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#ogdidynash
“Remember when we used to pour our own milk in Starbucks? I miss those days,” one patron wrote nostalgically on X earlier this month... Now in the process of  getting reinstatement… <> oddity sujet for a poeme. and it begs with hidden overtones even, for an overture, please, even the babes&big babies among us with barely a decade to call their own, long for the un~ complicated places, days, even the moments momentous that will resonate evermore, even the most favored nation of that stuffed animal, that cannot be dismissed, discarded, who will join them in their no loco parenting of a snug single of  a freshman doormroom, with no shame, when the hungry boys are permitted entry to the chamber, blushing from the hopefulness's of potency of getting first  lucky, foolishly sarcastic remarking on this sad sacred animal presence, and being subsequently serviley, quick dismissed, with a stupid,wry twisty, puzzled squared landing on their mouth, where the just sensed **passionate kisses  will  ow/now never arrive** yes, nostalgic commences amidst the multiple in ~ puts from early days, ever on, sorted, filed, systematically, in a system greater than the dewey decimal of our libraries and we experimented with numerous pours of variable quantities of various “milks” lesson taught when the station is unbusy, and cute yong men offer helpful hints, calorically, nutrient-wise, taste varietals, and leaving a phone number on the wax container of the trialed oat milk which is so a thing hard to miss, hard to lose perhaps this instant of rapture rappore will lead to a long life, maybe till spring semester when you, a saturated years older slightly more cautious, *and yet^ after a hundred nyets, in a San Fran Starbucks, near the first job, it happens, and memories are rejiggered, restoring priorities andy don’t tell nobody that stuffed animal is resting comfortably on her bedroom in an apt. Shared with two others, To all entering, holy of holies, as a prescreening no~tech stuffed, well hugged animal device will assign a pass/fail grade
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Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 7:25 AM UTC
ogdiddynash
Nostalgia for the days, when we poured our own milk!
“Remember when we used to pour our own milk in Starbucks? I miss those days,” one patron wrote nostalgically on X earlier this month... Now in the process of  getting reinstatement… <> oddity sujet for a poeme. and it begs with hidden overtones even, for an overture, please, even the babes&big babies among us with barely a decade to call their own, long for the un~ complicated places, days, even the moments momentous that will resonate evermore, even the most favored nation of that stuffed animal, that cannot be dismissed, discarded, who will join them in their no loco parenting of a snug single of  a freshman doormroom, with no shame, when the hungry boys are permitted entry to the chamber, blushing from the hopefulness's of potency of getting first  lucky, foolishly sarcastic remarking on this sad sacred animal presence, and being subsequently serviley, quick dismissed, with a stupid,wry twisty, puzzled squared landing on their mouth, where the just sensed **passionate kisses  will  ow/now never arrive** yes, nostalgic commences amidst the multiple in ~ puts from early days, ever on, sorted, filed, systematically, in a system greater than the dewey decimal of our libraries and we experimented with numerous pours of variable quantities of various “milks” lesson taught when the station is unbusy, and cute yong men offer helpful hints, calorically, nutrient-wise, taste varietals, and leaving a phone number on the wax container of the trialed oat milk which is so a thing hard to miss, hard to lose perhaps this instant of rapture rappore will lead to a long life, maybe till spring semester when you, a saturated years older slightly more cautious, *and yet^ after a hundred nyets, in a San Fran Starbucks, near the first job, it happens, and memories are rejiggered, restoring priorities andy don’t tell nobody that stuffed animal is resting comfortably on her bedroom in an apt. Shared with two others, To all entering, holy of holies, as a prescreening no~tech stuffed, well hugged animal device will assign a pass/fail grade
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64
Short Term Memory Loser <> the joke on you, with foolish hobgoblins hobbled, them youse~peeps whom to themselves think “oh, I’ll never forget this precise precious momentary fragment” haha ha on you! more fragging(1) of our minds into piecemeal shards claiming, boasting, that it will live forever within this rented storage unit, leased & renewed analy, upkeep-no-needed haha ha on me, the ironic ticking pricking of my brain, when least expected, in my kitchen sinking awaning, days, the poem potions potentials, fly to mind with the fast and furious, with missile accuracy entering, gleaming, but explode before I can script the scribble, and the notional dissipates into ****** ashy, left with a title, no body, a perma-headless *** mulish poet hapless, sap~less, sticky stuck with no idea what my intended writ was to be it, and I consign that.title to death by draft, never to be credited created or crafted, cause that’s how bad my short term memory has devolved or more dimply put, slam, bam, thank you man, the whole blows up faster than one can utter our American anthem, *** IS WRONG with the Dallas Cowgirls?
0
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 7:40 AM UTC
ogdiddynash
(Unpoemed) Short Term Memory Loser
Short Term Memory Loser <> the joke on you, with foolish hobgoblins hobbled, them youse~peeps whom to themselves think “oh, I’ll never forget this precise precious momentary fragment” haha ha on you! more fragging(1) of our minds into piecemeal shards claiming, boasting, that it will live forever within this rented storage unit, leased & renewed analy, upkeep-no-needed haha ha on me, the ironic ticking pricking of my brain, when least expected, in my kitchen sinking awaning, days, the poem potions potentials, fly to mind with the fast and furious, with missile accuracy entering, gleaming, but explode before I can script the scribble, and the notional dissipates into ****** ashy, left with a title, no body, a perma-headless *** mulish poet hapless, sap~less, sticky stuck with no idea what my intended writ was to be it, and I consign that.title to death by draft, never to be credited created or crafted, cause that’s how bad my short term memory has devolved or more dimply put, slam, bam, thank you man, the whole blows up faster than one can utter our American anthem, *** IS WRONG with the Dallas Cowgirls?
Continue reading...
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