Originally posted by coleen its something that most of us seek - someone to love us for what we are warts and beauty marks and bruises and shining hearts and scars and gentle souls.
i think i'd rather have a real person that loves me for all those things that seem silly or don't matter or inspite of all those things that seem to matter or seem silly
thinking about the phantom or the fantasy of it all is where i get in trouble because it becomes too perfect and doesn't have any of those beautiful imperfections itself
real people are imperfect
and imperfection is true beauty
perfect things are just that too perfect
there's no dischord or disharmony in them
there's no fun
isn't it a grand old time in the dream world where you're off having sweaty lusty love with a Big Breasted Blonde Girl who is nine feet tall and you're nine feet eight inches tall and have giant feet and when you two kiss its like glaciers slamming into each other and tearing at each other's insides and then your potato salad doesn't taste so good so you smash the gong and go high diving off the front podium of your elementary school stage into a sea of all the people that you remember you only remember their faces though so its kind of tough to tlak to them in a resonable way and you just end up shouting at them about how porrage isn't hot enough and your name is not Bill or Hermes and that you are a successful miner and you own your own diamond mine and have Two Beautiful Girls who sleep in the same bed as you and your bed is made of diamonds and gold and silver and you sleep of bags of money and they keep you safe and sound at night and you dream good dreams about being a wealthy farmer from Canada and you think that's maybe what you'll do tomorrow so that you can have a real Soul again and maybe get into Heaven even though you don't believe in all that stuff so you continue kissing this Wonderful Girl with brown-green eyes and darker hair then yours and she's got it in Pig-Tails and she's got those dark-rimmed glasses and she's a singer and plays guitar and is lovely and you think she's perfect so you just keep kissing her.
i remember it being easier to cough a syrup dish then have "relations" with a teacher in high school, but that is just me
why has my writing style changed?
i wonder if has anything to do with older women
or ground coffee colonies
or home-spun weaver looms of juicy mashed taters
i bet that's it
slunked
i'm worried about you
it seems like you've changed over the last part of teh year
you cut your hair
it used to be long
down to your shoulders
and curly and wavy
and uncontrollable
and very sexy
but now you chopped it off because it was easy
and not as hot in the summer
and it takes less time to dry
so i wonder what you're like now
are you still full of lust
and regret
and hate
or do you have some spot inside yourself
that can open up again
--no i don't
but you didn't let me finish, Cal,
i know better then anyone that you're dead inside
and have no feeling
and no charm
and no regret
you look into the eyes of strangers
and want to "sex them up"
remember you said that
and even that pretty girl that likes you
you can't seem to open up to her
--i haven't even gotten a chance to yet
well all i'm saying is that she's got pretty
eyes and plays guitar
and those are two things that you've been looking for
--i know
but don't fall in love with her too quick
or you'll end up killing yourself
or drowning in misery
or both
--maybe
okay, Cal, be melodramatic if you want
you short-haired worthless hippie.
if my name were Marsha i would be so much better off because it seems to suit me better then my name now do you know my name now if you do it is a pleasure to know you too if you don't just ask and i will tell for a name is not else but a word and a word is not else then a string of letters put together in a careful and beautiful way and each word is beautiful and spoken so clearer by each person that speaks it so that they owe their very life to letters and if there were not letters then we would have to communicate like trees and sway in teh wind and make creaking noises and humming sounds and be quiet and content because we would be masters of our own domains and we would have no names because our names would be teh earth and the wind and the grass and the field mice and teh nature that is around us so i claim to have no name but i will tell you if you ask if you ask.
