In Which A William Gibson Character Haunts My Migraine Dreams

Hubertus Bigend, Bond villain and one

With whom I'd hate to tangle, you inspire

Such awe and dread as would cause me to run

The other way on seeing you. Admire

A thing I do and you'd cause me to quake.

Show any notice of me and I'll think

At first of hiding, but I know you'll shake

Loose anyone who had the pow'r to sync

What public data there is on me to

More esoteric sources, and would find

A way to make them use those talents. Who

Has ever told you "no"? You always grind

The edges off that "no" 'til it's a "yes."

It's good that you are fictional, I guess!

In Which Reality Proves Once Again To Be As Weird My Favorite Novelist's Work

Were I with Apple's marketing brain trust,
How would I follow it's great iPad coup?
I'd think guerilla leaks would be a must,
And it looks to me that they think so, too.
Was iPhone's newest iteration dropped
In error in a bar? That seems quite odd.
The furor this created can't be stopped,
And such publicity's a gift from God,
Unless it's manufactured, Blue Ant style.
E'en he who dreamed up Hubertus Bigend,
Our William Gibson, thinks so. It's worthwhile,
I think, to ponder if it's true. Forfend
That one of Apple's minions takes the blame.
Could any human being withstand the shame?

In Which I Have Mixed Feelings Over Vat-Veganism

Last night I made elk chili for our meal,

Tonight homemade tomato sauce I plan,

Homemade tomato paste, too. Yes, I feel

Quite proud to make my own. I do think Man

Does best when he's an omnivore but I

Don't do the supermarket meat thing, no.

The chemicals and cruelty just don't fly

With me. Per William Gibson today, though,

I ponder now a future in which meat

Comes not from animals, milk not from cows,

Eggs not from birds; all vat-grown. Could be sweet,

Or could be even more disgusting. How's

It strike you? We already eat such stuff

As great-grandma would not call food, sure 'nuff.

In Which I Discover That Chess Is Good Medicine

I took a duck right to the face today

At two hundred fifty knots, as the meme goes.

My throat's new lump just will not go away,

My heart feels like it's taken thirty blows

From someone's mallet. But a game of chess

Long distance, over slow and thoughtful time

Has proved a worthy cure for my distress,

Reminding me I've partners yet in crime,

E'en though my dear Mac Tonnies cannot be

Among their number anymore. Each move

Captures my thoughts, attention, makes me see

More possibilities and does much to improve

My frame of mind, to have it well-engaged.

Thanks to my friend for this small war we've waged.

In Which A Weird Co-Twit-cidence Has Me Flabbergasted

Baton-twirlers have nothing on this guy,
Josh Womack, with his mad bat-ninja skills!
My gosh, the torque he somehow doth apply
To make that bat spin. It gives me the chills,
And I'm not very much a baseball fan.
But freakish talent grabs me every time,
As freak coincidences also do. Oh man!
Somehow my fav'rite writer, one whom I'm
Quite proud to name as William Gibson, found
Me passing on a tweet about this clip,
And made the choice to pass it all around.
It's called re-tweeting, and it's quite a trip,
When someone I admire deigns to see
And geek on something that's deligthed me.