Wow. You managed to sum up the plots for all 10 Friday the 13th movies in one elongated diatribe. Then again, the plots for F13 can appropriately be summed up in a four and a half word sentence, but your garrulousness blooms the most preternatural insects.
Privately I say you need to stop eating other people's chapstick.
And besides, if it weren't for the herpes you couldn't possibly prove to anyone that someone really DOES love you. SO consider it an incurable blessing.
Hope your remission is extended.
And don't ever slip me a roofie again you bastard.
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
Originally posted by setaside2 It occurs to me that this group of people is reminiscent of any given group of folks who suddenly have airline tickets dropped off at their door for no particular purpose and we all end up arriving at some out of the way paradise with pina coladas and a No Speedo rule, and we're happy and chatty and wondering who in the hell paid our way to some tropical isle in the middle of nowhere when we all start getting murdered on the first appropriately stormy night and then our factions divide and some of us go off to have sex and come back only to realize that while we were screaming the wrong person's name in the heated throes of honeyed passion another one of our group has died and we know that we were the only ones who couldn't have been killing people because our lips are still sticky so we have nothing to do but to stand by each other until one of us is forced to turn away at the wrong moment and the other dies unceremoniously and unpoetically at our back leaving only ourselves realizing that this movie plot SUCKS and while the sex was great there are no points for originality hereabouts and there is still this sticky bloody mess on the floor that you could swear was corn syrup based with enough carmine and red No. 25 dye in it to last a high school sweater reunion and OH LOOK a gun is pointed at me and don't I feel self conscious at this moment thinking man I should have tried the botanical teas here they sounded like a fruitful treat and one that could have done me good why do i have to die in this ridiculous hawaiian shirt why is it we always have to die looking so goddam lame in these things i ask you and oh MY it was you all along wasn't it well isn't that something new and unique amongst all of this and I can see there's no persuading you otherwise and that no amount of my knowledge in kung fu can save me now and I suppose that it wouldn't matter a bit to say that I still loved you would it now... BANG.
Fuck.
I really did kind of like that shirt.
Thanks Seta...pretty much hit the head on the nail.
i have been getting warnings about this board. Seta, you seem to be the only sane person on this board.
xo
Dearest Gita, if I am the sane one... who the hell are all these people?!
LOL
I am no definition of rationality at this point in life, for certain. But you are so very sweet and shiny that I bow before you...
And care to share on the warnings madame seer? I would like to know what part I am to play in all of this
I think we should all just pool our money and get a really nice house in the hills, a mansion just for us crazy PJ poets. I could definitely go for that.
Okay, NOW I could totally see it. Let's do it.
seta
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
Originally posted by setaside2 I think we should all just pool our money and get a really nice house in the hills, a mansion just for us crazy PJ poets. I could definitely go for that.
Okay, NOW I could totally see it. Let's do it.
seta
I think the Manson Family started the same way.
Dibs on top bunk!
Here's a piece dredged up from the past... I always liked it. Mostly. A town about to lose it's gossip centerweight and it's hollow inspiration.
TRADER
The boat waded into shore as persons gathered round
To catch the fisherman and his wares.
A cry was risen!
The sight of his golden net:
It glinted with dripping reflections.
He was a man who smoked,
Sunburned.
His job was to fish and return,
To leave and to fish.
“I’m not God,” he cried,
And yet it helps him survive.
These people who gaze up at him,
Their praising eyes shining with idolatry,
Could learn the same;
Especially if they were made aware
Of the fact that he may
Retire
Come Indian Summer
And so it is for Gita. And all this for all of you. Next a new piece.
seta
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
This one was done last night. I feel as though I could have written a novel and some of you may very well tell me I did regardless. I hope you like it, I am actually dying to hear opinions.
And this really is for all of you.
Lunar Echo
These pieces of me that still flail in the wind like laundry fresh from the barrel, the children racing between the alien shadows flitting to and fro above the blades of grass in the spring; These flows of conscious thoughts and all that pull on my puppet strings to impress or to depress or to repress or to regress or to empress or to digress or otherwise enchant upon occasion shared and lit harshly in 5000k halogen... I am not photogenic. I do not fade well in the sunlight of summer, my hair going blonde and then grey; washing out under the haze and in the browning grass parched with heat. My brain, so divided, my loyalties so shattered, my heart withered in the rain of autumn, I fade into the mists with joy reveling in the way they stroke my hair so lovingly; I never notice that my shirt grows dark with moisture. I bleed in the darkening hours of midnight winter, a pool at my feet, dreaming blissful and unaware of approaching dawn. The shadows dance, no longer slowed to a crawl by the subzero temperatures; nay the blood has thawed the homes of the forgotten and all has come forward in a rush for the exits, the excitement of what's to come...
