"ernie" poems
Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”
Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.
Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”
Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the cock-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.
Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******** the ball-cock
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?
If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).
I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.
It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.
With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?
So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?
Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****
With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
the older generation
thinks we're all meth-heads,
ritalin-riddled serial killers,
serious ingesters
of buckets-of-blood thrillers,
they look at me funny
when I sag my pants
look at me funny
when I've got my girl in my arms
and her hands on my zipper
moving slowly
to the biggest dipper, too loud,
they say,
too loud,
too much cursing,
too much blood and gore,
too many games about getting money
and running over grannies to get more;
Ren and Stimpy,
and
Bert and Ernie,
two homos
that need to burn
for their sin,
the world is going
to hell in a handbasket.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
The Helos hovered silently
as the Seals roped to the ground.
They touched down on Sesame Street
where the “Big Bird” could be found.
The C.I.A. had tracked him
Using feed from P.B.S.
President Mitt o.k’d the hit
when we tracked him to his nest.
A blue grouch in a garbage can
liay bleeding on the floor.
That **** named Cookie Monster
won’t eat cookies anymore.
Ernie, Bert and rubber ducky
Were in the bath they say
When Seal team six broke through the door
and blew them both away.
Big Bird hid in Hooper’s store
While all this had transpired.
Then he laid down suppressing fire
With a weapon he’d acquired
Several Seals lay silent
in that sleep that isn’t sweet.
Snuffleupagus opened up
and forced a Seal retreat.
A stealth Helo exploded
raining wreckage on the street.
Maddened Muppets hurling Bricks
compounded Mitt’s defeat.
As of today Big Bird’s at large.
Him we couldn’t whack.
The briefing failed to tell us
That a Liberal Bird fights back.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Always there, Justin Tyme. He's a good friend of mine.
This morning I went into the kitchen and yelled "you're toast!" and then I ate it.
A lovely response to a question: "Does a bear **** in the woods?"
I reply, "What about polar bears???"
When people say, "Jesus is holy." Do you think he cringes?
My girlfriend told me that I had scruples. I suddenly became scared and made a doctor’s appointment for an STD check.
What did Ernie say when Bert asked to get ice cream? “Sure Bert.”
I find it interesting when people say,
"It's the quiet ones you have to "worry'' about.
I believe it's the ones who blend in you have to worry about.
"Awkward Silence" ??
What is so awkward about silence???
I believe people are awkward, not silence.
...................................................
I need some bliss so, I'm going to be ignorant.
Along with his three Peeps, Hershey Kisses the Tootsie Roll Midgets.
To display their different mediums of art, the sky is the Gods exhibit and we are the critics.
For the Nondreamers:
You may look down on me as If I appear to have my head in the clouds.
Note to self: When you look up at the sky, I'm looking down on you.
Some say I'm cheesy...may be that I'm just Krafty.
I saw a sign on the freeway that said 'Exercise daily and walk with Jesus.' So I did. Jesus and I walked together laughing and smiling all the way to the lake front, but he kept walking...Then it dawned on me, I forgot my aqua shoes.
"I tend to add a hint of lemon while preparing my sought after traditional Christmas goose." Here's a hint, don't ruin the hint.
Ask a person with a lisp to say thimble and symbol...it sounds the same.
We are all artists who never put ourselves out for display.
Empty thoughts filled with absence.
What's on my mind is nothing, but what's inside is pure bliss.
I'm existing in the nonexistent.
God needs glasses and hearing aids.
Last night she nailed me harder than Jesus! (too soon)??
"I would be more than happy to give you an external hard drive."
"Ah, give or take.'' I'm confused...what do I do??
Good Friday??? Good God! That's terrible. Put me on a cross and I'll tell you how "good" my day is...maybe we should consider revising the name of this holiday?
I'm a conductor who's lost his train of thought.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
As a teenage boy I used to fall asleep at night
listening to the graveled voice of Ernie Harwell
fashion for me word-images of the exploits
by a band of superheroes called the Detroit Tigers.
In those semi-lucid moments before slumber,
I could see the shimmering outline of my destiny:
you see all American boys are meant to be Tigers.
So imagine my confusion, when I fractured
the right talus bone my Junior year of high school,
even putting on weight around the middle,
where no athlete worth his pin stripes would gain.
My karma had begun to take on mass.
I began to acquire knowledge, as the only perceived defense
against some parallel universe impinging upon reality.
Oh, I had everyone convinced, even my keenest teachers
believed I was destined to make my mark in scholarly pursuits.
But no one saw the crying ego of one meant to be a Tiger,
nor how that bottled up the emergence of the Man.
Never reconciled, the Man curled up in fetal dormancy.
Lifespan became synonymous with interstellar drift.
And every encountered star of knowlege was dwarfed,
having long ago collapsed of its own gravity.
Still the heavens of knowledge are auspicious,
so I looked outward, when all the answers lay concealed within.
Only as my life left the outskirts of occluded reality
did I then begin to inherit from my instinctual id,
begin to listen to disconsolate internal voices,
who had known me all along, perhaps better than myself.
The thing is ... the stage has long been set on middle-age,
what props lie about are encrusted with patina,
laden with a dust impossible to gauge or preempt,
made worse by the lack of cast, save one.
Neither Beckett, nor Pinter, could have absurded this.
So, when my acts strike you as quixotic,
when I cut with a penknife through propriety,
it's because I finally remember what it meant to be a Tiger.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
reposting a poem from 3 1/2 years ago, when I knew how to write
<>
organizing the day,
while the baby room renter in the adjacent,,
makes dreamy rock n' roll noises,
siren calls to stay~lay in bed,
tho status of semi-alert,
ready to relieve Ernie and Bert,
who have the first shift covered
soon on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking with eyes closed simultaneously.
lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.
while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
******* sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.
paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.
lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself for to calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of
sweet sensory inputs.
the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry
and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.
1/20/2013
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
It was late into the night
When Bert Ernie and I
Were traveling across the plans of Nebraska
Much to my surprise
Bert looks me straight in the eyes
And says Mike, I gotta question to ask ya
With Big Bird wrapped up in the trunk
You'd think that he'd already thunk
About this night long before it already happened
When we took Oscar the Grouches can lid
And whacked Big Bird smack dab in the head
Then tied him up tight while he was napping
We rolled him out to curb
Believe me it looked quite absurd
Ernie grunting with Bert complaining as feathers went flying
But as would be our fate
Able to make our planed escape
When Count Von Count took time out to do some feather counting
So this is now where we are
Bert, Ernie, Me, and Big Bird in the trunk of our car
Not really knowing where it is we are heading
Our thinking went only as far
As nabbing Big Bird and the get away car
Putting Ernie in charge wasn't such a good idea is what I am betting
Ernie says he's figured it all out
Bert says we need this, but still has his doubts
Cause Bert owes back pay alimony and Ernie his ******
We head to Ernie's planed drop off spot
And of course it's swarming with cops
While our inside man " The Monster " gave us up for Cookies
They let Big Bird out of the trunk
Who proceeded to slap us punch drunk
Then straight to the judge to pay for this hideous crime
I can't think of any worse fate
I now know this was a fatal mistake
The sentence...
Banished to Sesame Street for life, now that is hard time
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Take me to where the streets have no name, darling. Take me away, from tears, from joy, from hell, from being under raised. Take me away, take me away. Take me very far away.
You might even go until you find someone else. You might even go until you find yourself. It's the trip that's important, not the fault of being away. It's the trip that make you stay, it's the trip that make you who you are today.
You might wanna tell the world what problem's you noticed around. You might wanna tell me what I'm supposed to to while you're gone.
This is just jibbish, this is stupid, this is futile.
This is not good at all.
This is just frank and ernie on a trip to dubai.
This is kent and barbie together in a vault.
This is dragons and donkeys making babies in the dark.
This is drinks and cigarettes proposing to girls.
This is the moon and the sun forgetting the world.
This is life, this is death, this is all that we are.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
I'm not running for office, got nothing to sell.
