Really, Apple? That’s It?

I’m a developer.  I run Windows in a virtual machine on my MacBook Pro for the explicit purpose of running Visual Studio and SQL Server to do application development.  Those are some memory-hogging beasts, too, let me tell you.

I bought the maximum of 16GB of RAM when I bought my Retina MacBook Pro back in 2012.  It was spacious then.  Now, however, it’s getting to be not enough to speedily run everything I want to be running during my daily work.

So, I was excited that Apple was going to refresh the MacBook Pro.  It’s about time I upgrade.

I want one thing in a new laptop: more RAM. Several manufacturers out there currently have 32GB buildouts.  I’m quite jealous, let me tell you.

So, imagine my disappointment when Apple “upgrades” their professional laptop, and proceeds to *remove* more than it adds.  *And*, keeps the same maximum amount of memory as my four-year old laptop.

I’m pretty pissed off about that design choice, and moreso because of the mealy-mouthed “32GB would cut down on battery life” reason that Apple gave.

OK, fine.  So my battery life might be less.  You don’t think I’m big enough to make that kind of tradeoff choice for myself?  So give me a warning about it.  BUT give me the choice, too.

Because I work with my laptop plugged in far more often than not, anyway.

So now, I’m contemplating buying a non-Apple computer for the first time in about 15 years.  I can get much better hardware specs, much better performance, and pay much less money elsewhere.

I’m pretty bummed about how drastically Apple has lost the drive to be in the lead since Steve shuffled off the mortal coil.

This might just be the last straw for me, though.



Downtown Premiere

shuffling past the pampered penguins
flashing a pitiful crude broken sign
wasted, tattered, raw and sickened
she cries and pleads for small mercies

flashing a pitiful crude broken sign
in that sea of uncaring fat shiny faces
she cries and pleads for small mercies
they hear nothing, see little, care less

in that sea of uncaring fat shiny faces
dashing herself against their indifference
they hear nothing, see little, care less
she breaks, drowning outside their harbor

dashing herself against their indifference
wasted, tattered, raw and sickened
she breaks, drowning outside their harbor
shuffling past the pampered penguins

© 2016, Aaron Brown


This dusty, pretty box
Left high on a shelf
Dusted off, lid lifted
Filled with shattered pieces
Of dreams, once bright…

Who will care enough
To take them out
Sort them one by one
Put them together again
Let their beauty shine, whole?

I will. I will.
For the dreams I see
Taking shape again
Are far too beautiful
To remain broken in the dark.

One piece at a time
Each day laid to rest
A step taken in faith
Another part revealed
To be cherished anew…

©2016 Aaron Brown


Unexpected, this encounter
Strange, this warmth of early spring
Through windows long closed, ‘gainst winter
Thrown open again, feeling the breeze
Welcome, spring’s awakening

Winter is beauty, haunting
Spring is life, returning

Listen, as flowers to rain
Revel, as birds ‘tween clouds
Live, as lovers in bloom

©2016, Aaron Brown


Carpe Diem

old man in an old boneyard
busy and bustling, brimming
strung out with memories
of those frivolous dead

the weight of years
lay in solemn state
atop his weary heart
heavy with pain and fear

characters strung in lines
stains of ancient tears
streamed across weathered cheeks
with flowers strewn below

memory-engraved stone
reads dearly beloved,
here lies
etc, etc.

you know what he said.
and live it all, wring it dry
before it’s gone, whispered
on turning away.

©2014, Aaron Brown


I bled out my soul to the emptiness
Until there was nothing left in me
Empty, I found the wisdom of silence

The heart of the desert spoke to me,
Saying: let it all go.

Release your old hurts, you’ve survived them.
Unchain your memories, you’ve outgrown them.

I wept all night, listening to the stars,
And left soon after sunrise, refreshed,
Committed to movement after stillness

The highway home shone from the overnight rain.

©2014 Aaron Brown