Tea Kettles, Time Machines, and Someone who begins with a C

GouletGoulet Posts: 918
edited October 2003 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
light me on fire.
-i'm already on fire. get it?
lets go to chumango and drink vodka.
lets bury our knees up to our necks--that would be fun.
and lets take a walk on the wild side, just to be cliche, for once.
i'd like my tombstone to have inaudible sounds
scrawled on it. you have to hear it, see.
whats you?
tonite the sky-globe, buttermilk-biscut stars will be out,
and all the gutters by the sides of the roads will
be filled with smiling kids and stuff.
regurgitate it into a toilette, its french, asshole.
my breakfast landed butter-side-down. how's that
for ironic? and painfully silly? and down-right rude?
good gosh.
holy heck.
mother-fucker.
are we all a little too afraid or comfortable or
do we just need a jump start or some sex--i know, i know.
is King Kong the king of all the Kongs or is that just his name?
and is Donkey Kong his younger nephew
who likes to eat sparrows and sleep alone?
good gosh.
can you really dig your way to china without getting wet
or at least a little dead?
but really, i want to know about King Kong?
he plays the flute and is a delicate dancer and
a wonderful lover of white wines and white women.
he wears paisley shirts in the winter when he sits by the fireplace
and reads his poetry or some french philosophy or a
truely good Dickens novel.
and in the springtime he shovels gigantic dirt piles
in his back yard and plants spruce trees. yum.
he listens to bluejays whistle tunes and notes and
listens to the humming from down the street.
and he invites the green giant over for tea.
ho
ho
ho.
they talk about the 50 Foot Woman in an excited
and sexual way. and then the evening ends and
each moves on to tend to their hearths.
he smokes marijuana regularly, but calls it the
"mary-mary-quite-contrary."
and that is the end of the story.
goodnight.
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • coleencoleen Posts: 938
    ah the dreams one might have if this had been the last thing they read before drifting off to sleep.

    though i wasn't as lucky as all that, i'm glad this was the first thing i read this morning.

    :)
  • BhagavadGitaBhagavadGita Posts: 1,748
    wow.

    that was truly a beautiful reading experience. kinda blurry through my tears today.
  • GouletGoulet Posts: 918
    hit the pipe some more,
    you are as insane as buttered-bread
    scrimshaw nightengales
    right by your something-something face,
    what do you look like?
    who you is?
    down with traffic jams
    and great thinkers
    and up with the redundant past.
    what you say?
    hit the hooch?
    swim the canal?
    carnaval rides for free?
    all for me?
    what a brilliantly beautiful day it is
    to be alive and in love,
    too bad it ain't me,
    too bad it ain't you.
  • BhagavadGitaBhagavadGita Posts: 1,748
    Originally posted by Goulet
    light me on fire.
    -i'm already on fire. get it?
    lets go to chumango and drink vodka.
    lets bury our knees up to our necks--that would be fun.
    and lets take a walk on the wild side, just to be cliche, for once.
    i'd like my tombstone to have inaudible sounds
    scrawled on it. you have to hear it, see.
    whats you?
    tonite the sky-globe, buttermilk-biscut stars will be out,
    and all the gutters by the sides of the roads will
    be filled with smiling kids and stuff.
    regurgitate it into a toilette, its french, asshole.
    my breakfast landed butter-side-down. how's that
    for ironic? and painfully silly? and down-right rude?
    good gosh.
    holy heck.
    mother-fucker.
    are we all a little too afraid or comfortable or
    do we just need a jump start or some sex--i know, i know.
    is King Kong the king of all the Kongs or is that just his name?
    and is Donkey Kong his younger nephew
    who likes to eat sparrows and sleep alone?
    good gosh.
    can you really dig your way to china without getting wet
    or at least a little dead?
    but really, i want to know about King Kong?
    he plays the flute and is a delicate dancer and
    a wonderful lover of white wines and white women.
    he wears paisley shirts in the winter when he sits by the fireplace
    and reads his poetry or some french philosophy or a
    truely good Dickens novel.
    and in the springtime he shovels gigantic dirt piles
    in his back yard and plants spruce trees. yum.
    he listens to bluejays whistle tunes and notes and
    listens to the humming from down the street.
    and he invites the green giant over for tea.
    ho
    ho
    ho.
    they talk about the 50 Foot Woman in an excited
    and sexual way. and then the evening ends and
    each moves on to tend to their hearths.
    he smokes marijuana regularly, but calls it the
    "mary-mary-quite-contrary."
    and that is the end of the story.
    goodnight.
  • BhagavadGitaBhagavadGita Posts: 1,748
    If you look at that poem from the side, (turn your right ear to your shoulder) and it looks like a meter going up and down to music.

    it would be fun to set on a magic carpet with all of pearl jam will we eat mushroom pizzas and play music.


    if you put your left ear to your right shoulder it looks like the letter

    EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
    EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEe

    e
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