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the good dead road

DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
edited September 2006 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
it's just dirt, right? red and ridden to rock in spots?
his footfall, mine... hers... theirs.... everyone goes
everyone falls and gets the shit on their shirts and faces
and everyone left living gets back up and walks again
doesn't matter how tired you get, there's somewhere to go
so you go. it's endless, in a way. stop walking and start dying.
so, smile when you cry. life's only a bitch when you stop trying.
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • justamjustam Posts: 21,412
    PastaNazi wrote:
    it's just dirt, right? red and ridden to rock in spots?
    his footfall, mine... hers... theirs.... everyone goes
    everyone falls and gets the shit on their shirts and faces
    and everyone left living gets back up and walks again
    doesn't matter how tired you get, there's somewhere to go
    so you go. it's endless, in a way. stop walking and start dying.
    so, smile when you cry. life's only a bitch when you stop trying.

    I like this one PastaNazi. :)

    I always picture that character from the Terminator II that won't die...that one that dissolves like mercury and then stands back up and walks on...
    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    justam wrote:
    .. that character from the Terminator II that won't die...that one that dissolves like mercury and then stands back up and walks on...

    lol...
    they got that idea watchin me


    ;););););)
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    sure, she had her chin to the left, eyes directed back, over her shoulder, out the window while the air whipped past somewhere 'round ninety, busting down the asphalt two-lane with the moon bouncing off the alfalfa. the juniper, all dark and sillouete on the shade. the elk taking solace, finding safety in the tree line.

    sure, she was jammin' her favorite tunes, hips humming to memorized bass lines and that little icelandic imp singing songs about tiny soaking wet yet burning flowers in places she'd won't mention here. sure, she was again. it's what she does when she's out making friends.

    on top, all goddess and bombshell come through the hurdles to the open field. where to place and where to lay and what to plant ~ broken wheat and burning ditch ~ yeah. fuck that, bitch.

    he says he wants more.

    she say he wants a shower and a job. he wants to get off those pain-pills for the eighteen hundredth time. he wants to finish those sentences, the fucking freak, get his ass up and hunt down the dream. she's seen too many men and women with the means, but they all opt out for finding something to spoon in the desert. how funny is it that they come and won't leave?

    the desert puts a curse on people. the farms and the land and the good red dirt puts a block in the brain making good men and women think they're happy every fucking time they open their eyes to the moonlight on the asphalt and the wind whipping by.
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    sure, she had her chin to the left, eyes directed back, over her shoulder, out the window while the air whipped past somewhere 'round ninety, busting down the asphalt two-lane with the moon bouncing off the alfalfa. the juniper, all dark and sillouete on the shade. the elk taking solace, finding safety in the tree line.

    sure, she was jammin' her favorite tunes, hips humming to memorized bass lines and that little icelandic imp singing songs about tiny soaking wet, yet burning flowers in places she won't mention here. sure, she was again. it's what she does when she's out making friends.

    on top, all goddess and bombshell come through the hurdles to the open field. where to place and where to lay and what to plant ~ broken wheat and burning ditch ~ yeah. fuck that, bitch.

    he says he wants more.

    she says he wants a shower and a job. he wants to get off those pain-pills for the eighteen hundredth time. he wants to finish those sentences, the fucking freak, get his ass up and hunt down the dream. she's seen too many men and women with the means, but they all opt out for finding something to spoon in the desert. how funny is it that they come, but they won't leave?

    the desert puts a curse on people. the farms and the land and the good red dirt puts a block in the brain making good men and women think they're happy every fucking time they open their eyes to the moonlight on the asphalt and the wind whipping by.
  • oldermanolderman Posts: 1,765
    .... shizzle..

    shakin all over.. :) and in between :D
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • Being EnlightenedBeing Enlightened Posts: 5,746
    PastaNazi wrote:
    sure, she had her chin to the left, eyes directed back, over her shoulder, out the window while the air whipped past somewhere 'round ninety, busting down the asphalt two-lane with the moon bouncing off the alfalfa. the juniper, all dark and sillouete on the shade. the elk taking solace, finding safety in the tree line.

    sure, she was jammin' her favorite tunes, hips humming to memorized bass lines and that little icelandic imp singing songs about tiny soaking wet, yet burning flowers in places she won't mention here. sure, she was again. it's what she does when she's out making friends.

    on top, all goddess and bombshell come through the hurdles to the open field. where to place and where to lay and what to plant ~ broken wheat and burning ditch ~ yeah. fuck that, bitch.

    he says he wants more.

    she says he wants a shower and a job. he wants to get off those pain-pills for the eighteen hundredth time. he wants to finish those sentences, the fucking freak, get his ass up and hunt down the dream. she's seen too many men and women with the means, but they all opt out for finding something to spoon in the desert. how funny is it that they come, but they won't leave?

    the desert puts a curse on people. the farms and the land and the good red dirt puts a block in the brain making good men and women think they're happy every fucking time they open their eyes to the moonlight on the asphalt and the wind whipping by.

    I fuckin' love it, Rachel! :) Wowie!

    And guess what?? Speaking of Goddesses--I'm taking a course called, "When God Was A Goddess", it looks as if it will prove to be a most interesting subject! We're going back as far as 35,000 BCE and looking at the Goddess/Mother Earth and what society was like, what happend that changed our embrace of the Goddess... how we seem to be returning to a more loving embrace recently, which is kind of a nice thought. :)
    Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    oh! ok, i'm beaming now :D:D:D

    that course is going to be cool, enlightenmenchica... way cool. you'll have to clue us in on the finer things you hear about, k?


    rrrrrrOCK IT :D
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