This is what I look like today:
My head's been spinning and throbbing like crazy since yesterday, then compounded with chills, a really bad cold and cough, things are really all sunshine and rainbows.
And the final touch - a terrible poem only a Vogon can make.
Read it and die.
Its always gray outside my office window -
from top to bottom the endless ash
of all those sky-high tombstones
and dead leaves that move in lines;
of the undead who shuffle silently in their chiffon
and their cotton
mumbling silent prayers
to the gods
of mammon and coitus and nescience.
It's always gray outside my office window -
a sky on the verge of tears.
But it smiles too,
It's always gray outside my office window,
and as I look out into the world
glazed glass eyes
I wonder, I ponder, and I dream -
because though it's true that we share a sky,
I ask myself if we share the remembering as well.