lifting weights in the high school weight room i realized that i hadn't lifted weights in about three years and that even the lightest weights were too heavy for my muscles that do not bulge and i was struggling and struggling to get strong and wasn't quite sure why i was there you know those times when you can step outside of your dream while you're still dreaming and you know everything is fake and your just asleep because everything you're doing and saying is somethign that you would never do or say and then i gave a local drug dealer gang member a ride home but instead we stopped at my house which was across teh street from a family of ninjas who were out to get said gang member drug dealer so we had to run through my back yard and into a strange house that turned into a giant warehouse with lots of halls and doorways and soon we were in a room with two yellow couches and a palm tree and in came three ninjas who had blonde hair and were dressed and looked like the children of teh corn or at least choir boys and girls and they came at us ninja style and now my older brother was there and instead of teh gang member drug dealer my best friend and we fought teh three ninjas and beat them and then three more came this time two girls and one guy and we beat them and then more and more came and we were floating in the air kicking and punching until soon we had beaten up almost the whole ninja family and they let us go and so we were driving back to somewhere talking about the ninja family and i suggested that maybe they were like us before they became ninjas you know just really good at karate and kung fu but my brother and my best friend and the gang member who had returned did not like that idea so i called them ninjas and then i woke up.
Originally posted by Goulet memory from a fragment of dream:
lifting weights in the high school weight room i realized that i hadn't lifted weights in about three years and that even the lightest weights were too heavy for my muscles that do not bulge and i was struggling and struggling to get strong and wasn't quite sure why i was there you know those times when you can step outside of your dream while you're still dreaming and you know everything is fake and your just asleep because everything you're doing and saying is somethign that you would never do or say and then i gave a local drug dealer gang member a ride home but instead we stopped at my house which was across teh street from a family of ninjas who were out to get said gang member drug dealer so we had to run through my back yard and into a strange house that turned into a giant warehouse with lots of halls and doorways and soon we were in a room with two yellow couches and a palm tree and in came three ninjas who had blonde hair and were dressed and looked like the children of teh corn or at least choir boys and girls and they came at us ninja style and now my older brother was there and instead of teh gang member drug dealer my best friend and we fought teh three ninjas and beat them and then three more came this time two girls and one guy and we beat them and then more and more came and we were floating in the air kicking and punching until soon we had beaten up almost the whole ninja family and they let us go and so we were driving back to somewhere talking about the ninja family and i suggested that maybe they were like us before they became ninjas you know just really good at karate and kung fu but my brother and my best friend and the gang member who had returned did not like that idea so i called them ninjas and then i woke up.
COOL! We're they Teenage Mutant Ninja Children Of The Corn??
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
i grows mad, i grows sad
--why so mad-sad?
i comes, i goes
--why comes-goes?
my brains sink, my minds sunk
--why so sink-sunk?
my lifes gone away, my hearts gone broke
--why so away-broke?
my eyes is dark, my ears is black
--why so dark-black?
my time on this planet
seems useless and filled with muck
and in the roads i wallow
and role in the filth
because your eyes is bright, your eyes is fine
--why so bright-fine?
cause i seen nothing like them
so bright-fine
and cheery
and scarlett
and your hairs is dark, your glasses is rimmed
--why so dark-rimmed?
cause she so beautiful
and older then i
and more experienced
and laughs more
and loves to play music loud
and fast and fun
she legs is long, she breast is full
--why so long-full?
something so monumental and so fated and so right and so normal and its going to happen to everyone else too and we'll all go dancing and whirling over the fields of free grass and free bridges and all the lakes and rivers will dry up and the sky will dry up and the rain will go on for days upwards and down and sideways and in your face so much that you can't even stand it and you have to take the bus because you're going to see your lover a big Tall Blonde girl who you love because she plays guitar and is so much older then you but beautiful and she wears those dark-rimmed glasses that you adore and you're late because you told her you'd be there by 2:30 but its okay if you sto pto get roses and a cup of coffee what kind of horrible thing could happen in that much time what kind of long-lined poetry could be written in that time what kind of short story could be written about you in the time that you stand in line to get a cup of coffee so you're awake to be in love and awakw to be in life and awake enough to knwo that you just died when the car from the television ad hit you as you walked across teh highway on your way to see your beautiful-beautiful lover.
