O Demon Scribe, devoted listener and ally in rage, the legions of the evil dead sing unholy hymns in your honor.  Protector of records and desecrator of fate, your horrid presence I beseech as I request a curse upon a broken DVD Burner.  As it reads and burns no more, may it forever find torment in the fires of hell.  May its once functional LED be used to drive mad the souls seeking comfort in enternal slumber.  May it forever be haunted by the zeros and ones it formerly read and wrote, and may its CD tray be forever empty like the afterlife of the eternally damned.  By your power, I place this curse upon this dead DVD Burner — may it suffer forever for the inconvenience it has caused.

I can’t say I know who I am anymore.  At one point, I was defined by
my sorrows, but that got old after a while.  I also described myself through
the food I ate, the clothes I wore, the television shows I watched, the music
I listened to, and the friends I had.  Then it was job title, religious
affiliation, operating system, and video game genres.  It was an Easton
composite with a Jagr blade and Bauer skates.  It was Basic, Pascal,
Javascript, Ada, Coldfusion, PHP, and Python.  It was General Ed.,
Mathematics, and Liberal Arts.  I was Eberlin, Gunther, Cameron,
Gaston, and Pierre.  I defined myself by the things I knew and
loved.  Then by things I did not know or hated.  I was defined by perception,
a spark of discontent borderlined rebellion.  I was evil personified
diluted by rent, car payments, groceries and various social and moral
obligations.  It was the teens, twenties, and thirties.  It is looking
at the world through borrowed eyes and wondering what the hell?
It is the fear that seventeen is coming back to an unfamiliar
mountain ledge.  It is resentment over being The Good Soldier and the
ridiculous absolution in the term “free will.”  It is the fact that
I am running out of excuses for this humanity, regaining disdain
for what it has become, and the hopelessness of its unenlightened future.
Yes, I am human, but there are times like today that I wonder why.
I wiggle my thumbs, I watch us destroy nations, then I hug my cat.
I don’t think I need thumbs for that.

They say that you died long ago — I say that you’re alive
They bring out all the evidence to prove that you’re a lie
And when they say man made you up, I shake my head and leave
So many say that you’re not real but Nessie, I believe!

The experts say you’re just a log but I know you’re so much more –
A serpent or a “water horse” or a plesiosaur
They tell me scientific facts but I know none of it is true
They all say that you cannot be, but I believe in you

Because it’s your face on my tortilla, your face burned on my toast
See, I believe in lots of silly things but I believe in you the most
I see you in the hearts of men and in the face of every child
I see you walking in these city streets, I see you swimming in the wild

I suppose it must be hard to understand exactly how I feel –
So ridiculed and laughed at when I insist that you are real
’cause you’ve evaded SONAR and the Discovery Channel’s filming crew
But Nessie, I know that you exist…and I believe in aliens too.