But if you've got a few minutes I have a story to tell.
See there once was a man no different from you,
With so many clothes he didn't know what to do.
Yvonne grew tired of his clothing arrray,
And she let it be known one fine laundry day.
She felt she had taken all she could take,
So she balled up her fist and gave it a shake!
"Ernie, I've had it!" she said with a shout.
"You can do your own laundry from here on out!"
Well the day finally came he could find nothing clean.
Ne'er a shirt, nor a sock, nor a single blue jean!
Did our hero grow grievous? Oh contraire!
With a quick trip to Thrift Town he had plenty to wear.
Countless days later Ernie's attire still clean,
Yvonne fell to wondering what could this mean.
As she entered the laundry room scratching her head.
Her blood began to boil, her face to turn red!
The washer was silent, the dryer was cold.
But the mystery at last began to unfold.
Twenty three pair of Levys there on the floor,
Told the tale of Ernie's journeys to the local thrift store.
Yvonne shouted, "Dear God, I simply can't win!"
And started doing Ernie's laundry again...
There's a moral to this story set down here in verse,
It's a tale of two evils. You decide which is worse.
Doing laundry for Ernie who's not a bad a guy,
Or a pile of ***** Levys that mount to the sky!!!
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
The puppet strings
That light
Your banana yellow
Face strikes
A hollow pang.
Your roommate
Speaks with the gloomy
Eloquence
Of a Greek tragedy,
Or an American vision
Of a corrupted Greek tragedy,
Or maybe a lonely English
Counterpart well you get the
Point—
Two lovers
Wrought in silk and wool
Sweaters
Forever unaware
Of the fact that no matter
How devoted
They are to each other’s
Well-being,
Their eyebrows will forever
Never touch.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
1
I look at
my shredded fingertips,
turning gray from Ernie Ball string,
from obsession playing the instrument.
I look at
the only evidence
of any of that
ecstatic crucible
into my hands,
the technicolor
of each pile
of felt-tip paintings,
the endless rows
of recording
that I can
only navigate
by seconds, and by minute,
and I am
deflated.
not a single
work
was finished.
again,
nothing
could be used.
2
I look at
the hours flaying me
on my acoustic guitar, and the days
trapped in each sheet of sketches
spent sleep deprived and starving,
alone, not bathing
or speaking; just
drawing. drawing until
the pain reached
too high a threshhold
to be able
to endure,
but i did again and again this
in between those great periods
of being an invalid,
in the hope of something
to be proud of.
I decide I'll go for a walk
to the 7/11.
I buy a 40 dollar bottle
of my favorite Whiskey,
of Jameson and
I get a pack,
not the usual kind, not my favorite--
Marlboro Red One-Hundreds,
but I get a pack
of Parliament Light One-Hundreds
this time.
I go home, and I drink.
half the bottle. light a cigarette, play
one of my favorites--
those songs
from the 1990's.
I sit down
on the floor of my bedroom and
I cut open
my arms
with a pencil.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 8:44 PM UTC
I used to climb Trees
Out in broad daylight,
where we used to ride bikes,
My home time was defined by streetlights,
fistfights and first times.
I used to play kick stone.
outside on the roads of my home.
Scared of the dark when I was home alone.
A sombre tone in those days.
My cul-de-sac was a continent,
you couldn’t count the times
we jumped hedges and jumped the brooks,
wider berths as we grew and beamed with confidence.
He grew up on the other side of the brook to me!
Exploration into dilapidated buildings,
to seek out lost felines for the £10 reward.
One guy got stung by a bee nine times,
he lived to tell the tale of course.
Thinking back sometimes,
It was us who had nine lives,
playing on the tramlines and and swimming in high tides.
colliding with live wires and life lessons,
We built sandcastles and burnt them down,
in spaces of seconds.
Lost in imagination.
I stayed in the sea until my fingers wrinkled,
but this happened more often in the bath if i’m honest.
It seemed so simple,
within the borders of our town, in those days.