God I love being:
an addict
heartbroken
depressed
melodramatic
pathetic
suicidal
cliche
young
an ego-maniac
a bad poet
a bad song-writer
a bad musician
a person with no self-esteem
male
tall
thin
sexy
handsome
athletic
clean
political
liberal to a degree
full
empty
hot
cold
hated
a drunk
a weirdo
loved
Originally posted by Goulet God I love being:
an addict
heartbroken
depressed
melodramatic
pathetic
suicidal
cliche
young
an ego-maniac
a bad poet
a bad song-writer
a bad musician
a person with no self-esteem
male
tall
thin
sexy
handsome
athletic
clean
political
liberal to a degree
full
empty
hot
cold
hated
a drunk
a weirdo
loved
I love that you love yourself! I hope your English teacher always said that.
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
when i'm tired and my eyes start to flutter i put on some music maybe some Jeff Buckley or some Bob Dylan with The Band or some Johnny Cash and then maybe i fall asleep and my dreams become like this:
in the winter i trudge through the snow like its 5 feet deep but there is no snow and its spring time and i'm in love with a girl from Des Moines and her hair is Sea Grey and her eyes are too brown to see into and she waves from teh banks of teh Mallud River and tells me secrets about her insides and secrets about the songs she writes when she's alone and frightened of the dark and if i decide to leave her and find a plane that goes to Canada that would be Okay and she would sleep in a Teepee and watch T.V. all day probably David Letterman or Bugs Bunny cartoons and she would weave blankets out of grass and tree bark on her loom while she whistled all the songs i ever wrote about her and about all the girls i ever wrote songs about which seems to be a lot lately and she would go to the town well and drink the well water and wish she could find a happy lover and in Canada i would sit on a Throne of Purple Diamonds and laugh and laugh at teh Court Jesters that dance before me and i would be Merry and Good and Full and the women would flock to me and give me parcels that contained flowers of all colors and i would speak French in an English Accent and be very well read and when i fell asleep i would never think about my Well-girl all alone back by teh River staring into the deep blue with her deep brown eyes and hoping that she could be 10 feet tall and proud of her life and pretty.
i'm a devilish and stupid human and i am inaccurate and foolish and under-productive and lazy and i feel like i need to sometimes sleep when its the middle of the day and sometimes when i eat peaches i am reminded of my ex-girlfriend and sometimes when i am thinking all about myself in my Superman Head i can see every tree that is cut down to make way for a strip mall or a strip club or a big white or blue house and that makes me sort of sad because trees are peaceful and quiet and don't hurt anyone until people start chopchopchopping at them and then they make creaking and cracking noises like from under my bed and they fall onto things like white and blue houses and crush things and make lots of noise and problems, but enough about trees because i'm just sad-eyed.
Originally posted by Goulet I'm sad-eyed, this is why:
i'm a devilish and stupid human and i am inaccurate and foolish and under-productive and lazy and i feel like i need to sometimes sleep when its the middle of the day and sometimes when i eat peaches i am reminded of my ex-girlfriend and sometimes when i am thinking all about myself in my Superman Head i can see every tree that is cut down to make way for a strip mall or a strip club or a big white or blue house and that makes me sort of sad because trees are peaceful and quiet and don't hurt anyone until people start chopchopchopping at them and then they make creaking and cracking noises like from under my bed and they fall onto things like white and blue houses and crush things and make lots of noise and problems, but enough about trees because i'm just sad-eyed.
I think I understand or can at least relate.
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
i'm on drugs and the room is full of light and bright-bright whirling spirals and in my head there are multiple koala bears crapping rainbows and yes i stole that from somewhere and yes it was from my T.V. box and yes that is such a bad place to steal ideas for your dreams but it was the first of teh month and i hadn't watched TV in 14 weeks because i had been off scouting locations for my next extensive tree climb and mountain adventure but i found nothing more then a couple puddles of dirty water and a cloud that coughed when i said it looked blue so i figure that all us people have ruined teh wilderness and that's why i can't write poems anymore or at least why my brain is shooting out worthlessgibberish and rambling things and answers to questions that nobody would ever ask and it feels like i'm going good and on teh fast track but that's not so good because when the thunderstorm hits and my head gets knocked with hail then we'll see where i'll be but maybe i'll be in love with teh older brown-haired lovely-dark-rimmed-glasses girl who can play guitar and sing and she is so pretty because Southern Girls are pretty when they play guitar and yes i stole that one too but see its all circular and pretty fucked up when you don't feel like using what you've got inside your head and your fingers start working independent of your brain and you feel like your head is a floating orb a mass of weight above your shoulders teetering.
