what makes something have the quality of being
I am a batman. I have not a body. I have not a self. I am only a collection of wing-shaped thoughts masquerading as a man. I am bats. I am not a vampire, for they suck. They are a massive pain in the neck, and I have endeavored my entire life to avoid them.
To those who would disparage me, I do not bat an eye. I see you, and your mockery, your ill-thought-out jibes against my character. They cannot stop me. I am a collection of bats. Slights against me are mere afterthoughts to all-consuming desire I feel to feed.
As a result of the multiplicity of my consciousnesses, I cannot die. I cannot be gone from this Earth, or die like the one late Professor Ted Kaczynski. I reside above mere mortals such as him. I do not need to degrade myself by wearing human clothing, with degrading imagery like “Shrek” on it.
I am God. I hath written the heathen Bible to deter humanity from discovering the true way of the bats. It, along with folk punk and ramen noodles, only serves to further harm the society built by the half-witted race that inhabits this Earth.
The only thing worse than the feeling of being flightless is the worms.
Oh, the worms. They haunt my brain, injecting themselves into my conscience by importing themselves through my sinuses.
I shall rise above it.
I am a batman.
I cannot be stopped.
The Dignity of a Kiwi
To buzz like a bee Was no desire to me. And to flit like a fly Was just not for I.
I was not so foul To want to be an owl, And I had not the range To be that of a crane.
For I was the kiwi And I cannot soar. I stay put on the ground And wander the floor.
And I have no wish To do that of a fish, Or burrow a hole With the star-nosed mole.
No, I am quite content, In my place on Earth. And for my limitations, I lack no self-worth buzzy poem