The good old days,
or so they say -
but i don’t disagree with the sentiment of it all, if i’m honest.
It’s a ghost town now,
Treehouse's and broken fences,
Sweet shops and trips to the dentist.
A playground apprentice,
like Dennis the menace,
Ernie and Bertie,
maybe.
The bell rang more times than I care to remember.
It symbolised the beginning of the next class rather than the end.
To some at least, i’m not quite sure precisely who.
But it always started in September.
Those were the days,
Kiss chase and roller skates
missed chances and romances.
First dances and your first falls.
The sycamore tree got smaller,
but remains the exact same size.
The boys got a little bit taller,
some of us guys even became wise.
Life is full of surprises.
We flew apart.
The sun went down and we grew up.
And now I don't climb Trees anymore.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
I am from my father’s warm cooking,
From my mom and grandma’s baking.
I am from the soggy, overdone noodles, that, though disgusting,
I was proud of because I made them myself.
I am from lemonade stands with my sister,
Keeping careful watch to see that she didn’t run into the street.
I am from drinking most of our product that we were supposed to be selling,
And making my mother pay twenty-five cents to do the same.
I am from lights on my face as I slipped into the life of another person,
proudly singing a song.
I am from “break a leg,” and “you can do it.”
I am from dancing badly and the music that compelled me to do so.
I am from Emergency Room trips,
From falling and stumbling and crashing into things.
I am from the bonfires at the camp I hated
(sparkly, mesmerizing, didn’t feel as nice as it looked)
I am from Ernie and Bert’s pointless arguments,
From my old fears of
Cookie Monster,
and crying when he came on the television.
I am from June and Mortimer’s branch.
From the crazy heritage from my dad,
and the Native American woman and the English man
who are my great-great-great-great grandparents.
I am from the chemotherapy and radiation that
didn’t work,
and crying when I heard that the boy
I had never met had died.
I am from Milo and the Phantom Tollbooth,
From the adventures that I enjoyed with Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
I am from the books that I read at a very young age
that made me love the letters on the pages.
I have boxes, filled with memories.
A birth certificate,
shoes that barely fit two of my fingers.
I am from the stories that were told,
and the unwritten tales
yet to come
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
i sit in my room, staring at the wall.
photographs of all shapes and sizes
and colors form an intricate and
irresistable road map for my eyes.
they scan and scrutinize the wall;
each picture draws a colorful and
fragmented memory--
the top of the ferris wheel at six
flags with the ernie to my bert,
sticky and hot, but so happy;
driving through the neighborhoods
while bass-pounding mirror-wriggling
music assaulted our ears and the hot
summer wind whistled through us;
that aching, all-consuming grin i
just could not erase after misha let
me sing a verse with him;
over a decade of confusion and
consternation about a god who
always seemed to be too busy to
answer the sincerest prayers of
a naive and innocent child;
the heart-startling jolt of
awakening to screams and cries
for countless miserable mornings;
the bitter tears spilled so often at the
realization that assuming the best
of others often leads to nasty scars.
the pictures are tacked to the wall,
an exotic map of my adolescence.
the items overlap and intertwine,
they are all connected and dependent.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
A pity Yvonne alas has passed on in a most regrettable way.
She wasn't quite a snit cuz she jus couldn't ****
and hadn't been many a day.
So she sent Ernie out for enimas no doubt
and while he was still on the road,
Yvonne took a chance by dropping her pants while running toward the commode.
In a tangle of jeans, frustrated screams and a splintering bathroom door,
Her *** met the glass as intestinal gas burst forth with a thunderous roar.
The bowl couldn't take the force of the quake,
It rained down like porcelain Hail.
Some people say five miles away it hit six on the Richter scale.
I miss dear Yvonne, now that she's gone, taken from us much too soon.
Sometimes I cry as I gaze up in the sky and wave and she orbits the moon.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Our family had an old blue bus,
It pretty much held the whole of us,
Mom and Dad, six kids and Gyp,
(Out pug dog went with us on many a trip.)
We all thought it was pretty cool,
Back before the seatbelt rule,
To sit on the engine between the front seats.