i had a moustache and my friend Lincoln had a moustache and Francis had a moustache too and so did Scott and Hump so all in all everyone had a moustache and we sat around talking about how we finally had moustaches and how we were sexy and then we all went and showered together and Scott sprayed cologne all over the bathroom.
i had a moustache and my friend Lincoln had a moustache and Francis had a moustache too and so did Scott and Hump so all in all everyone had a moustache and we sat around talking about how we finally had moustaches and how we were sexy and then we all went and showered together and Scott sprayed cologne all over the bathroom.
Cool! I'd be in for a free moustache ride or two in the shower! Sounds hot.
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
you pull at your curls and your bright-eyes mist over and get dark and black and dead-like and you maybe make your lips like elvis because you know that makes me smile and laugh and you maybe shake your hips and rest my hands on your shoulders so i start to sway back and forth too and you smell like peaches and roses and pine cones and your shoulder-skin is cool-to-touch and smooth and laying down in bed with you i can feel your hot breath on my neck and your blood running through your veins and i can maybe hear you moan a little bit because you're tired from working all day at that horrible desk job you can't stand and a little tired because you just got back from visiting your family in the midwest and a little tired because you're so depressed and i think i know a little of what that's like but i just let you moan because i can't fix you and you can't fix me and i wouldn't want to anyway and maybe you nuzzle yourself into my neck and armpit and legs and you try to get warm and safe and try to make me a warm and safe place and your hair smells like pancakes to me even though i haven't eaten pancakes in years since i was ten maybe sitting in the kitchen of my boyhood house with a dog and a cat and a mom and a dad and a brother and the house was white with a back-yard and a jungle-gym with swings and that's what i always think of when i smell pancakes and maybe then you pinch or tickle my side-ribs because you know that makes me laugh and jerk about and you thought i looked lost for a second somewhere far off or at least somewhere sad and lost and we can just be giggling and touching and pinching and tickling until its dinner time.
--i feel like crying
i don't
--i feel like crying
you're a fool
--i feel like crying
why?
--i feel like crying
who are you?
--i feel like crying
i hate you
--i feel like crying
inside a safety dome compliments are thrown around they are bandages for broken hearts and laments about ex-girlfriends and horrible boyfriends and they use words like "great!" and "WOW!" or something like that and they are always always always positive and thus never never never help anyone and i begin to think that i'm the only asshole who thinks everything is only sub-par or just standard and never anythign really spectacular the safety dome zone is a stinking rotten place with stinking rotten people sometimes and makes me vomit maybe because i am not in the safety dome and i can only look in and wonder-wonder at the inane comments and horrible words and phrases thrown about i wonder whats gotten into me and why i'm so angry.
inside a safety dome compliments are thrown around they are bandages for broken hearts and laments about ex-girlfriends and horrible boyfriends and they use words like "great!" and "WOW!" or something like that and they are always always always positive and thus never never never help anyone and i begin to think that i'm the only asshole who thinks everything is only sub-par or just standard and never anythign really spectacular the safety dome zone is a stinking rotten place with stinking rotten people sometimes and makes me vomit maybe because i am not in the safety dome and i can only look in and wonder-wonder at the inane comments and horrible words and phrases thrown about i wonder whats gotten into me and why i'm so angry.
Man, you're a crusty fucker and your poetry, if you can call it that, sucks the BIG one and I hate you because you have no soul!
You can breathe--that in itself is spectacular, asshole! FUCK YOU!
Is that better?
