ocean. i generally read it straight, but i wrote so that it would fit with that tune.)