The Epic Tale of Immortal Al
Immortal Al, the poet.
Yes, and don’t he know it
And forget me not, his imaginary friend, Mortal Lee, that’s me!
He has a Masters in Authorship. Me, his penmanship.
He’s not just any or ordinary. I’m not just his minion.
No artificial flavors or preservatives.
He’s no cheap imitation or worthless replication.
He hath no other competition. He’s always number one!
He’s a writer of Worlds, and copyright chit.
Some may think, he is the Father Time. I know he’s mine!
Born from the fabric of Space.
Residing here, of all the places.
What he’s escaping from, or who? I don’t know. Do you?
You may know him by some other name.
He has many aliases, an infinity of them.
Escaping kid Chaos via a Milky Way mobile ceiling fanhood.
Immortal Al is a scrupulous studious scholarly sort
And has his very own private room that he calls, The Fort.
Out of all of the places the Universe spared
This is the place that he really does care
The most about. He’s always adjusting his chair
About his study at the center of Earth.
It’s a room with no view
Like any a view that’s viewed
from the dome of his mind.
In the “corner” he has a library of sorts,
Full of fanciful fancies and fantasies.
All books written & signed by him, of course.
As a bookworm, he’s the worst,
Some may say he just maybe even be cursed.
His desk is not dusty or cluttery at all,
With useless whacky tacky and stuff...
Only the finest of paper, Royalty fluff,
Ribbon and ink, a feathery quill for a pen,
And most important, his most loyal of friends,
His dependable reliable tap tap tap, taptaptap
Absolutely unthinkable absentminded tinkerbell
Type tinkering think-tank tap friend Lee fiend... the rig.
He feels safe in his underground bunker
Tinkers around with his proliferous plunders
That take shape when he’s real hunkered down.
To know the sky's the mirror, the mirror of his mind
Reflecting his thots far and near thru time... throughout time.
With his eelectromagnatico magmatism,
He protects his thots from the Sun. Shine.
He’s always been a bit light sensitive,
Hence, where he gets his work done. In time!
Bubbling from bubbles within ...
Bubbly bubbles bubbling up, bubbling up for you, my friends.
The bubble is fragile, an atmosphere of Nuskin.
It’s just a band aid for the long llong longing loneliness within.
Above on the surface is where his dreams come alive
It's always the Story of stories, that thrive.
Everything begins to take form. Crystalize, flavor de L'Amour.
It’s like taking a magical mystical mother of tours ride
Taking thots to a level where beauty is born
And always wonderings what will come next
Never knowing what to expect
When he puts ‘em on paper, he’s creating a lore for himself
But with respect, he does it for the ladies,
Oh, how he loves to dream of the ladies
He opens the door, to his dance floor
Where his mind expands for the ladies, for Daisy!
For all the ladies beyond explanation!
He grapples beyond starlit recreation.
He’s Immortal Al. He’s my pen pal
That goes far in between deep meditation
Releasing valves of geysers and such
An epitome of impressive imaginations.
As he types at the keys, volcanos explode
And all sorts of juices start flowing
Bananas and boomers, tap tap tap tap
He won’t stop until it’s just right
He muh muh must be souper satisfied and satiated, that’s right!
He certainly does what he pleases, tap tap
He’s my mentor, I’m his best pupil, for Gods’ sake!
And when he starts to tap, tap tap, tap away
He never ceases to stop, tap tap
Not even for his own sneezes, tap tap, taptap
Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap tapping away
Boom! He belts out in Song! Tap tap.
Songs with decibels beyond ordinary hearing
(Yet can be felt rippling with no ears to hear but mine.) Tappity tap.
Boom! When he’s quirky, he quakes. When he laughs,
The Earthquakes in one big green Shamrock shake flask.
Tap tap tap apt pat pat atpataptapatapatap tappatty tap
Tap thru the night, tap through the day
Tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tapping away
Tapping away the day, tap through night
He’s a tap away, tap away, tap away knight!
Feverously frantically frowns forward for this part...
Is it almost over, the end is nigh, but it’s not, yes, it is...
It is I, an Art MEdDler meddling with the Art of Life.
He taps away taps a way taps toward a smile
When he knows he’s guts us just right
He’s gone the distance, that extra mile
But won’t stop until it is just right...
(And finally get Justice for Jesus ’ life!
Wow, that’s gonna a be a good write to come.
Rapturing up a good rhapsody for everyone.
Wrapping it up with a woop Woop Whoop wackidee do!
Coming up, the final chapter, just for you and me.
Written only in the dreamworld dimension, you’ll see.
Expressed with some expresso
In tomorrow’s wonderful morning duh duh, daylight.)
Not an A.I. poem. I am not a Robot.
Immortal Al is not A.I. but wouldn’t it be weird if he was.
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