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
Comments
i think i'd rather have a real person that loves me for all those things that seem silly or don't matter or inspite of all those things that seem to matter or seem silly
thinking about the phantom or the fantasy of it all is where i get in trouble because it becomes too perfect and doesn't have any of those beautiful imperfections itself
real people are imperfect
and imperfection is true beauty
perfect things are just that too perfect
there's no dischord or disharmony in them
there's no fun
isn't it a grand old time in the dream world where you're off having sweaty lusty love with a Big Breasted Blonde Girl who is nine feet tall and you're nine feet eight inches tall and have giant feet and when you two kiss its like glaciers slamming into each other and tearing at each other's insides and then your potato salad doesn't taste so good so you smash the gong and go high diving off the front podium of your elementary school stage into a sea of all the people that you remember you only remember their faces though so its kind of tough to tlak to them in a resonable way and you just end up shouting at them about how porrage isn't hot enough and your name is not Bill or Hermes and that you are a successful miner and you own your own diamond mine and have Two Beautiful Girls who sleep in the same bed as you and your bed is made of diamonds and gold and silver and you sleep of bags of money and they keep you safe and sound at night and you dream good dreams about being a wealthy farmer from Canada and you think that's maybe what you'll do tomorrow so that you can have a real Soul again and maybe get into Heaven even though you don't believe in all that stuff so you continue kissing this Wonderful Girl with brown-green eyes and darker hair then yours and she's got it in Pig-Tails and she's got those dark-rimmed glasses and she's a singer and plays guitar and is lovely and you think she's perfect so you just keep kissing her.
why has my writing style changed?
i wonder if has anything to do with older women
or ground coffee colonies
or home-spun weaver looms of juicy mashed taters
i bet that's it
slunked
it seems like you've changed over the last part of teh year
you cut your hair
it used to be long
down to your shoulders
and curly and wavy
and uncontrollable
and very sexy
but now you chopped it off because it was easy
and not as hot in the summer
and it takes less time to dry
so i wonder what you're like now
are you still full of lust
and regret
and hate
or do you have some spot inside yourself
that can open up again
--no i don't
but you didn't let me finish, Cal,
i know better then anyone that you're dead inside
and have no feeling
and no charm
and no regret
you look into the eyes of strangers
and want to "sex them up"
remember you said that
and even that pretty girl that likes you
you can't seem to open up to her
--i haven't even gotten a chance to yet
well all i'm saying is that she's got pretty
eyes and plays guitar
and those are two things that you've been looking for
--i know
but don't fall in love with her too quick
or you'll end up killing yourself
or drowning in misery
or both
--maybe
okay, Cal, be melodramatic if you want
you short-haired worthless hippie.
if my name were Marsha i would be so much better off because it seems to suit me better then my name now do you know my name now if you do it is a pleasure to know you too if you don't just ask and i will tell for a name is not else but a word and a word is not else then a string of letters put together in a careful and beautiful way and each word is beautiful and spoken so clearer by each person that speaks it so that they owe their very life to letters and if there were not letters then we would have to communicate like trees and sway in teh wind and make creaking noises and humming sounds and be quiet and content because we would be masters of our own domains and we would have no names because our names would be teh earth and the wind and the grass and the field mice and teh nature that is around us so i claim to have no name but i will tell you if you ask if you ask.
my jelly worm is bigger then your jelly worm.
lifting weights in the high school weight room i realized that i hadn't lifted weights in about three years and that even the lightest weights were too heavy for my muscles that do not bulge and i was struggling and struggling to get strong and wasn't quite sure why i was there you know those times when you can step outside of your dream while you're still dreaming and you know everything is fake and your just asleep because everything you're doing and saying is somethign that you would never do or say and then i gave a local drug dealer gang member a ride home but instead we stopped at my house which was across teh street from a family of ninjas who were out to get said gang member drug dealer so we had to run through my back yard and into a strange house that turned into a giant warehouse with lots of halls and doorways and soon we were in a room with two yellow couches and a palm tree and in came three ninjas who had blonde hair and were dressed and looked like the children of teh corn or at least choir boys and girls and they came at us ninja style and now my older brother was there and instead of teh gang member drug dealer my best friend and we fought teh three ninjas and beat them and then three more came this time two girls and one guy and we beat them and then more and more came and we were floating in the air kicking and punching until soon we had beaten up almost the whole ninja family and they let us go and so we were driving back to somewhere talking about the ninja family and i suggested that maybe they were like us before they became ninjas you know just really good at karate and kung fu but my brother and my best friend and the gang member who had returned did not like that idea so i called them ninjas and then i woke up.
COOL! We're they Teenage Mutant Ninja Children Of The Corn??
--why so mad-sad?
i comes, i goes
--why comes-goes?
my brains sink, my minds sunk
--why so sink-sunk?
my lifes gone away, my hearts gone broke
--why so away-broke?
my eyes is dark, my ears is black
--why so dark-black?
my time on this planet
seems useless and filled with muck
and in the roads i wallow
and role in the filth
because your eyes is bright, your eyes is fine
--why so bright-fine?
cause i seen nothing like them
so bright-fine
and cheery
and scarlett
and your hairs is dark, your glasses is rimmed
--why so dark-rimmed?
cause she so beautiful
and older then i
and more experienced
and laughs more
and loves to play music loud
and fast and fun
she legs is long, she breast is full
--why so long-full?
i wish i could tell it to smile
or at least
kiss it on the cheek
something so monumental and so fated and so right and so normal and its going to happen to everyone else too and we'll all go dancing and whirling over the fields of free grass and free bridges and all the lakes and rivers will dry up and the sky will dry up and the rain will go on for days upwards and down and sideways and in your face so much that you can't even stand it and you have to take the bus because you're going to see your lover a big Tall Blonde girl who you love because she plays guitar and is so much older then you but beautiful and she wears those dark-rimmed glasses that you adore and you're late because you told her you'd be there by 2:30 but its okay if you sto pto get roses and a cup of coffee what kind of horrible thing could happen in that much time what kind of long-lined poetry could be written in that time what kind of short story could be written about you in the time that you stand in line to get a cup of coffee so you're awake to be in love and awakw to be in life and awake enough to knwo that you just died when the car from the television ad hit you as you walked across teh highway on your way to see your beautiful-beautiful lover.
an addict
heartbroken
depressed
melodramatic
pathetic
suicidal
cliche
young
an ego-maniac
a bad poet
a bad song-writer
a bad musician
a person with no self-esteem
male
tall
thin
sexy
handsome
athletic
clean
political
liberal to a degree
full
empty
hot
cold
hated
a drunk
a weirdo
loved
I love that you love yourself!
when i'm tired and my eyes start to flutter i put on some music maybe some Jeff Buckley or some Bob Dylan with The Band or some Johnny Cash and then maybe i fall asleep and my dreams become like this:
in the winter i trudge through the snow like its 5 feet deep but there is no snow and its spring time and i'm in love with a girl from Des Moines and her hair is Sea Grey and her eyes are too brown to see into and she waves from teh banks of teh Mallud River and tells me secrets about her insides and secrets about the songs she writes when she's alone and frightened of the dark and if i decide to leave her and find a plane that goes to Canada that would be Okay and she would sleep in a Teepee and watch T.V. all day probably David Letterman or Bugs Bunny cartoons and she would weave blankets out of grass and tree bark on her loom while she whistled all the songs i ever wrote about her and about all the girls i ever wrote songs about which seems to be a lot lately and she would go to the town well and drink the well water and wish she could find a happy lover and in Canada i would sit on a Throne of Purple Diamonds and laugh and laugh at teh Court Jesters that dance before me and i would be Merry and Good and Full and the women would flock to me and give me parcels that contained flowers of all colors and i would speak French in an English Accent and be very well read and when i fell asleep i would never think about my Well-girl all alone back by teh River staring into the deep blue with her deep brown eyes and hoping that she could be 10 feet tall and proud of her life and pretty.
Love it.
Love it.
Love it.
I am Awesome.
it's something i dreamed up while dreaming in a dream
and Siddhartha told me it'd be a good idea
since i'm the next "biger-then-Jesus" and all
Somehow this statement sounds so John Lennon-ish. I wonder why?
BTW - How big is your glo-worm and does it glimmer?
i'm a devilish and stupid human and i am inaccurate and foolish and under-productive and lazy and i feel like i need to sometimes sleep when its the middle of the day and sometimes when i eat peaches i am reminded of my ex-girlfriend and sometimes when i am thinking all about myself in my Superman Head i can see every tree that is cut down to make way for a strip mall or a strip club or a big white or blue house and that makes me sort of sad because trees are peaceful and quiet and don't hurt anyone until people start chopchopchopping at them and then they make creaking and cracking noises like from under my bed and they fall onto things like white and blue houses and crush things and make lots of noise and problems, but enough about trees because i'm just sad-eyed.
