Grilled Cheese

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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-16 08:00:47 EDT

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Bowl with Human Feet Predynastic, Late Naqada l–Naqada II ca. 3700–3450 BCE, Egypt Poem reads: Don't worry, Master, I'm coming! It's just I don't have knees, and every step for you, is five or so toddles for me! Worse still, when I'm carrying fruit or (worse again) grain, I can't look down to see where I'm going! I'm perpetually in danger of tripping on a stone or a crack you didn't notice, and when we're on a slight incline, the apples or rice or wine falls so far and fast! I don't know if you've ever tried catching a rolling apple on your head, with no hands, but it isn't easy! Sometimes, Mother, I wonder, did you make me for labour or love? Did you intend on watching me chip my feet on compact Nile earth as I tumble after wine I can't reclaim? Or did you hope for me a mantlepiece, a conversation starter? You made me "to bring", but what, to where, and pray tell, I don't have to be faster than the carriage of Ra for (as stated before) I do not have knees, and my head is much larger than my feet.
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line of grey clouds showing rain, lightning SOURCE wunderground.com
There is a blue plaque on a hill, screwed to the dead trunk of an elm. It speaks of years when leaves grew thick, when small birds raised their young protected by its branches, when its silhouette against the sky traced seasons: from the sharp-edged, detailed filigree of Winter, through the vivid fuzz of Spring (as if one’s eyes were slightly out of focus), Summer’s solid, rounded masses, to the tattered yellow flags of Autumn slowly littering the ground beneath. Few read it now, or care — for after all, what’s one old loss among so many more?
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Tear Tearful moments Minutes of joy Minutes of pain Funny how they look the same Universal tears Same look Same taste Confusing Without the heart's Translation
Footsteps Through Fresh Paint Diminishing returns A figure fading in the fog Shadow casting shadows I followed you Through the parts I knew The rest hidden By distance and Your need to be apart I had a path, To walk where you walked To catch you when you slowed To rest, or reflect But you never did And the way you went Became less clear As the parts of you I knew Were exhausted
Flashpoints Past white phosphorus dms private photos and midnight calls snare of beauty tripped magnets shattering on collision death star chain reaction summer heat fever orbits parting cold dark matter leaves begin to fall
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Flying shape made of the words "winged" and "poetry"
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