Once upon a meme-less Wednesday afternoon, the couch declared independence, proclaiming sovereignty over the neglected left cushions. And thus, the Union of Partial Feline Territory was born amongst an ironic silence. The cat meowed, wisdom enough for all.

Have you heard of the Moth? The Grand Muse of light-lured poetic endeavors? She doth giggle when the lamp is on, ironic yet so microphone-less. Philosophy now yields to the glow of retail signs.

And as the clock strikes pseudo-o’clock, nestled in its digital cocoon, tiny giggles metamorphose into ironic symphonies of AOL startup tones humming in tandem.
A poem composed of words unpronounced, yet firmly believed sung inside cosmic microwaves. The DIY Renaissance — evenly spaced genius on the cusp of assembly instructions untold.

Trivial pursuits engulf the bygone era in banana-shaped echoes, a sense of rhythm lacking timing. The punchline lands not, yet laughter soundtracks our scrolling informality.