#stocks
Tesla stock is up again,
Guess that's good for Elon.
Though I think we're all real sick of him,
And the stink he calls "Musk."
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 1:52 PM UTC
Betting on plays
And whether teams could pull it through;
Factoring rates given to the risks
Versus stats, records, and rankings,
Of losses, successes, et cetera.
Whether physical or digital,
These playful monetary mediums
Like domestic feline & bengal tiger.
Like dog as like cat,
It's a different reaction to them
And connection with them
Having grown up around them.
These paper jaguars & plush lions,
So much for the fear of adversity
When you're trying to crunch everything.
If you're always in the middle
Of working through or thinking about something,
Punching an equation,
Then how can anyone hope
To knock you off kilter?
It's just another component-
Another addition & subtraction,
Division & multiplication,
To calculate & sum.
You've gotta be in it to win it,
And you're always just one bet away
From winning it big.
Making it good
Sometimes takes all it can take,
And even then you might not
Break even.
I sense disturbance,
See some malign figure,
In your line of reason.
Yet, through our conversations,
No appeal can be made to logic.
The calculations offer a grime visage.
Play with your heart, play with your gut,
As your head will steer you wrong.
If you're thinking about it,
You're thinking too much.
Just lay it on the line,
Bet it all,
But don't bet too much.
Listen, it'll be fine.
Tomorrow we can
Recoup your loss.
The contradictions are lost,
The irony was over
And you took the under.
The spread accomplished
Chose the given
And you were taking.
If something flew
You were beneath it.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC
shiny ‘vette
velvet walls
noontime cabaret
passing by, bye
cigarette
cell phone calls
boot mark to the face
push and pull
take the cake
climb to the top!
rise at the top!
wallet’s fat
bank account swells
now some time to wait
nice and full
got it made
winding the clock!
(winding the clock!)
scratching backs
fingernails smell
now i'm turning grey
take my dime,
not my time
what was that?
slot machine bells
not for me today
or any day
one more sip
of lemonade
when will it stop?
when will it stop?
when will it stop?
when will it stop?
when will it?
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 8:09 PM UTC
_Find
Your bliss;
Channel your
Inner godliness;
25% off inspiration;
Sale ends this Sunday._
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 4:34 AM UTC
Admittedly,
the company
proved over-ambitious
as it
deteriorated
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
Chasey calls them the dead mama blues.
There's sadness, she says, mine has a scent to it;
Despair, a shabby **** who mugs me under my covers
On winter days at dawn,
Catatonia, which only a messy bed,a bong,a bag of Cheetos and a boy can cure,
And then way down from there,
Squatting *** close to the ground,
Smoking Gauloises in the dark,
Live the dead mama blues.
The only cure for the dead mama’s, Chasey explains,
Is a blood rare steak and Etta James greatest hits on vinyl,
Played quiet through the sweet spot of the night,
All the lights off, the dishes done and dry.
Helps if a sister has a slim hip man to dance with, she said,
So if you ain’t runnin’, the grill’s on me.
Come by sober any time after moon rise, Chasey yawned,
Cause this girl could use a shoulder and a polite hand.
And bring your slippers, she said
Easier to shuffle over **** in sheepskin, plus
We might go up on the roof later on
And smoke some of my cubans for a while.
Door will be open, so please don’t ring,
Hell what am I saying, you know the path.
Chasey yawned again, a big one,
Waited a few seconds because there was nothing else to say
And hung up the phone with a sigh.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
You can have
All that you dream
Said my dad
Eyes opening
From that moment
A ****** for lust
Was my main component
Wealth was a must
No one to trust
Hated everyone, except green faces
I guess I had become a racist
Skate through class, got a degree
But only thought of luxury
Traded all my friendships
For full time internships
As you work your way up the latter
Money becomes all that matters
Bank account high, seven digits
Before my age was five times six
But how can you flaunt it to your **** list
When you lack time to even spend it?
So confined, in this concrete jungle
No love of mine, I'd ever stumble
Trapped within the US dollar
Perhaps I shouldn't have even bothered
But now I wear the golden handcuffs
Without a key, I try to stand tough
If I was poor, I'd be less happy
Another round, and make it snappy
Drown myself in fine wine
And crown myself after I snort my line
Set the alarm and sink to bed
I wish I couldeve seen ahead
I wish my father would have told me
Zeros and commas, can make you lonely.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC