The Outlaw Josey Wales doesn't shoot so much anymore,
he has nothing to shoot at.
The sun blazes and it blazes and it burns all those under it
with extreme prejudice.
From the Alpha to the Omega the teeth of wolves are sharp
and they tear through flesh with such disregard.
Jack Kerouac is still writing, the ink still rolls from his pen on to paper
but now, thankfully, nobody knocks on his door.
Death will come once, and death will come for all,
and I'm sure when death comes, I will be cold
and all alone.
It's that time again. 4 a.m. headed to the airport. You didn't get to stay here as long as last time. Sitting in the parking lot, you give me a look in your eyes asking if I'm ready. I nod yes and we head up the stairs. You check in your bags and my heart starts pounding like the beat of a drum. They call your ticket number. Here we are. You give me a final glance. I look in your eyes and collapse on the ground. My quivering lips whisper, "I don't want to do this anymore." You kneel down beside me and hold my hand. "I'll always come back and you know it." I gather myself enough to give you a hug. You kiss my forehead so gently. You go in to board. I watch nervously through the glass walls separating us. You manage to catch my eyes. You give me that one half smile that you make a lot. You know, the one you always give me when I say something precious? Once again, I lose it. I slide down to the floor and sit there. Tears flow from my eyes. Here comes the lonely feeling that you always managed to conquer. You fight to protect all I've ever known, while I stay here and fight the unknown. I hopelessly sit there for hours wondering, when will I see your lively body again? Will I get the chance, just one more time, to come pick you up from the airport or will I arrive to see your lifeless corpse? This is what crosses my mind every time you leave me. This is what it's like being in love with a fighter.
So many slithering sunrises
came and went
A countless number of curses
Emerged from my tongue
on this day....
the sun glistens brighters than ever....
A B.S.Hunter's view on poor people
I work up to 60/70 hours per week and screw around on F.B & Craigslist. We had weeks of debating the poor and how some leech off the state. Had people hollering leech to all poor people even the ones in cities like Detroit where they said blacks love living on welfare and they uneducated and they come from the planet ghetto jungle bunny. Not my words but they exist in my city with population 15 thousand. Poster on Craigslist challenged community to playact we were broke,
contact dhs and get info on how much a poor person with number of your own household gets per month along with food stamps.
To make it seem real, I took out the exact amount I would get if I was a poor person. Gave possession of check books and cash and my own house key to my dad and told him what i was doing. He said good luck son you wont make it on state aid. It was cheating but I did keep my car cause no way in hell am I waiting hours for a bus and walking on busy S. Airport and streets such as Garfield is dangerous. I rode that bus when my car was getting new tires and a tune up and it smelled bad like sweat funk.
Funds are put on a bridge card, that's cash aid and food stamps here in Michigan. I thought with this small amount of cash how in the hell will i survive?
I discovered pretty damned fast I could not afford rent and best I could afford was a nasty room in a place in downtown are where poor people rent rooms and no one should be living in. I wouldn't let my dog stay there and I felt like I should be packing a gun for protection. No minorities but whites who are down on their luck. Could not afford the small deposit even for that nasty dump. I cheated and bunked with a friend. That place is what you wont see come film festival or cherry festival time.
Forget having enough to buy healthy foods. I could afford bread and high carb fattening shit that nobody should have to live off. If I was poor I could not afford fresh produce I'd be eating cheap shit I could afford and if I had kids it would be far worse off.
I quit after a few days and would be hating life if I was poor.
Northern Michigan craigslist posters are notorious for flagging truth.
They flag and remove what they don't want to see on forum when it
don't agree with ass backward views of our good citizens.
They run people off with ignorance and now some like me have come here
and now see some of the ignorant have followed and joined this site posing as poets.
Found this when I went to site from a person claiming to be on vacation in Florida
but keeps posting and posting on our Forum. Poster now claims he is in Gaylord
that "drooling halfwit" always gives this one who changes locations away.
" red cross (gaylord)
Let me get this straight,you can afford the internet and a car but too poor to buy gas??Bet you wish that fake boycott worked stupid.You drive around looking for free handouts so you can drive around.This story is such bullshit,just like you.Get a job lazy drooling halfwit.
Posters originally posted months ago but keeps renewing same post. This posted after someone was refused gas by the red cross while red cross volunteers sat there eating their lunch. Person was driving around on fumes. You try telling this idiot people down don't stay broke forever and you get posts like this one from idiots.
I did not rely on hear say, I made calls to red cross. Red cross does not provide gas money to walk ins and they provide help in unexpected disasters BUT not to poor people already homeless. They did build a luxury hotel on property bought using donations but I can't tell you why they built it.
I don't miss you
if you don't miss me.
What better to think about
other than you, is naught.
I cry to my pillow everyday
but no memories fade.
I still smell you
in paper, nostalgic memories and dreams.
I stop looking at clouds
because I'll find you not.
2 evens and one odd make
A three digit number
I don't like you that way.
Just like talking only.
A full cycle separates us,
but I don't really care.
I am a lunatic
this is me, missing people everyday.
I'm living the start of forever
as if you're dead.
I've been trying for years to get this thing down
The thing they call the marriage game
Been on the alter so many times around
I've given them all numbers instead of names
Well #1 didn't last to long
Blame it on being new to the rules
Thought of her as a slave starting on my wedding day
She thought of me as a mean cruel fool
Through #2, 3, and 4 I was much better
Though I still didn't have it down
#5, 6, 7, 8 I should have dropped after the first date
Then my lawyer bills wouldn't be such a mound
But #33 was always sweet to me
I remember how #42 gave her love away
One thing I did that wasn't dumb was to keep a wedding album
Where I could put a number to every face
It was #84 that was such a bore
Should have stuck with #13 the beauty queen
Or was that #88, it's hard to keep the ladies straight
Perhaps I should study that album in between
Looking back on it now, to the ladies I take a bow
I loved each and everyone like a wife
Treating them like royalty came easily to me
As I gave each and every one of them the best two months of their lives
how do you explain
that feeling that only
another human being
can give you.
feeling that some people
refer to as love but
that word doesn't accurately
depict just how
that unseen entity can
make you the happiest
and most miserable person
in the world all at one
no word or any number
of words could spell out just
exactly how this feeling works,
but here's something i can tell you,
that loves is like a flame,
and once someone ignites
it spreads like wild fire
and it won't stop until
it consumes its host entirely.
Where do you find beauty?
I don't find it in the whites of teeth or the number the bastard scale is
I don't find it in the silk of hair or the gaps between thighs.
I don't find it in the way stomachs roll or the crook of a nose.
I find it in the gleam eye's give when they are expressing what they
I find it in the way lips curl about to tug into a breathtaking smile.
I find it in the way fingers graze over something like it is so fragile.
I find it in you.
I find it funny that the girl who brought us together
was the one who taught me how to smoke.
It’s funny because now, whenever I smell cigarette smoke
my mind strays to thoughts of you.
My mind wanders back to the times
when we would share a cigarette together,
when the only thing I could be conscious of was how your lips
had just touched this very same filter 10-seconds ago,
and how nice it must feel to have you
inhale all the good parts in
and exhale the bad parts out.
I concentrate on how delicately you balance
the cigarette between your lips,
how knowingly you
grasp it between your fingers,
how you hold it like
it means something,
and how much I want to be held by you.
My eyes un-focus
and all I can visualize is the
way the smell would stay on your fingers
as you caressed my face,
leaving untraceable fingerprints on
the edge of my bottom lip.
All I can think of is how the taste of the tobacco
would still be present on your lips as you kiss me softly,
with just enough nicotine staining them to give me a slight head rush.
I know you enough to know that cigarettes are your biggest vice.
It’s the thing that brings you comfort in times of stress,
the one thing you’ve tried to quit, but always go back to.
We used to do this trick where I inhale the cigarette smoke
and exhale it into your receiving mouth;
our lips touching, closing off everything else but each other.
You’d exhale the excess and smile at me and I couldn’t help but smile back.
You see, it may have not been obvious but I wanted to be your cigarette.
I will always want to be your cigarette.
I want to be something you always crave,
something you go out of your way to posses,
something you keep close by at all times because you’re afraid to lose it,
something that you’re wary to give out and share
because you’re scared you’ll run out of enough of it for yourself.
And I know that they say that each cigarette
you smoke takes a day off your life,
but when we’re smoking together,
and we inhale the same amount,
and smoke the same number of cigarettes,
it’s almost as if we’re creating a bulletproof plan
where we lessen our days here so we never have to live without the other.
And I also know that cigarettes ignite then crumble to ashes,
and I’m aware that they have their inevitable end.
But maybe, you’ll have enough of my nicotine personality stained on your lips
to get you through the empty pack,
enough creativity to not let me burn out to the filter,
and enough passion to not let me disappear through the cracks
but let me linger
on your clothes,
on your fingers,
in the air,
like cigarette smoke.
It's been a long summer
The valley was as hot as ever
We added one year to our number
Soaking in your comfort
It was such a peaceful slumber
We're always so free when were younger
Through the heat we suffered
Our love so stubborn