The arrow in my chest barely affects my breathing as I summit the rise, my head throbbing with lack of oxygen and overdream; I realize as the sun rises that I am finally alive, my shirt in tatters and my consciousness has beaten the path that I can only see when I turn around. It's a shame I have littered so much of this mountainside with pieces of myself, but as breath holds it's own, tangibility available for such a short duration these days, my lights flicker out. I shudder and float away a leaf on the tide, a message in a bottle...
I share the sandy beach of a desert isle with the dream of you wrapped around my shoulders, the shawl, my tarp, my home.
I don't mind these storms and the waterspouts that arise in them that always beckon and threaten to carry me away... the tide may rise high, it seems, and my swimming skills have ere yet to be tested but with these rocks, my foundation, my castle, I am a man of many means and if it is war you want I am afraid that I shall dissipate before I acquiesce. I prefer the storm prevail. All these words are merely scratched in the earth, hewn by rough edged fingers and stone. The gales serve merely to silence my pleas as my cries slide back into the span of sand from whence they came. My bottle has long since returned to sea and therefore my last resort for salvation has gone with the tide.
I cannot wait for the stars to come out, my conversations with Mars having grown long and fluent with time. When the clouds part and stars hit the water and I am at last free to walk the wet and windy trail once again, my footsteps ripple behind me as I part my way. Such unorthodox trials are these, my summits merely another valley, these waves seeking to undermine with repetition and redundancy. I find my horizon lines diminish with time. Sky meets sky meets sky and my backbone itches as wings unfurl. Pegasus' bones have knitted properly and I have been passed the curse of sight above, a broken horse felled by disbelief.
I hover, my sadness unfurled. I drip.
I would but kneel in supplication but the water will no longer support me. It is to flight I have taken and, misdirection or no, sleight of hand or sly of smile, I have now learned the song I am to sing.
May the voice reach the gods. May their halls shake with the cobwebbed neglect that is felt. May their pride bring them home. May their wounds allow them to return.
My wings, silver.
I’ve never noticed.
And the Echo echo echo....
How it pounds away into oblivion.
I crane my neck to see the waves I have created in lunar orbit
My last breath finally escaping me in the dawn of another spring
And I understand bliss
My waves have reached the shores of an empty sea
-And a garden teeming with life-
It is, at the last, the next life cycle before the eclipse.
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
i'm so pleased that your muse is back. hope i wasn't too much of an interruption last night. i had NO idea you were working on something so incredible. i read it twice, and i'm going to go read it again. i'm particularly fond of this:
Such unorthodox trials are these, my summits merely another valley, these waves seeking to undermine with repetition and redundancy. I find my horizon lines diminish with time. Sky meets sky meets sky and my backbone itches as wings unfurl. Pegasus' bones have knitted properly and I have been passed the curse of sight above, a broken horse felled by disbelief.
I hover, my sadness unfurled. I drip.
I would but kneel in supplication but the water will no longer support me. It is to flight I have taken and, misdirection or no, sleight of hand or sly of smile, I have now learned the song I am to sing.
Is it so sad that, as this thread reaches post 200, I have become accustomed and comfortable in my corner of this: the PJ Poetry Forum? I have my pillows strewn about, a bowl of kettle corn freshly popped and the entire place is lit by rain scented candles. I have the folded silk screens to keep out the wind and I have some seriously comfy pj's crumpled on the floor around here somewhere should I find the need to sleep.
Though my door is always open, and anyone may enter, I find that I am not always able to leave, my mind locked down and grounded by some foundless energy. Where shall I ramble this eve? And whither shalt I go ere the day grows long?
What wine shall I bring? To whom shall I whisper the secrets unknown but to me? And, hence, where shall such secrets go as they are known?
I hope that you all have had at least some enjoyment out of the previous one hundred and ninety nine posts as I have.
I hope that my soul is not so dirty for hanging in the wind out here as it is... do you suppose the air is clean up here?
I cut the stone in my eye and drew forth time. and 'twas me.
seta
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
Good bye, for you Dear Radarsir, comes from the old slang pronunciation of
God Be with ye.
It compressed to God b'w'ye, and thence compressed further to where we are today.
Got a letter from sevensins in the mail today and it is good to see that my protege writes with much better penmanship than I do.