I think I understand or can at least relate.
I belch better then i write.
Liar!
i'm on drugs and the room is full of light and bright-bright whirling spirals and in my head there are multiple koala bears crapping rainbows and yes i stole that from somewhere and yes it was from my T.V. box and yes that is such a bad place to steal ideas for your dreams but it was the first of teh month and i hadn't watched TV in 14 weeks because i had been off scouting locations for my next extensive tree climb and mountain adventure but i found nothing more then a couple puddles of dirty water and a cloud that coughed when i said it looked blue so i figure that all us people have ruined teh wilderness and that's why i can't write poems anymore or at least why my brain is shooting out worthlessgibberish and rambling things and answers to questions that nobody would ever ask and it feels like i'm going good and on teh fast track but that's not so good because when the thunderstorm hits and my head gets knocked with hail then we'll see where i'll be but maybe i'll be in love with teh older brown-haired lovely-dark-rimmed-glasses girl who can play guitar and sing and she is so pretty because Southern Girls are pretty when they play guitar and yes i stole that one too but see its all circular and pretty fucked up when you don't feel like using what you've got inside your head and your fingers start working independent of your brain and you feel like your head is a floating orb a mass of weight above your shoulders teetering.
i had a moustache and my friend Lincoln had a moustache and Francis had a moustache too and so did Scott and Hump so all in all everyone had a moustache and we sat around talking about how we finally had moustaches and how we were sexy and then we all went and showered together and Scott sprayed cologne all over the bathroom.
Cool! I'd be in for a free moustache ride or two in the shower! Sounds hot.
you pull at your curls and your bright-eyes mist over and get dark and black and dead-like and you maybe make your lips like elvis because you know that makes me smile and laugh and you maybe shake your hips and rest my hands on your shoulders so i start to sway back and forth too and you smell like peaches and roses and pine cones and your shoulder-skin is cool-to-touch and smooth and laying down in bed with you i can feel your hot breath on my neck and your blood running through your veins and i can maybe hear you moan a little bit because you're tired from working all day at that horrible desk job you can't stand and a little tired because you just got back from visiting your family in the midwest and a little tired because you're so depressed and i think i know a little of what that's like but i just let you moan because i can't fix you and you can't fix me and i wouldn't want to anyway and maybe you nuzzle yourself into my neck and armpit and legs and you try to get warm and safe and try to make me a warm and safe place and your hair smells like pancakes to me even though i haven't eaten pancakes in years since i was ten maybe sitting in the kitchen of my boyhood house with a dog and a cat and a mom and a dad and a brother and the house was white with a back-yard and a jungle-gym with swings and that's what i always think of when i smell pancakes and maybe then you pinch or tickle my side-ribs because you know that makes me laugh and jerk about and you thought i looked lost for a second somewhere far off or at least somewhere sad and lost and we can just be giggling and touching and pinching and tickling until its dinner time.
--i feel like crying
i don't
--i feel like crying
you're a fool
--i feel like crying
why?
--i feel like crying
who are you?
--i feel like crying
i hate you
--i feel like crying
inside a safety dome compliments are thrown around they are bandages for broken hearts and laments about ex-girlfriends and horrible boyfriends and they use words like "great!" and "WOW!" or something like that and they are always always always positive and thus never never never help anyone and i begin to think that i'm the only asshole who thinks everything is only sub-par or just standard and never anythign really spectacular the safety dome zone is a stinking rotten place with stinking rotten people sometimes and makes me vomit maybe because i am not in the safety dome and i can only look in and wonder-wonder at the inane comments and horrible words and phrases thrown about i wonder whats gotten into me and why i'm so angry.
shouldn't youlove me for that.
Man, you're a crusty fucker and your poetry, if you can call it that, sucks the BIG one and I hate you because you have no soul!
You can breathe--that in itself is spectacular, asshole! FUCK YOU!