Bored

My classes are beginning to bore me. The only times Calculus is entertaining is when I get to take a test or quizzes. Otherwise, nada. But I still have to do the homework. Meh, go figure. However, in my near delirious state of mental idleness, to prevent myself from falling asleep I wrote some prose-etry. So here they are, uneditted (including gramatical mistakes), straight from the class discussed. Enjoy! (I'll warn ya now, it's a tad... odd. In a bad way. But that's public school for you, eh? New poll up, by the way.)

4 f(e)=A=r 0*f #
A Calculus Crypt

Although I am tempted, I dare not sleep, for troubles of old and Newton shall plague. I phase in and then out, round and about the room to preserve my reserve of patience. I ponder and plea for some activity that shall waken my poor soul from slumber, but regretfully it appears to me that this Calculus still has my number. Alas and alack, my slumped over back leaves my head to look for a pillow, but since she's off track and my mind's on the rack, I'm required to weep with the willow. And cries I now write for I no longer fight the boredom and idle depression, but though it sounds trite and is devoid of bite, my thoughts creep into rhyming recession.STOP I declare, for I'm going somewhere in which dreams overcome every difference and sum, and I still question why we all multiply every figure and shape in each plane and planescape in a binary code, a numerical ode, to a one and some zeros, our nihilistic heores, all counting the days till our greens turn to grays and I stand up and SCREAM
THEY ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM! "No use, all," is the morbid last call. Drink to me darling with a twinkle of eye and your Romantic sigh-ed of the story.

Econ, The Do

I demand to know why I supply an answer right in my mind's eye that's right when I use common cents that I have never earned. Earned, then spurned, is how this works, with bureacrats and business jerks all plying, trying, crying, lieing, buying my soul and entire whole attention span to dollar signs and whines of unemployed landminds planted within these coded pages, stirring rages, closing cages on what I was sure was true. But you, you fury causing thought that ought not to supply its quantity of persistence in sustaining its sad existence solely spreading lies intended to be known as fact. A fact? A fact! No use of tact is used when reality abused is defied and warped and lied upon its shell. Theories, theories, queries teary mindeyes. I find that now I've been turned blind, like Justice with her laws and rules, but all the these new rules are formed by fools who believe no God, so odd, yet blindly trust that rust shall not adulterate the rate of change in time of this out of control rhyme that deals in, but makes, no cents.

Economic Eccentricities

Fingers sans toes, whoever knows to press the keys to success. It's a breeze to cough and wheeze out notes from throats exhaling zounds of different sounds. A missed key here unlocks a trapdoor of discord that hides beneath the floor. A cry, a scream, a minor sigh of dark romance to dance and prance and waltz with faults of step in the 3/4 march of life "Hup One, hup three", he yells at me, and I don't care for his notes or stare as I unload a barrage of staccato bullets aimed at his heart. It's a start, in this sonorous war, but I fear it won't end before the double bar of death. I practice C's and miseries for coming concerts of despair and symphonies of agonies, oh listener beware! A masterpiece of writing, a sonata of silence, a concerto of nothing, a soundless,
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VOID