User:Reverend Mik

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Occasionally on IRC.
 
Occasionally on IRC.
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== The Foundation for the Preservation of a Dissociative Society ==
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By Reverend Mitchel “Mik” McAllister
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Jessica thinks she’s beautiful
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As she puts paper flowers in her hair
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And waves to the paparazzi
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Walking past on the red carpet sidewalk
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Michael thinks he’s famous
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As he sings in the bus stop concert hall
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And thanks the Academy
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For another whiskey bottle Oscar
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Ashley thinks she’s an artist
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As she paints the air with strokes of her hands
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And basks in the silent accolades
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Of the blind critics who walk right through
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Christopher thinks he’s a genius
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Taking apart the broken abandoned radio
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And builds a time machine
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For the bored investors getting off the train
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Brittany thinks she’s a philosopher
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On the cusp of quantifying the soul
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And discourses with a hundred Prousts Sartes Descartes
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Incapable of speaking the same language
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Matthew thinks he’s a pundit
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Updating his Friends on Facebook
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And propounds on the state of the world
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As they click to the next page about kittens
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The passers-by think they’re important
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Each a queen a president a general a celebrity
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And ignore the invisible voiceless creatures
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Sleeping on the sidewalks doorways benches lawns
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Everyone thinks they are human
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And each one is the only one
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© 2012 by Mitchel “Mik” McAllister and LunaText Publications. Permission to copy and distribute is granted, as long as the whole work is distributed, and only for purposes devoid of self-aggrandizement.

Revision as of 07:52, 2 January 2013

Ordained minister (not preacher), worldbuilder, hacking social issues

Occasionally on IRC.



The Foundation for the Preservation of a Dissociative Society

By Reverend Mitchel “Mik” McAllister

Jessica thinks she’s beautiful As she puts paper flowers in her hair And waves to the paparazzi Walking past on the red carpet sidewalk

Michael thinks he’s famous As he sings in the bus stop concert hall And thanks the Academy For another whiskey bottle Oscar

Ashley thinks she’s an artist As she paints the air with strokes of her hands And basks in the silent accolades Of the blind critics who walk right through

Christopher thinks he’s a genius Taking apart the broken abandoned radio And builds a time machine For the bored investors getting off the train

Brittany thinks she’s a philosopher On the cusp of quantifying the soul And discourses with a hundred Prousts Sartes Descartes Incapable of speaking the same language

Matthew thinks he’s a pundit Updating his Friends on Facebook And propounds on the state of the world As they click to the next page about kittens

The passers-by think they’re important Each a queen a president a general a celebrity And ignore the invisible voiceless creatures Sleeping on the sidewalks doorways benches lawns

Everyone thinks they are human And each one is the only one


© 2012 by Mitchel “Mik” McAllister and LunaText Publications. Permission to copy and distribute is granted, as long as the whole work is distributed, and only for purposes devoid of self-aggrandizement.

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