Scared of...

The several Knights of the realm at Heart
Who glared toward they
Who'd dare to bray
At our good Lady.

Drunken they,
and not so Brave,
The pack of knaves
Have lost the day.

Hamburger guy is sorry

I've often wondered about our specific end. How we would delay it over the eons. If we would ever

achieve a singular concerted purpose of continuance. Our conscience born in our biology and its cravings, do we embrace them and nourish them over time or do we minimize, becoming systems of stored and exchanged information? Do we give up our human motive to become an eternal witness?

He communicates via the id in visceral blasts that leave an afterglow

in brains with atrophied attention spans.