I hope the future bears tidings of escaped boxes and colored ribbons. Thank you both for all your constant inspiration. I owe you dearly for that alone.
seta
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
I fell in love with the perfect love, had it in my hands.
She fell in love with the same love, I had her in my hands.
But she ran scared and pretended to ignorance, though it shouted from the fucking SKY that we were one. I had it all and yet I had none.
I became impatient. It hurt to stay. My poetry had said all it had to say and she was in love with me not just on THAT day but on every other. It became apparent that I loved her. And it became apparent that her fear of loss and her fear of love and her fear of US one day splitting the dark, was bonding her to individuality, to her worries.
We never officially dated, no. People asked us when we were getting hitched, married, tying the knot, and we would laugh and tell them "Tomorrow. How did you know?" I wasn't strong enough to grab tomorrow by her jaunty pony tailed hair and pull her into today. So... I let her stray.
Oh we stayed friends and things were fine until I told her that someone ELSE was mine and that Tomorrow was on its way. Her big brown eyes grew wide and misty as she realized the the twine she had laid down in the cave to my heart had somehow vanished behind her, in her fear she had run so far and so fast that the thread had simply run out.
Yet I loved her still. How could I not? Jazz singin, she didn't walk by god she GLIDES, smoothest voice since Ella Fitzgerald and a piano to haunt the Monk. She was my muse, my goddess, and I am certain that somewhere out there or deep within me, she still maintains a certain... stock in that position; but only after Tomorrow came and went did she decide she loved me and wanted me and that she had LOST her little game of going tharn or running with fear at her heels.
And yes, she tried, and I had my chance at last. The ability to take her home and make her mine was in my grasp and I trembled at the touch. I have never wanted anything in my life so much. But Tomorrow was past, the vote was cast, and I had to set her free on broken heart and shaking legs. My mind still reels from that night, as she drove off into the streetlight strewn roadways of suburbia.
It appears that I had been chasing a Jazz Singer in a Ford Escort for so long, I never noticed the sound of her silence and the depth of her absence. I did then.
Now, after 6 years into tomorrowmorrowland, I find myself splitting the dark with my current captor. She of high infidelity and broken trust, I was no better than three other boys and I find myself thinking what I may have done, where my karma set astray... and I often wonder if my karma followed my love home that day.
They say that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all... this may be so but one must be prepared; for if you lose that, if you let it go in some faux heroic act of semi-nobility, be prepared for the search for the next one who could only fill that hole so deep in your mind, that addiction so intense in your soul. It's caffeine and viagra. It's honeycomb and cinnamon. It's the candle that lights the curtains on fire in the midst of heavenly throes.
You will search and you will not feel whole. She of my downtown soliloquy.
We are all messed up little poets.
Situation, circumstance, regrets---such is life---that's why sometimes I feel like free falling! At least sometimes beauty comes from those things that bring us the pain.
I:m fond of this one!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
>The arrow in my chest barely affects my breathing as I summit >the rise, my head throbbing with lack of oxygen and overdream; >I realize as the sun rises that I am finally alive, my shirt in >tatters and my consciousness has beaten the path that I can >only see when I turn around. It's a shame I have littered so >much of this mountainside with pieces of myself, but as breath >holds it's own, tangibility available for such a short duration >these days, my lights flicker out. I shudder and float away a leaf >on the tide, a message in a bottle...
We all float down here!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
Originally posted by Being Enlightened We are all messed up little poets.
Situation, circumstance, regrets---such is life---that's why sometimes I feel like free falling! At least sometimes beauty comes from those things that bring us the pain.
I:m fond of this one!
Seta, that was a very beautiful thing to wake up to when i can't sleep at 4am.
Was like warm milk and cookies of love...
as always, such a good friend you are. and no, i never mind
just speaking for myself (though i'm sure i'm not the only one who feels this way) - this thread is one i like to read again and again. i always find something new even in a post i've read time and again. there are so many textures and brilliant complexities layered upon the beauty and truth in every post.
its a lovely universe you've shared with us and one i enjoy visiting.
... pull on my puppet strings to impress or to depress or to repress or to regress or to empress or to digress or otherwise enchant upon occasion shared and lit harshly in 5000k halogen...
... nay the blood has thawed the homes of the forgotten and all has come forward in a rush for the exits, the excitement of what's to come...
...I would but kneel in supplication but the water will no longer support me. It is to flight I have taken and, misdirection or no, sleight of hand or sly of smile, I have now learned the song I am to sing...
May the voice reach the gods. May their halls shake with the cobwebbed neglect that is felt. May their pride bring them home. May their wounds allow them to return.
And the Echo echo echo....
[/B]
~~the man upstairs is used to all of this fucking noise~~
first of all:
Sleight of Hand/Faithfull/GiventoFly/TremorChrist...
seta, I daresay... your PJ is showing (:
the itch in the back as the wings unfurl is what gets me in this one... it's what i feel in this one... but all through this Given wants to be sung...
Comments
oh please. if i was on that vacation, i know i'd be getting lucky. LOL!
and man, you KNOW the way...
Wow. You managed to sum up the plots for all 10 Friday the 13th movies in one elongated diatribe. Then again, the plots for F13 can appropriately be summed up in a four and a half word sentence, but your garrulousness blooms the most preternatural insects.
Tell your muse I said, "LEAVE MY LEGS ALONE"
You either love me or hate me, I cannot tell. And keep your hands off my diatribe. It is as it should be,
Drop the leash.
love,
seta
or
2
as you wish
And I have the herpes to prove it.
Privately I say you need to stop eating other people's chapstick.
And besides, if it weren't for the herpes you couldn't possibly prove to anyone that someone really DOES love you. SO consider it an incurable blessing.
Hope your remission is extended.
And don't ever slip me a roofie again you bastard.
Thanks Seta...pretty much hit the head on the nail.
i have been getting warnings about this board. Seta, you seem to be the only sane person on this board.
xo
LOL
I am no definition of rationality at this point in life, for certain. But you are so very sweet and shiny that I bow before you...
And care to share on the warnings madame seer? I would like to know what part I am to play in all of this
I think we should all just pool our money and get a really nice house in the hills, a mansion just for us crazy PJ poets. I could definitely go for that.
Okay, NOW I could totally see it. Let's do it.
seta
I think the Manson Family started the same way.
Dibs on top bunk!
You act as if I'm not serious about this, but I am.
and I already CALLED top bunk.
However you may have the garage with rocket dog.
Seriously, who's up for it? HUH?
nwo jisuswt b raion fouckkler
brick in braihn
ius what i get
help dear god
you know i fuckin try
see me smiling and asking politely
to not have a PINKELEPHANT in the room
when someone proposes marriage for
god sake
if it's not him,
it's the kids at LowmanBeach
the kids alright
just want to be alone with my baba
my baby. oh
god
help
me
with
this
great
love
fromthebeginning
i
have
wanted to
give it back
will he take it just once
they are growing
someone is monkee wrenching a most beautiful and wonderful gift for some lucky guy or girl.
i understand and if those were for me..
i would say
yes
and also
next to my newborn son, God you have given me the best
gift.
please
P
R
I
V
A
CY
for us now. we are ready.
and so it is.
TRADER
The boat waded into shore as persons gathered round
To catch the fisherman and his wares.
A cry was risen!
The sight of his golden net:
It glinted with dripping reflections.
He was a man who smoked,
Sunburned.
His job was to fish and return,
To leave and to fish.
“I’m not God,” he cried,
And yet it helps him survive.
These people who gaze up at him,
Their praising eyes shining with idolatry,
Could learn the same;
Especially if they were made aware
Of the fact that he may
Retire
Come Indian Summer
And so it is for Gita. And all this for all of you. Next a new piece.
seta
And this really is for all of you.
Lunar Echo
These pieces of me that still flail in the wind like laundry fresh from the barrel, the children racing between the alien shadows flitting to and fro above the blades of grass in the spring; These flows of conscious thoughts and all that pull on my puppet strings to impress or to depress or to repress or to regress or to empress or to digress or otherwise enchant upon occasion shared and lit harshly in 5000k halogen... I am not photogenic. I do not fade well in the sunlight of summer, my hair going blonde and then grey; washing out under the haze and in the browning grass parched with heat. My brain, so divided, my loyalties so shattered, my heart withered in the rain of autumn, I fade into the mists with joy reveling in the way they stroke my hair so lovingly; I never notice that my shirt grows dark with moisture. I bleed in the darkening hours of midnight winter, a pool at my feet, dreaming blissful and unaware of approaching dawn. The shadows dance, no longer slowed to a crawl by the subzero temperatures; nay the blood has thawed the homes of the forgotten and all has come forward in a rush for the exits, the excitement of what's to come...
The arrow in my chest barely affects my breathing as I summit the rise, my head throbbing with lack of oxygen and overdream; I realize as the sun rises that I am finally alive, my shirt in tatters and my consciousness has beaten the path that I can only see when I turn around. It's a shame I have littered so much of this mountainside with pieces of myself, but as breath holds it's own, tangibility available for such a short duration these days, my lights flicker out. I shudder and float away a leaf on the tide, a message in a bottle...
I share the sandy beach of a desert isle with the dream of you wrapped around my shoulders, the shawl, my tarp, my home.
I don't mind these storms and the waterspouts that arise in them that always beckon and threaten to carry me away... the tide may rise high, it seems, and my swimming skills have ere yet to be tested but with these rocks, my foundation, my castle, I am a man of many means and if it is war you want I am afraid that I shall dissipate before I acquiesce. I prefer the storm prevail. All these words are merely scratched in the earth, hewn by rough edged fingers and stone. The gales serve merely to silence my pleas as my cries slide back into the span of sand from whence they came. My bottle has long since returned to sea and therefore my last resort for salvation has gone with the tide.
I cannot wait for the stars to come out, my conversations with Mars having grown long and fluent with time. When the clouds part and stars hit the water and I am at last free to walk the wet and windy trail once again, my footsteps ripple behind me as I part my way. Such unorthodox trials are these, my summits merely another valley, these waves seeking to undermine with repetition and redundancy. I find my horizon lines diminish with time. Sky meets sky meets sky and my backbone itches as wings unfurl. Pegasus' bones have knitted properly and I have been passed the curse of sight above, a broken horse felled by disbelief.
I hover, my sadness unfurled. I drip.
I would but kneel in supplication but the water will no longer support me. It is to flight I have taken and, misdirection or no, sleight of hand or sly of smile, I have now learned the song I am to sing.
May the voice reach the gods. May their halls shake with the cobwebbed neglect that is felt. May their pride bring them home. May their wounds allow them to return.
My wings, silver.
I’ve never noticed.
And the Echo echo echo....
How it pounds away into oblivion.
I crane my neck to see the waves I have created in lunar orbit
My last breath finally escaping me in the dawn of another spring
And I understand bliss
My waves have reached the shores of an empty sea
-And a garden teeming with life-
It is, at the last, the next life cycle before the eclipse.
grateful for your triumphant return.
Any feelings on the two newest poems guys? I wanna know. wannawannawannawanna.
and yes it's all about me.
LOL
Though my door is always open, and anyone may enter, I find that I am not always able to leave, my mind locked down and grounded by some foundless energy. Where shall I ramble this eve? And whither shalt I go ere the day grows long?
What wine shall I bring? To whom shall I whisper the secrets unknown but to me? And, hence, where shall such secrets go as they are known?
I hope that you all have had at least some enjoyment out of the previous one hundred and ninety nine posts as I have.
I hope that my soul is not so dirty for hanging in the wind out here as it is... do you suppose the air is clean up here?
I cut the stone in my eye and drew forth time. and 'twas me.
seta
Good bye, for you Dear Radarsir, comes from the old slang pronunciation of
God Be with ye.
It compressed to God b'w'ye, and thence compressed further to where we are today.
Got a letter from sevensins in the mail today and it is good to see that my protege writes with much better penmanship than I do.
I hope the future bears tidings of escaped boxes and colored ribbons. Thank you both for all your constant inspiration. I owe you dearly for that alone.
seta
I'll admit that I am somewhat intimidated as, through all these pieces, you all know me better than perhaps I know myself.
Let me know.
seta.
We are all messed up little poets.
Situation, circumstance, regrets---such is life---that's why sometimes I feel like free falling! At least sometimes beauty comes from those things that bring us the pain.
I:m fond of this one!
We all float down here!
A Stephen King reference has finally found its way to my thread.
Sweet.
Anyone? Anyone?
Doodie floats.........
Seta, that was a very beautiful thing to wake up to when i can't sleep at 4am.
Was like warm milk and cookies of love...
as always, such a good friend you are. and no, i never mind
its a lovely universe you've shared with us and one i enjoy visiting.
I do not deserve any such praise. Thank you. With all sincerity.
first of all:
Sleight of Hand/Faithfull/GiventoFly/TremorChrist...
seta, I daresay... your PJ is showing (:
the itch in the back as the wings unfurl is what gets me in this one... it's what i feel in this one... but all through this Given wants to be sung...
so...
thanks for this
!:
Do you really think...?
Damn. And just when I thought i was being original.
inspiration and plagiarization are totally different things. i saw the sleight of hand thing too. nothing to be ashamed of
god
i can find a pj song for almost any visual or whatever...
cuz i dig pj
you know?
i love dat stinking rock band...
carry on