A blanket on top helped absorb all the heat.
In the wintertime though, we thought it was nice,
When our fingers and toes were frozen like ice,
To warm up on the engine of the old blue bus
Just Mom and Dad and the rest of us.
We went on more family trips than most
Dad drove that blue bus from coast to coast
Kids will be kids, and boys would be boys
Dad got annoyed when we made too much noise.
“Do you want me to stop this ****** bus?”
That scared us to silence, calmed down the fuss.
On the longest trips with lots of kids,
Mom took Mason jars with tightly ******* on lids.
Sometimes Dad would drive through the night,
We’d wake up at morning light
Never knowing quite where we would be,
Carlsbad Caverns? Washington, DC?
At the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown,
At the Grand Canyon, South Rim, looking down.
In New York City, a little lost,
Finding out what slots in Las Vegas cost,
A coal mine in Kentucky, Disney World for some of us,
You’d never know where we might go in the old blue mini-bus.
Sometimes on the weekends, Dad tied canoes on top,
We’d put them in the river, and he’d tell Mom where to stop,
Most times she would be there, but one time she went too far,
Since those were the days before cell phones,
We were up the river without a car!
There were ball games in Chicago, ERNIE BANKS was in our bus!!
He didn’t show up in the picture, but you could see the rest of us.
Lake Bloominton, Clinton, and Mackinaw,
Oh the things that blue bus saw!
Boys Scouts, Cub Scouts, birthday trips with friends
Eventually the bus wore down, but the memory never ends.
I suppose somebody bought it – that old blue mini-bus,
But they never had as good of time as Mom and Dad and us!.
Phil Lindsey 12/30/16
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
A pity Yvonne alas has passed on in a most regrettable way.
She wasn't quite a snit cuz she jus couldn't ****
and hadn't been many a day.
So she sent Ernie out for enimas no doubt
and while he was still on the road,
Yvonne took a chance by dropping her pants while running toward the commode.
In a tangle of jeans, frustrated screams and a splintering bathroom door,
Her *** met the glass as intestinal gas burst forth with a thunderous roar.
The bowl couldn't take the force of the quake,
It rained down like porcelain Hail.
Some people say five miles away it hit six on the Richter scale.
I miss dear Yvonne, now that she's gone, taken from us much too soon.
Sometimes I cry as I gaze up in the sky and wave and she orbits the moon.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
From the early, early morning through the late, late night,
The tweekers keep on coming and it just ain't right.
Yvonne gets up early and she's feeding the fish,
And here comes Ernie, he's wanting his "ish".
So she breaks him off a little so that he won't gripe,
Now here comes Pino wanting something in the pipe.
And next comes Debbie just a shaking that ***
She's supporting the casino selling half price gas.
Then comes Clifford call him Big Daddy Mac,
He got the Clabber Girl can goin' clackity - clack.
From a quarter to a half, to a teener or a ball,
She's got more traffic than the Hill Top Mall.
Now the daylight's fading and the night's coming on,
On and on and on and on and on,
The Tweeks have worn a path in the ********* lawn.
Yvonne can't take it, she's headed for the hills,
Yelling back at Ernie, "Yes, I took my friggin pills!!"
Betty, Sally, Gary, and James,
The faces keep changing but never the games.
They promise to pay you. They only need a puff,
A little more please, that's just not enough.
And they bring you lots of things that you just can't use,
Like fake gold chains and someone else's shoes.
A cordless drill I got no way to charge and brand new jeans three sizes too large.
"Say hey yo bro, I bet you need one of these".
It's a freaking leaf blower when I ain't got any trees !!!
Yeah, they call their hustle and they're good at what they do.
You know that they are 'cuz they always hustling YOU !!
HERE COME THE JUDGE ! HERE COME THE JUDGE !
COURT'S IN SESSION NOW. HERE COME THE JUDGE !!
