"erm" poems
I like rocks and great big granite blocks
But the question remains
Do rocks talk?
( My phychiatrist said.."What do you think"?)
I think this;
Rocks walk and talk in the night when they're out of our sight
And during the day when boys and girls are at play
Rocks are just rocks and are locked up in...Erm..
..Rocks.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 2:31 AM UTC
It drives me insane when people see me holding a girls hand and ask
“So who’s the guy? You know, who wears the pants?”
I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS. Firstly, neither of us are ever wearing any pants. I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS, and i’m angry because lesbian does not always have to mean woman but where did you get man from? I’m angry because maybe sometimes one of us does identify as a guy. A gay boi with an I. A soft boy. A proud hairy legged 5”4 boy. A drinking pints in the pub with my dad and us both liking that same woman’s tattoo boy. A cries every day boy. A feels cool when drinking beer boy. A boy that had to teach themself to like beer boy. A boy who sometimes does not feel like a boy. A boy. A boy. Oh boy. Boys. You see, this question is confusing for me because when I was fourteen, my boyfriend and I would joke that I was the one wearing the pants, even though at that point I was very much still wearing skirts and hiding behind butt-length hair and also watching the L Word in secret when I got home from school but that’s besides the point. This question is obviously as confusing for you as it is for me because in your mind you see two pairs of **** holding hands on the tube and think: Lesbians. Now, which one’s the man? And I think to myself, there are two ways to answer this: Number 1: So I know lesbian is supposed to mean woman on woman, two vaginas, ********** strap-ons, veganism, art degrees (and a lot of this is true but let’s not stereotype). So I know that to you, although we appear to be two women, two snap-back wearing, sports-bra bearing- I mean I thought about writing ***** tearing here but it just doesn’t seem appropriate- women, the funny thing is that erm, you see, gender and sexuality: as different as my dad to my mum’s other ex-husband. We are not a man and a woman. We are two people and what do pants have to do with it? We are two people and why does one of us always have to be a man? We are two people and the awkward part of the point i’m making is that sometimes I don’t feel like a woman but you wouldn’t know that so let me say: we are not a man and a woman. We did not ask for your confrontation, we are not your designated driver, your answer sheet to an exam you haven’t sat yet, your house party when your parents go away, your girlfriend that you think is obliged to **** your **** even though you will not go anywhere near her **** You are not our three year old son who asks too many inappropriate questions. To you, we are strangers and to answer your question, you seem to think that you’re wearing the pants here. So wear them. By the way, Number 2: **** off.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
/ as i am pretty sure all americana
feels about "us":
oh 'ook, 'ere comes old man
europe,
no hemmingway,
and no so: as the casual english
expression solidifies exchanges:
just across the atlantic:
the, pond...
haven't the foggiest...
i'm "new" here,
and even i find these english prims
& pomps and idiosyncracies
a bit debilitating...
today i walked from my home
with a knife in my pocket...
why... why?!
apparently it's worse
than new york,
a belt as a qusimodo boxing
glove won't cut it,
given that that:
requires a formal introduction,
prior to a fight...
guns guns guns...
over 'ere we 'ave knives knives knives...
and politicians can't exactly
ban them... no, not really...
ban knives, soon you'll be banning
forks, then spoons...
and then...
the whole ******* kitchen...
we'll all be eating out,
in public, cheap cheap cheap,
cheap restaurants
like the slovakians eat in...
can you even imagine that while
in st. petersburg i didn't see,
not one mcdonalds...
same so in moscow:
not a single mcdonalds...
it was like a: relief...
a bit like only seeing africanos
only, but not elsewhere other than warsaw;
erm: afro-saxons?
sure! we have them in england,
plenty of afro-saxons...
so now afro(x)
is not pop-up frizzy hair,
bundled into a french bun...
type of... "thing"?
**** yeah!
hit the spot!
oh old man europe...
tired and yet, and yet tired
of his riches,
how craving the old trenches
of Ypres...
the belgian mud, the rain,
the rats and crows...
europe: lament over libya...
or even pseudo-neo-rome
lamenting over carthage being destroyed...
in reverse -
abbrv. into - orior carthago!
was it cato the elder
who persisted counter to this?
as heidegger would have put it:
that's not even question-worthy.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
HaHA, I've done it! I've created a device
That can tap into my subconscious
and translate it for all to hear.
I will win the Nobel Prize!
I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams!
People will LIKE me!
So let's see here....I put on the cap, set the throttobombulator to 8.
Adjust for fuzzy dialation...set the circuit threshold to .79, make
sure the lucid translation synapses are firing...and yes. The next
words you hear will surely be written in History books one day,
much like Thomas Edison's first phonograph recording, or the
first telephone call!
Neural connection is active. Transmitting
**TRANSGENDERED KANGAROOS FORNICATE IN THE
PURPLE SHADE OF BETTE MIDLER'S THIGHS. PLEASE
PERFORM ******** AT THE BEHEST OF BUDDHIST
MONKS WITH LISPS. COUNT TO TEN AND BECOME
A BUXOM BLONDE ***** WITH BOUNCY *******
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE, CINDARELLA IS
ON HER KNEES AND ELBOWS BECAUSE IT'S ******
HARD TO GET LOW ENOUGH TO PLEASURE A DWARF**
Oh dear. This can't be right....now where's that 'off' switch?
**JACK AND JILL WENT OFF THE PILL SO JACK COULD
BE A FATHER. JACK WENT DOWN TO LONDON TOWN
AND PUNCHED THE DALAI LAMA. EDIBLE *******
GIVE YOU INDIGESTION. DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER
WITH THAT MOUTH, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD. (AND USE
SOME TONGUE THIS TIME)**
Oh My...Ladies and Gentlemen, It's clear that my invention
is experiencing technical difficulties. If you would please be patient---
**SATIN BRAS DON'T CHAFE. NONE OF THE SMURFS
HAD BLUE ***** THANKS TO SMURFETTE. I WONDER
WHAT MARY MAGDELINE WAS LIKE IN THE SACK? **
STUPIDSmashPieceSmashof GARBAGESMASH
DoNT LikE iT? tucK iT bAcK!!
Connection Lost
I...erm...clearly have some more work to do before it is ready
for the pubic--er..public. I have run into some...translation
errors...and need to re lubricate--CALIBRATE a few things.
Please don't tell my mother.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
This is a formal complaint to one Cupid
on behalf of the population of earth.
We find that you've become somewhat,
how can we put it mildly....
unsavory
ever since you started drinking. We've
found that you have not been taking
your job seriously at all since that time
We were understanding at first. Your
job? It's not an easy one. It tolerates
almost no failure, and requires both
physical and mental capacity that is
beyond what most of us can spare.
However...we feel that the alcohol is
affecting your judgement and character
in a way that we can no longer accept.
Below, we've listed the particularly
heinous abuses of your power
1. Taking bets on what you can make people fall in love with. John is now smitten with a cactus while Jenny can't stay away from the inflatable Santa Claus on the Morgans' lawn.
2. Having very attractive women fall in love for your...erm...personal pleasure. That's just offensive
3. Having members of the same family fall in love. The vulgarity of it all is just appalling! It's an ****** epidemic!
4. Shooting your arrows at Rhinoceroses and then laughing as they charge a poor unsuspecting person is not funny.
5. Likewise, shooting an unsuspecting person and having them fall in love with a Rhinoceros who doesn't reciprocate is equally unfunny
6. Last, but not least...Please fix the Republican Candidates. Mitt Romney and Rick ******** are trying to get married next week. While I'm happy that they are now "for" gay marriage, this cannot be tolerated.
So? Do you have anything to say for
yourself? Is that alcohol I smell on your
breath? You don't even care, do you?
Well...we have no choice but to revok---OW!
Oh dear.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.*
you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
nope...
shouting does not good,
akin to:
silent water eats
away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
no...
no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
translated...
you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
like corn flakes...
in a bowl of milk...
you... chatter...
inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
you... chatter...
mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
you...
echo:
central incisors against
the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...
because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?
NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW!
some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...
i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
citizen...
****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
- because it's like...
how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
so...
erm...
you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
Or is it?
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXIX)
Yes, anime as from a distance' frail
Note comes to hail me on my own phone hence--
Which brother's taste cavorting gaily thence
Like to a happy air I cherish? pale
As liking by mere halves what plays for bail
Now in the background. Lo, and for intents
Sis can make calls, whilst oh! don't ask me whence,
But add the p'lice erm, scanner too, to scale.
If only oh, the LORD would e'er and fer
All time take care of little me. I do
Not know how to whatever, though tis poor,
Ye say, to fess't? My brother's old phone too,
They set it up for me, and how we tour
Their favrite stuff thereon. Fun like few knew.
02Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
Once upon a time we had the hymnal propped by the kitchen sink so's I could learn; years later Mum would sing along with me, and now...I like never but once in a blue moon dare to sing aloud, for missing her to tears.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVII)
What's happened to--me? Rainy hours detail
Thet eye with silver's touch while green lawns fence
The minutes fog obscures by vague suspense
With softest carpets rolled out to avail,
And I'm not erm, my own in sheer betrayl;
Erst naked trees lost to mists' whitish sense
Of yonder, I could shiver, and do hence,
Cuz in a blink I'm his upon that scale.
One comment like my wont five days ere, poor
As what? now he distracts aught hours 'til through
Suggestion I am giggling, sober, tour
His deepest sorrows, and maunt say he'd woo?!
Of course, I'm better searching violets, fer
All that. Let purple wink low, saying we knew.
05Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
As we very reluctantly parted, he queried whether he was just another of my whims. Ignorantly, I replied I guessed so, provided we never saw each other again. Erm. Months later the fire is still burning brightly in the absence of any good reason. Interesting eh? Needing a topic as usual, and weary of nature tributes (hahaha, can you believe it?!) I tackled this beloved thread, writing it in the present tense as if from our first days then altering to the present in the second (linked) sonnet.
(sonnet #'s CCCCXLVIII, CCCCXLIX)
You play my heartstrings like a puppeteer
Methinks. Quite deftly pluck and gently twang
To immelod'ous strains whilst I half hang
'Twixt hope and fear, life's balance near
Precar'ous in that cur'ous dance. By mere
Sweet words or grim I'm tossed, a boomerang
That can't be lost to you though ev'ry pang
Estranges reason in this game too dear.
All yours because those unseen chords have caught
My heart that like a harp you seem to use,
As sans my will, in strumming half distraught
Or with such ecstasies, howe'er you choose
You ply, in your winds varied whims 'non fraught,
This hapless leaf. To what end? Just t'amuse?
# II
To what end? Just t'amuse, we tried romance?
Who fell in love? I did. Did you? In vain?
Oh, why'd we play that game? What now remains?
Behold: a live coal, frosted black, whose stance
Seems quite the opposite; wherein the dance
Of Love's hot passion plays anon, aye reigns
Sans you, and any reason. Its refrain
Nigh hopeless, sings your name where none supplants.
Because you knew it would. You told me so.
And while I scoffed, that's how it goes, I see.
Who ******* that hopeful thread, oh sweetness Beau?
'Twas "love at first sight," a rare golden key.
That never quite died but e'er seems to glow.
At least that's how it 'pears in Love's debris.
08Jan12
D67a,b
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCDXXXII)
How rain's nigh ghastly light haunts vague suspense
Ere darkness yield to after. In the pale
Note follwing, whiter morsels chase th'exhale
Which moves atwixt these firs as if pretense
Could not decide oer snowbanks' worn intents
And newer puddles thinking of betrayl,
This fragile romance in surreal tones' bail
Lost in the flurry of just whither hence.
I want to ask you what you're doing fer
All we have overnight made me and you
Erm, us and we. And scared but driving, you're
Not one bit daunted either. What'd we do?
I've heard of whirlwind stories. Aren't such poor?
You'd kiss my tear-washed face, and say we knew?
03Feb16
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
I'm starting to think God loves me better when I'm in stitches and scars,
It's 3pm on a Saturday afternoon and I've ditched a warm house warm soup and am now in a cathedral whispering " Hi, I'm Allie........ and I erm...I've got an eating disorders"
I'm 50% silk and 50% shards of glass but Somehow I've carried myself past the stairs & now I'm here feeling like the walls are mocking me...
I've spent the past 7 Augusts draped in bulimia and anorexia like a coffin and I'm ready to change clothes because I'm tired of wearing black and I'm tired of how it feels like I've been dressed for my funeral all since I've turned 13 except I'm already there watching myself get lowered into the ground but I never get there.
I never get there
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Maybe I'll clean up my act, just to be good. It did give Shaun the chance to look deeply and most mournfully (nicely empathetic) into my eyes once upon a time ages ago...
(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXIX)
I'll wear my heart upon this sleeve in pale
Excuse as oft as suits my fancy, whence
Ye all kin chide to no avail from hence,
Whiles I rebuff aught notions in betrayl
Of better sense, cuz nothing here is bail.
Or if some fragile thought seems vague defense,
Tis vanquished ere I've managed to gain thence
A foothold, and I'll be thus stripped and frail.
Ah, love. Do thou but tempt me with the poor
Suggestion, ye kin laugh 'til ye are blue,
I'm prey, tears dried until tis proven fer
Whatever that twas aye, a jest. I'll rue
Me folly, cherry-cheeked, and pray whiles your
Much wiser sense erm, coughs. And yes, I knew.
20Oct16
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
So there.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMVI)
Yes, fire. We plunked down on the fur rug thence
Afore her fireplace, and I in betrayl
Neglected to erm, lose me on its hale
And licking flames, e'en that romance' pretense
Was blind to--wherefore? Sandwiched for intents
Twixt two guy friends, I was too dull t'avail
Me even there, yea lost myself in pale
'Scuse in auld lines to Nigel, like's good sense.
Now Sunday watches diesel trucks roar fer
Sweet hours through lonesome country roads 'neath blue
Skies nary cloud is but a ghost in, poor
As saying. I told a friend I'm as a melon you
Cleaned out, sans Mum, and what as twere
Is left? LORD, give me Thy fruit. And kids too?
11Mar18b
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
THIS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCHL9b6nBXA
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCII)
Watch Paul McCartney's erm, debut of thence
That soulful number "Yesterday." and they'll
What, eh? If's not the song itself t'avail,
How 'bout John Lennon's snide remark for sense
To Ringo, was't? As if there was fr'intents
This rivalry which could not in betrayl
Be satisfied to have Paul up (sans bail?)
Alone on stage where all the girls cooed hence.
As if they did not cry for John in tour,
And that by name, he must begrudge it too?
I'm just a child in sheer compare as twere,
Yet "all grown-up" now to effect, see through
Their boyish ways and fall in love, though's poor.
While "Yesterday's" notes never fail to woo.
22Mar19b
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 9:50 PM UTC
Er wernt terr ger ter didny wooooorrrrllll
Didny worrll haz derm errr perdy perncessers
En merk maowss
Ern der perrrdy rydes leedle leedle
Erm gernna ert ERRRRRRRRLL der mershed perderderrs
En der ernyon rins
Didny worrllll gud plass to eaat der ferd
Fin
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXVIII)
Snow. Thick white flakes whose hapless note's detail
As't measures distance their profusion thence
Half mocks, yet draws the careless eye from whence
These mesmerize sans voice within the pale
Light of an afternoon, and lo tis bail
Enow for losing me upon that sense
I maunt pin down, til playing guitar is hence
Forgot, or trips and chokes in sheer betrayl.
And ah. You know that word, um, chaste? Oh sure.
Come, roll it 'cross your tongue and hear anew,
Cuz I am sick of being too naughty, fer
The record, and shall leave erm, you to woo.
If only I sit on me hands 'til you're
Quite ready, that should do. Snow. I need you.
09Jan16c
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Don't ask me.
(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCIV)
Not mine. As if a stranger passing thence
From who-knows-where to whither, aught detail
Is like the accents you'll set to avail
Along with artwork for that ***** sense,
Just items in a world that's lost from hence
Its varnish. His bare room decked on that scale
With table, chairs and knick-knacks, in betrayl
Wood toilet seat's in pieces for pretense.
Tis naked. Yes, he's glad to see me fer
Old times--"Erm [smiling] what's your name 'gain? You--
You're so familiar--" I laugh, to assure
Him's fine, aye tease him. Yet why does th'ado,
Though fun as ever, strip the dream as twere
Of all its trappings? Robt, I love you too.
23Jul16c
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMDCCLVI)
I swear, I love you, Robert. Drive me thence
Up every wall. In Spartan fashion scale
The hours down as I trim each sorry nail
Erm, with my teeth. And oh! What is it hence?
But you're the master of this ship, to fence
Unnumbered minutes with naught to avail,
Cuz I am spoiled? Or what?! In sheer betrayl
Oh help me! but I'm cussing in suspense.
To top it off you have compassion fer
My father. He swears I'm a task. You two
Make quite the pair to set me off as twere.
Okay, I'll take up knitting. That won't do.
You drive me bonkers! Tell me that's not your
Intent and I'll prove tis. I love you too.
06Jul16b
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXVII)
I'm not asleep. But wakened, tiptoe thence
Through every minute like to dare exhale
Is not allowed, as if to breathe would hail
The end of visions roused to caper whence
No concrete line shall say, whileas suspense
Knows Janry shows our breath in sheer betrayl
As snow feels that chinook's touch, waxing pale
Though I still walk upon its face tward sense.
And hear a distant blue jay's cry bestir
Young Saturday's thin silence like he knew
What I maunt parse out 'til what aye? as twere.
Oh yes, the sparrows' playful calls heard too
Whilst carving out the eggs, and thought in poor
Excuse I'll be half good, erm, just for you.
09Jan16b
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
Sorry
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this...
but ma,
can you UN-fuck my father?
bring me "outta this world!" like the one night stand that brought me in.
or, well, what was supposed to be a one night stand.
which happened to turn into four years of his constant drunken stupor,
and then transformed into every other sunday for 5 years,
excluding the ones where he was too drunk to remember to show up of course,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask this,
but ma,
can you lower your expectations of me,
I'll never live up to them, or in my opinion live down to them.
That wasn't meant to be an insult, I just don't want to be you.
I don't want to spend my entire life stressed-out behind a desk,
And I don't want to know how to fix every problem but the ones that matter
because they matter,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
But life,
can you stop giving me good things,
I like being happy, doesn't everyone?
but I ruin everything good thing that I get,
it's like subconsciously I want to rip my own ******* throat out and serve it to myself on a platter,
Eat up… it'll **** ya!
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
But is there a way to stitch a broken heart
put me back together,
wait I take that back,
don't,
I'll just get torn apart.
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this
but me
can I put my throat back in for a sec
Give myself a chance at happiness for a change
stop stopping myself when I have a shot at something good
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this
but life
I changed my mind
I want something good
Can I have that be on rushed delivery?
no
oh well i'd just ruin it anyway
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this
but me
can you stop putting yourself down
no wonder you can do anything right
Can I do something right?
I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this,
but,
it's not that bad things happen to good people,
bad things happen to everyone,
it's just that your definition of a tragedy is not getting your hair straight enough,
not getting the new phone you want,
my tragedy is seeing that someone I care about is hurt,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this ,
but do you even care about me?
can't you see i'm hurt?
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
but ,
can ya'll stop looking at me like i'm hurt,
It's not on the outside,
you won't be able to see it,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
But can I just hug you,
no not you,
sorry .
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
but can you all just shut the **** up,
sometimes I want to listen to my thoughts,
or you know that scottish guy in my head,
he's pretty cool,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
but Scottish guy in my head,
Can you Shut the **** up,
I want to know what other people have to say,
I want to say what I have to say without being interrupted by myself,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this,
But me,
Can we stop contradicting myself,
uhm eh a wait,
Can I stop contradicting ourself,
uhm uh erm uhnn
You know what,
Can I just stick with a thought instead of fighting for both sides,
I'd be perfect for debate team, if it was a one person debate that is,
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this
but
Can I stop fighting with myself?
can I have real feelings without telling myself they are fake?
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this
but
are these feelings real?
I'm sorry to be the one to ask you this
but world
can you stop ******* me over
can you stop ******* me over
can you stop ******* me over
Can you stop?
I'm sorry
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Brian, you’re so boring.
So you keep telling me.
Why can’t you be more spontaneous.
Did I or did I not bring you in a daffodil.
You brought in a dandelion.
Think of it as a gesture.
That’s what I mean, it's a token, now Mary's boyfriend robbed a bank to buy her a ring.
That's the guy who’s doing ten years.
That's besides the point.
So you want me to rob a bank for you.
No, I want you to be more like Tasman's boyfriend, he went on top of a moving truck with a banner saying, I love you Tasman. So romantic.
That was the guy who died when the truck went under a low bridge.
That’s not the point.
And another thing, at the funeral, why were your friends calling me Brent.
I was trying to make you sound sophisticated.
Oh you did that alright, Brian Crude became Brent Crude, your idiot friends thought it was hilarious.
Well, how the hell was I to know it was an oil company.
He thought to himself, you want something romantic, I’ll ****** well give you something romantic.
Why did you give me a giant Teddy bear? This is what I mean! Jist think for two seconds, will you.
Two days later
Erm. What's this?
If I didn't know better, I'd think that it's a letter.
Ha-ha. It's addressed to the teddy bear: "Only for teddy".
Well then you should give it to teddy.
Don't be silly, a stuffed animal can't read. And it's your hand writing.
Well I'm sorry but it's between me and Teddy.
#later that night while he was out, she just couldn't help herself.
"Dear Teddy,
I hope you're well. I'm sending you this letter because as we discussed earlier, I won't be home tonight. I wanted to make sure you'd take good care of my girl. Just remember, she likes:
- warm cuddles
- chocolate
- chick flicks
- long conversations
- kissed on the forehead
- roses
I knew you wouldn't be able to pick up some of the above so DHL is delivering the chocs, Eat Pray Love the movie and roses tonight. Be sure to be home at 8 pm.
I expect you to take your responsibilities seriously. One wrong cuddle can make her over think all night. I better not find her over thinking. You know how special she is to me.
Best regards,
Brent"
A Paul Gaffney& Lily Nurmi production.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
He reaches for the door to enter the cafe
Right as he does, a woman on the other end shoves it open, nearly hitting him in the face
She manages to mutter a half-assed apology and strides by him
She smelled like cigarettes
He walks in and looks around for a trash can
As he goes to throw something away he sees a book on top of the pile of garbage
He picks it up and wipes the ashes off of its tattered cover
With a nod to the waitress he walks over and takes a seat at the only empty table
The seat is warm
He examines the book, turning it side to side
There is no title
There is no author
He shrugs and opens it to a page with the top right corner bent inward
In the center of the page his eyes are drawn to a word circled angrily in black ink
Patience
He takes out a red pen from his shirt pocket and underlines the word
I need to learn how to be more patient
His thoughts go off about the woman who had brushed past him
Was this her book?
He looks out the window to see her standing at the bus stop across the street
She turns her head in his direction and they make eye contact
"Is there anything I can get for you, sir? Perhaps a cup of coffee."
He hesitantly looks away from the woman and up at the waitress
She gives a concerned, but friendly smile
"Erm, no. I was just leaving."
He picks up his hat from the table and leaves with the book tucked under his arm
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC