A NEW GAME OF BLOCKS AND MINING,
I STAND ON A SHORE OF SAND.
I LIKE IT; IT DOESN'T GET IN MY SQAURE FEET.

I LOOK THROUGH PIXAL EYES
AROUND AT MY SURROUNDINGS;
THERE'S AN OCEAN OF UNMOVING BLUE,
A MOUNTAIN OF STONE AND CAVES
BEYOND A FOREST OF BUMPY GREEN.

I THEN TURN AND THEN,
I SMACK A TREE WITH MY SQUARE HAND.
I EXPECT PAIN BUT THERE IS NONE
AND THE RESULT IS A TINY BLOCK OF DARK WOOD
FLOATING A GAP IN THE TREE IT ONCE FILLED.

I STEP FORWARD TO COLLECT IT,
BUT IT FLIES TOWARD ME AND INTO ME;
I WILL IT TO APPEAR IN MY HAND AND IT DOES.

MY EYES GROW BIGGER AND MY BLOCKY SMILE GROWS
BIGGER THAN THE PIXELS THAT MAKE UP MY FACE.

I RUN AROUND, COLLECTING WOOD
AND LAUGHING WITH A CRAZED FACE.

AS I CATCH MY BREATH, I NOTICE IT'D GETTING DARK
AND I TURN TO SEE A HORRIBLE FACE OF GREEN
AND I HEAR A HISSING NOISE.

I CAN ONLY CRY OUT AS THE THING EXPLODES,
WITH A SICKING EXPLOSION AND A LOOK
ON MY CUBE HEAD THAT SAYS
“F* YOU, CREEPER!”

My words are the keys off beat
In choir, the one off key
The bird who flies in the opposite direction

The ecentric. They call us the liberals. The freedom fighters. They say were are the hippies, the weirdos.
What makes me different........................
My hat is so tall you can't see the theatre performance
My eyes are so curious I see a light on every ceiling
My hands are so wound they jump like bunnies on every desk
My feet as so tired they twist in the soil

I paint a picture that shows shadow and dark
I feel I am both
I Feel like the wind of the opposite direction

The pain
The torture
It all seems familiar

Hello Old Friend
You were right
Here I am
Back to sqaure one

Holding you
in my hand
And making you caress my wrist
The beautiful mess you make
makes me crave for more

But my family and friends
Must never know
Or else
I can't see you again

Oh I hear them coming
So i have got to go
Bye Mr razor

I  came across a picture of a bird drawn over pages of a book, it made me think back to college and how we would be given tasks to draw or paint things.
Now usually an exemplar of some sort would be put up at the front of the class and before you know it you have about twenty very frustrated girls trying to copy this bird and not quite being able to. This then made me think what if the teacher just told us to draw a bird and put nothing up at the front of the class except for the words "Draw a bird". If the teacher did that what would the birds be like?

We don't need twenty photocopiers or twenty pieces of carbon paper, What we need is twenty different perceptions and ideas.

Art isn't the system, we don't have to suffocate our creativity cause it fits into a circle instead of a sqaure

That unbearable Pain
Triggered to the depth.

So dark as if no light.
Ends to an Infinite destination.

So Detailed and Rare of the Rarest.
With sqaure rings attached.  

The Pain Subsides for a moment
Just to return with greater Intensity.

I see this guy dancing like a fool while his lady friend streams it. You think she respects you doing the cha cha like a good boy? Shes laughing at how pathetic you are you cutesy fool. She wants you to punch her sqaure in the face knocking out 6 of her teeth and to put her in a chokehold and stab her ****** like a stud.
I have my coors light
So i dive off the jumping board. **** dating,
I love my squrrels. I make a **** good beefcake marsala for dinner.
**** my ****