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Ernie’s big sister
was a *****
or so
your old man said
although
he didn’t say
what she did
or what
she was for
you often saw her
go out
in the evenings
from the downstairs
lower flat
on the corner
dressed in a short
red skirt with
a slit at the back
and high heel shoes
and her hair
up high
in a beehive style
or you’d see her
by the entrance
to the Square
standing there
talking to some guy
with that
come **** me look
in her eye
but no one told you
what a ***** was
or did that part
of the action
your old man hid
you thought
she was a small time
actress like the ones
you saw on
the big screen
who stood in saloons
when the cowboys
came in or was a moll
who hung on to some
gangster’s arm in those
black and white films
you saw on winter
afternoons
but when you went
by her standing there
or she spotted you
up on the balcony
of the flats
she’d wave or smile
but seldom spoke
other than to say
hi there kid
or how’s your old man
and off she’d go
with her tight skirt
with the slit
at the back
and her wiggling ***
and high heel shoes
and her hair piled high
with that
come have me later
look in her eye.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
“I spent the rest of the day smoking joints and listening to music. There was very little else that I had going for me. I was left hungry for something I could not put my finger on so I wondered the streets until dawn. With my head down I tried to feel confident but could only manage to fake it. A cloud of thought grew out around me, only broken by the introduction of some new stimuli as I walked. And very little stuck with me on my journey unto dawn. “
I read that in a book. I think it’s Joyce.
But that would be convenient wouldn’t it?
“Tell me, do you have a better idea?”
I wonder, is there one
Or are we all just products?
such a tired cliché…
I’m the miser’s purse
Dionysus
Something Something, we don’t care,
You and I,
Where this goes.
Do we?
Have a drink on Bukowski though
Despite my lack of common tact
I do have dreams you know.
And where were you when Burt and Ernie told us our Sponsors
And Images with discreet meanings rested in our hearts?
We Don’t need to read ******
“If you won’t stop screaming I’m gonna have to call security.” She said to him. His glare ****** her way. “Secure this,” He said. He ****** his hand into his coat producing from it a photograph of dollar. He handed it to her asking “can you break this?” She looked at him in fear and confusion “Sir this isn’t legal tender.”
“well I say it is” he said. But that was it, as security immediately burst into the room and the scene devolved into panic and screams.
<div text="He perceived an abrupt break in the energy, an ebb, stagnation. Everyone appeared to know where everything should go from here, But pretty soon he saw realized they were all talking out their ***** and he turned to leave."></div>
When we’ve reached that beautiful peak I want you to throw the radio in the tub.
element.style {
mood: toska;
languge: english;
background-position: -40.7127 -74.0059;
why-am-i-doing-this: IDK;
}
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
.
In da mornin yeah
( Dis very one )
We were
like kids comin on
Into the great adventure
Of life and love
•
Goin
Eenie , meenie ; minie ..: AND .. mo
//
Yeah baby
Stay with me
Gonna be good times
You 'll see
::
.ernie meenie minie AND mo
//
High hill song
Early riser
Gotta know what's goin on
Gotta be a new man
Come the new dawn
•
Eenie
Meenie
Minie
AND
Mo
X
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
Tom and Jerry, Laurel and Hardy,
Batman and Robin, Fred and Barney,
Frodo and Sam, Bert and Ernie too,
Tom Sawyer and Huck, adventures anew.
Lone Ranger and Tonto, Snowy and Tintin,
Chip and Dale, Snoopy and Woodstock grin,
Archie and Jughead, Holmes and Watson wise,
Lucy and Ethel, their antics arise.
Larry, Curly, and Moe, a comical trio,
Mutt and Jeff, Luke and Han Solo,
Lois and Clark, a super pair indeed,
These bonds of friendship, on screen we read.
But as the credits roll and the pages close,
A question lingers, as doubt grows:
Are these friendships, so perfect and true,
Reflections of bonds between me and you?
Real friendships are messy, they ebb and flow,
Not always in sync, not always aglow.
Yet in their imperfection, we find
A beauty that's real, one of a kind.
So cherish your friends, both near and far,
For in life's story, that's who you are.
Fiction may inspire, but reality's test
Proves true friendship is earth's real quest.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC