"footage" poems - Hello Poetry

"footage" poems

Fat people have no heads. They end at the shoulders, they are clipped off at the neck. Never talk to fat people. You may talk to an expert, to a dietitian or a doctor but never to a real live fat person because fat people have no heads. Use the word Epidemic at least once, especially if children are involved. Children are always involved, so use the word Epidemic at least once. Fat children still have heads, usually; only fat adults must be d e c a p i t a t e d. Because he still has his head you may talk to a fat child, especially if you offer him a box of chicken nuggets. Entice him to say Alarming Things with a box of chicken nuggets. After the word Epidemic segue from concerned anchorwoman to stock footage of fat headless girl browsing the racks at J.C. Penny’s. Segue to fat headless mom walking with her fat headless son on a sidewalk populated by fat headless pedestrians. Voice-over Alarming Things about fat headless people not getting enough exercise and segue to fat headless man stuffing his fingers into a box of McDonald’s french fries. Fat people eat only McDonald’s french fries and we will be right back with more on this story after a word from our sponsors. Cue McDonald’s theme song. Pretty people Golden Arches laughing with their heads as they eat McDonald’s french fries with their heads and never gain a pound.

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Jan 6, 2012

Jan 6, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC

Rules for a Nightly News Feature on Obesity

Fat people have no heads. They end at the shoulders, they are clipped off at the neck. Never talk to fat people. You may talk to an expert, to a dietitian or a doctor but never to a real live fat person because fat people have no heads. Use the word Epidemic at least once, especially if children are involved. Children are always involved, so use the word Epidemic at least once. Fat children still have heads, usually; only fat adults must be d e c a p i t a t e d. Because he still has his head you may talk to a fat child, especially if you offer him a box of chicken nuggets. Entice him to say Alarming Things with a box of chicken nuggets. After the word Epidemic segue from concerned anchorwoman to stock footage of fat headless girl browsing the racks at J.C. Penny’s. Segue to fat headless mom walking with her fat headless son on a sidewalk populated by fat headless pedestrians. Voice-over Alarming Things about fat headless people not getting enough exercise and segue to fat headless man stuffing his fingers into a box of McDonald’s french fries. Fat people eat only McDonald’s french fries and we will be right back with more on this story after a word from our sponsors. Cue McDonald’s theme song. Pretty people Golden Arches laughing with their heads as they eat McDonald’s french fries with their heads and never gain a pound.

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I I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark. The blue-green glow of dashboard gauges, the biting scent of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Insects slapping the windshield, incipient rain. Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms. II Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor on MLK Boulevard. The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence inscribed on my back also confirms this. III I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair, fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears, twisting behind tent ***** with a one-armed contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair. IV I derailed in a dive bar. V I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights, where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic signals kept perfect time. I picked through trash bins. I paid for love with drugstore wine. VI I closed my eyes on a mountain road. The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank. VII I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew back the curtains and lost myself in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps, the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes. I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide. VIII The moon over my shoulder tightened into focus like a spotlight. One night the barking dogs undid me. I caved in to the candor of a naked mattress. I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell, clinging to bars the color of a morning dove. IX I coveted the house keys of strangers. X I opened and closed many doors. I sang into the mouths of storm drains. I stepped out of many rooms only to find myself in the room I just left. Despite all my leaving, I remained.

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Sep 21, 2018

Sep 21, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC

Escape Artist Sketches

I I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark. The blue-green glow of dashboard gauges, the biting scent of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Insects slapping the windshield, incipient rain. Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms. II Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor on MLK Boulevard. The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence inscribed on my back also confirms this. III I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair, fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears, twisting behind tent ***** with a one-armed contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair. IV I derailed in a dive bar. V I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights, where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic signals kept perfect time. I picked through trash bins. I paid for love with drugstore wine. VI I closed my eyes on a mountain road. The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank. VII I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew back the curtains and lost myself in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps, the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes. I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide. VIII The moon over my shoulder tightened into focus like a spotlight. One night the barking dogs undid me. I caved in to the candor of a naked mattress. I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell, clinging to bars the color of a morning dove. IX I coveted the house keys of strangers. X I opened and closed many doors. I sang into the mouths of storm drains. I stepped out of many rooms only to find myself in the room I just left. Despite all my leaving, I remained.

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I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

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Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC

The Enola Gay is at the Bottom of a Hotel Pool

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

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As a ginger, I'm inclined to say fox. I've always had an affinity for those cunning, red canines. But if it's just for a day then perhaps something a bit more adventurous. I suppose I would choose to be a cheetah. Fastest land animal in the world, agile, and speckled. Nobody messes with a cheetah. Not because they’re so hulking or intimidating— just more fascinating than terrifying. We travelled to South Africa once, my family and I. As a tribe we chased wild creatures down with cameras in jeeps in a raucous yet hushed thrill. The cheetah was one of the few animals that eluded us. Perhaps having never seen one up close is partially what draws me to them. Mysterious, as well as evasive, with an "I don't give a **** attitude. They only eat every so often because catching food is such a feat. When they do hunt however, it's one of the most spectacular things in the natural world. It's why places that sell tv's show footage of cheetahs running in slow motion over and over on a dizzying loop; demonstrating how clear the pixels are in the plasmas. It's mesmerizing. Their feet move too fast and fly over the dirt, honed in on whatever poor gazelle or kudu they're after. If you're a cheetah that is your body, your thin bones, your rapid heart and beating paws that make you move in such a blur. To be a cheetah for a day is feeling and knowing the difference between machine and muscle. Humans have found ways to fly, and people regularly move faster than a top speed of 75mph. But how sublime it would be! To be solely and purely responsible for that unparalleled speed just for one day.

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Feb 16, 2016

Feb 16, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC

To Be an Animal for a Day

As a ginger, I'm inclined to say fox. I've always had an affinity for those cunning, red canines. But if it's just for a day then perhaps something a bit more adventurous. I suppose I would choose to be a cheetah. Fastest land animal in the world, agile, and speckled. Nobody messes with a cheetah. Not because they’re so hulking or intimidating— just more fascinating than terrifying. We travelled to South Africa once, my family and I. As a tribe we chased wild creatures down with cameras in jeeps in a raucous yet hushed thrill. The cheetah was one of the few animals that eluded us. Perhaps having never seen one up close is partially what draws me to them. Mysterious, as well as evasive, with an "I don't give a **** attitude. They only eat every so often because catching food is such a feat. When they do hunt however, it's one of the most spectacular things in the natural world. It's why places that sell tv's show footage of cheetahs running in slow motion over and over on a dizzying loop; demonstrating how clear the pixels are in the plasmas. It's mesmerizing. Their feet move too fast and fly over the dirt, honed in on whatever poor gazelle or kudu they're after. If you're a cheetah that is your body, your thin bones, your rapid heart and beating paws that make you move in such a blur. To be a cheetah for a day is feeling and knowing the difference between machine and muscle. Humans have found ways to fly, and people regularly move faster than a top speed of 75mph. But how sublime it would be! To be solely and purely responsible for that unparalleled speed just for one day.

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Brackets Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW, we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125 (Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.) You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules, we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door (the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.) You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers, we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans (a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.) You lounged in the common room in your study periods, our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher (and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.) You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result, we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go (again.)

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Mar 7, 2013

Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC

Brackets Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW, we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125 (Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.) You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules, we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door (the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.) You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers, we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans (a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.) You lounged in the common room in your study periods, our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher (and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.) You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result, we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go (again.)

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No one knew. Why: the reasons we did what we did. Massacres and chemical warfare, the draft Because no one would volunteer. Why did we go to war? The government spinning lies of what happened, Yet the footage on the news says the opposite. We were losing everything. Killed For no reason, and so were they.

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Jun 11, 2014

Jun 11, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC

trip-through-time

The Rationality Conflict

No one knew. Why: the reasons we did what we did. Massacres and chemical warfare, the draft Because no one would volunteer. Why did we go to war? The government spinning lies of what happened, Yet the footage on the news says the opposite. We were losing everything. Killed For no reason, and so were they.

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The film starts with narration from Mother Nature herself, discussing an experiment with Father Time that went horribly wrong; On the fictional island of Wongo she has created a tribe where the men are brutish & ugly & the women exceedingly beautiful. She then creates another tribe on a nearby island called Goona where the women are repulsive & the men are strong and handsome; For years the two tribes lived unaware of each other's existence, until ape men from across the ocean attack the village of Goona. The tribe sends the son of their king to seek help against the invaders. The son finds the island of Wongo the day before the village men are to pick their brides & the women, seeing the handsome prince, begin questioning their life among the ugly brutes that dwell in their village. The men growing jealous of their visitor, plan to **** him. The women of Wongo, finding out about the plot, risk their lives to protect the handsome prince, in doing so offending the crocodile god of the Wongo people [portrayed by stock footage of a crocodile and rubber model]. The women are rounded up by the village men & sent into the wilderness until the reptile god has drawn blood for the slight; The women banding together, watch each other's backs until the ape men arrive at their village & the women dispatch the invaders to their god, the women then leave in search of the men that had abandoned the island of Wongo. In Goona, the men begin their rite of manhood, in which they go into the jungle without weapons for a month. The women of Wongo coming upon the weaponless men, decide to take advantage of their helplessness & one by one, claim them in marriage; The film concludes with all the beautiful men and women married & the ugly men with the ugly women.

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Aug 27, 2018

Aug 27, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC

The Wild Women of Wongo

The film starts with narration from Mother Nature herself, discussing an experiment with Father Time that went horribly wrong; On the fictional island of Wongo she has created a tribe where the men are brutish & ugly & the women exceedingly beautiful. She then creates another tribe on a nearby island called Goona where the women are repulsive & the men are strong and handsome; For years the two tribes lived unaware of each other's existence, until ape men from across the ocean attack the village of Goona. The tribe sends the son of their king to seek help against the invaders. The son finds the island of Wongo the day before the village men are to pick their brides & the women, seeing the handsome prince, begin questioning their life among the ugly brutes that dwell in their village. The men growing jealous of their visitor, plan to **** him. The women of Wongo, finding out about the plot, risk their lives to protect the handsome prince, in doing so offending the crocodile god of the Wongo people [portrayed by stock footage of a crocodile and rubber model]. The women are rounded up by the village men & sent into the wilderness until the reptile god has drawn blood for the slight; The women banding together, watch each other's backs until the ape men arrive at their village & the women dispatch the invaders to their god, the women then leave in search of the men that had abandoned the island of Wongo. In Goona, the men begin their rite of manhood, in which they go into the jungle without weapons for a month. The women of Wongo coming upon the weaponless men, decide to take advantage of their helplessness & one by one, claim them in marriage; The film concludes with all the beautiful men and women married & the ugly men with the ugly women.

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. what's the difference between thieves, and magicians? not much... both have quick hands... and an awake, yet asleep public communal presence... the thief has a public of the victim, and the c.c.t.v. "stage"... the magician? has a public of the crowd, and the "dajjal" stage of a camera replenishing a concept of: not enough public... thieves and magicians are bedfellows... you allow one to flourish... the antithesis will come along, and in an indiscriminate fashion... allow the "magic" / "thieving" to take place... what is a magician, a public figure... compared... to a thief? i can't see the difference... the audience was fooled by the magician... the individual was fooled by the thief... are they... so much unlike each other? magicians can own a theater stage... thieves, sometimes... just sometimes... own the, basic... pointlessness of english c.c.t.v. mechanics, to make police officers make: a follow-up investigation... oh, but i have genius interrogation practices... no one wants to listen to... like 10 hours straights of listening to stefan molyneux... or 48 hours, sleep deprived... listening to BBC 24 hour news reels... that **** could crack anyone... what the americans did to the Iraqis? last time i heard... they blasted the slayer oeuvre down headphones into their ears... Americans... feeding conquered Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre? BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE! and didn't the encore come? ******* retards... crows feeding seagull chicks with sinew and regurgitated scavenger meat! if only they played them some Bach... i'm pretty sure... the Iraqis would still be left... disorientated... but the American army "interrogators"... ha ha! played them the slayer oeuvre! WEE-TARDS! anyone... and i mean anyone: will relieve themselves as being "tortured": doubly charged up, and ready to ingest hyper-coffee in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic of ingesting amphetamines (pervitin) - night-raids... the londoonoirnischt blitz, sloth krieg... ya ya yawn... urgh... burp... and always... those poncy - english, gay, aristocratic men... and their... psychotropic women... so what's the difference between a common thief... and a spectacle magician? one "owns" cctv footage, the other owns a stage... yet both share a: quicksilver take on, what cannot be interpreted in either handwriting or stenography... hmm... can't be sure whether both could be considered legal.

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Jul 31, 2018

Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

thieves & magicians

. what's the difference between thieves, and magicians? not much... both have quick hands... and an awake, yet asleep public communal presence... the thief has a public of the victim, and the c.c.t.v. "stage"... the magician? has a public of the crowd, and the "dajjal" stage of a camera replenishing a concept of: not enough public... thieves and magicians are bedfellows... you allow one to flourish... the antithesis will come along, and in an indiscriminate fashion... allow the "magic" / "thieving" to take place... what is a magician, a public figure... compared... to a thief? i can't see the difference... the audience was fooled by the magician... the individual was fooled by the thief... are they... so much unlike each other? magicians can own a theater stage... thieves, sometimes... just sometimes... own the, basic... pointlessness of english c.c.t.v. mechanics, to make police officers make: a follow-up investigation... oh, but i have genius interrogation practices... no one wants to listen to... like 10 hours straights of listening to stefan molyneux... or 48 hours, sleep deprived... listening to BBC 24 hour news reels... that **** could crack anyone... what the americans did to the Iraqis? last time i heard... they blasted the slayer oeuvre down headphones into their ears... Americans... feeding conquered Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre? BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE! and didn't the encore come? ******* retards... crows feeding seagull chicks with sinew and regurgitated scavenger meat! if only they played them some Bach... i'm pretty sure... the Iraqis would still be left... disorientated... but the American army "interrogators"... ha ha! played them the slayer oeuvre! WEE-TARDS! anyone... and i mean anyone: will relieve themselves as being "tortured": doubly charged up, and ready to ingest hyper-coffee in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic of ingesting amphetamines (pervitin) - night-raids... the londoonoirnischt blitz, sloth krieg... ya ya yawn... urgh... burp... and always... those poncy - english, gay, aristocratic men... and their... psychotropic women... so what's the difference between a common thief... and a spectacle magician? one "owns" cctv footage, the other owns a stage... yet both share a: quicksilver take on, what cannot be interpreted in either handwriting or stenography... hmm... can't be sure whether both could be considered legal.

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Reglossing, rewashing, removing, returning, she kept using the same cloth to wipe up this mess. All of the same mistakes constantly repeating, spools of half-hearted "I'm sorry's" unwinding, foolproof promise to cover for her missed absence. I persist reloading, rewinding, replaying watching the film of our lives together, pausing at moments where temporarily, I confess, unpredictable happiness ceased repeating. This trainwreck of a show carries on, blistering slides that I want to swipe clean, but her name suppress stained slates developing, deflecting, destroying. I throw away the footage, romanticizing sheer ideas of finally making progress forgetting her. But relapse results repeating bad habits. There is not a remedy. I cling to the seasons of the past, wanting to digress reminding, rewinding, removing, regretting. 'Til the cloth clears again, chaos keeps repeating.

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Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC

Reglossing, rewashing, removing, returning, she kept using the same cloth to wipe up this mess. All of the same mistakes constantly repeating, spools of half-hearted "I'm sorry's" unwinding, foolproof promise to cover for her missed absence. I persist reloading, rewinding, replaying watching the film of our lives together, pausing at moments where temporarily, I confess, unpredictable happiness ceased repeating. This trainwreck of a show carries on, blistering slides that I want to swipe clean, but her name suppress stained slates developing, deflecting, destroying. I throw away the footage, romanticizing sheer ideas of finally making progress forgetting her. But relapse results repeating bad habits. There is not a remedy. I cling to the seasons of the past, wanting to digress reminding, rewinding, removing, regretting. 'Til the cloth clears again, chaos keeps repeating.

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Monday's vision's fair of face in the evenings the plasma rays shine bright until seen through a window at a distance ******* energy from cables to my mind blinding into happily blinkered existence Tuesday's vision's full of grace guilt makes me pull the covertous shutters down being the observer is peep peeping embarrassing being observed pays to add overtising shows on it's so good not stirring when it's too disturbing Wednesday's vision's full of woe I am wilfully weak and slack on the couch enjoying not having to speak or think about being set up to get upset by nothing much the sights flow seamless except when I blink Thursday's vision has far to go I would be there now but for one glitch one flaw in the network's mesmeric sell shared channels free as birds but rich beyond the dragnet of any script's sequel Friday's vision's loving and giving in the smallest way it's electric beyond measure distractions demanding attention with a hush willing the constant whirling on with fresh images look-look euphoric hooks to reel me in with a rush Saturday's vision works hard for a living and I'm wrapped in the dream of existing by a simple drama of a varnished toenail extending to a click the vanish going going the way of Ting Ting Cao your magnetic stimulation of the transcranial kicks in and in my scrambled vision I saw me touch your assimilation on redial absorbing Sunday entire and raw footage on display a draw so real the pay channels dropped their jaw surreal

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Jul 19, 2014

Jul 19, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC

anthony-williams

7 Days of Couch Toes & TV Tings

Monday's vision's fair of face in the evenings the plasma rays shine bright until seen through a window at a distance ******* energy from cables to my mind blinding into happily blinkered existence Tuesday's vision's full of grace guilt makes me pull the covertous shutters down being the observer is peep peeping embarrassing being observed pays to add overtising shows on it's so good not stirring when it's too disturbing Wednesday's vision's full of woe I am wilfully weak and slack on the couch enjoying not having to speak or think about being set up to get upset by nothing much the sights flow seamless except when I blink Thursday's vision has far to go I would be there now but for one glitch one flaw in the network's mesmeric sell shared channels free as birds but rich beyond the dragnet of any script's sequel Friday's vision's loving and giving in the smallest way it's electric beyond measure distractions demanding attention with a hush willing the constant whirling on with fresh images look-look euphoric hooks to reel me in with a rush Saturday's vision works hard for a living and I'm wrapped in the dream of existing by a simple drama of a varnished toenail extending to a click the vanish going going the way of Ting Ting Cao your magnetic stimulation of the transcranial kicks in and in my scrambled vision I saw me touch your assimilation on redial absorbing Sunday entire and raw footage on display a draw so real the pay channels dropped their jaw surreal

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Journeyman Pictures Will take you on a journey The DVB journalists Jailed and tortured They showed the military Shooting at protesters They hid on the balcony and filmed They got footage Of the Japanese journalist Who was shot by the military Another journalist Helped make An award winning Documentary About the devistating Cyclone that hit Cambodia In 2009 He was captured and jailed For years He had promised to write The girl he met From his documentary But could not because He was jailed He made his own guitar While he was Wrongfully jailed He is a good man He just wanted to show What the people were going through Now he has been released An executive from DVB media Came to talk With the Burmese officials In 2009 About having their own Official office Some of the journalists Have spoken out About how they Were tortured Things are improving Although it is a process I hope DVB succeeds And is not pestered Or persecuted by the government Any longer This poem is dedicated To the journalists Who went through Great hardships To show the injustices Of their government Who wanted to document What the people Went through After the cyclone

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Oct 15, 2015

Oct 15, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC

Thank You Brave Journalists Of The Democratic Voice Of Burma (DVB)

Journeyman Pictures Will take you on a journey The DVB journalists Jailed and tortured They showed the military Shooting at protesters They hid on the balcony and filmed They got footage Of the Japanese journalist Who was shot by the military Another journalist Helped make An award winning Documentary About the devistating Cyclone that hit Cambodia In 2009 He was captured and jailed For years He had promised to write The girl he met From his documentary But could not because He was jailed He made his own guitar While he was Wrongfully jailed He is a good man He just wanted to show What the people were going through Now he has been released An executive from DVB media Came to talk With the Burmese officials In 2009 About having their own Official office Some of the journalists Have spoken out About how they Were tortured Things are improving Although it is a process I hope DVB succeeds And is not pestered Or persecuted by the government Any longer This poem is dedicated To the journalists Who went through Great hardships To show the injustices Of their government Who wanted to document What the people Went through After the cyclone

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Love...still a token of existence, your Merciful Testament made time so distant. The Heart of Man is now hollow and dark, living is a mere breath of chance and luck. Our Planet has lost its Heroes now, ask our parents, all the Bikos now lay on pillows coz of the Ones and Zeros. I still Love my World and your eminence Lord or maybe you to Priests and Presidents more. These words are not to be written once again, they exist only in the truth and light of this page once and never again. For I'm not proud of the latter...people's vices as hate surfaces, you would expect something better. Kids perish, always in harm's way, deem the manner...nowadays, parents are kids on an Aids' ladder. Envision the World and Pray, when you see through the eyes of a Kid who's a bit fatter. Food shortage on the News footage while we hold our plates, carnage and wars killing our foliage, we hold a future without days. As vanity reigns, I fear our image will grow mutant. Ancestors will abandon our sanity ways like a school headed by students, weak and lucent. I pray for core amends dearly and hope for better trends Earthly and in the Sea, so this Letter can just be a lonely message in a bottle drifting away steadily in the deep... Sincerely yours, Oasis

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Jun 9, 2014

Jun 9, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC

KABELO_Maverick_MOTSEPE

Love...still a token of existence, your Merciful Testament made time so distant. The Heart of Man is now hollow and dark, living is a mere breath of chance and luck. Our Planet has lost its Heroes now, ask our parents, all the Bikos now lay on pillows coz of the Ones and Zeros. I still Love my World and your eminence Lord or maybe you to Priests and Presidents more. These words are not to be written once again, they exist only in the truth and light of this page once and never again. For I'm not proud of the latter...people's vices as hate surfaces, you would expect something better. Kids perish, always in harm's way, deem the manner...nowadays, parents are kids on an Aids' ladder. Envision the World and Pray, when you see through the eyes of a Kid who's a bit fatter. Food shortage on the News footage while we hold our plates, carnage and wars killing our foliage, we hold a future without days. As vanity reigns, I fear our image will grow mutant. Ancestors will abandon our sanity ways like a school headed by students, weak and lucent. I pray for core amends dearly and hope for better trends Earthly and in the Sea, so this Letter can just be a lonely message in a bottle drifting away steadily in the deep... Sincerely yours, Oasis

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I want go to Saturn sounds better a place with out any developed pattern school school school work work work Saturn sounds better Helium and hydrogen never dealing with fake friends abusive boyfriends stubborn parents Saturn has no gang violence Instead, rings of rock and ice! A place with no money; no price! No footage, no comments on display no replay or rewrite no right to wrong no ego to let go its just now a dot on a giant thing with rings waiting to hear you sing my love; my life take flight A journey of no return I want to go to Saturn

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Nov 18, 2021

Nov 18, 2021 at 6:00 PM UTC

Saturn sounds better

I want go to Saturn sounds better a place with out any developed pattern school school school work work work Saturn sounds better Helium and hydrogen never dealing with fake friends abusive boyfriends stubborn parents Saturn has no gang violence Instead, rings of rock and ice! A place with no money; no price! No footage, no comments on display no replay or rewrite no right to wrong no ego to let go its just now a dot on a giant thing with rings waiting to hear you sing my love; my life take flight A journey of no return I want to go to Saturn

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They show me vast expanse of virginal lands. They tell me words like breathtaking and lush. They gaze at dusty trees and sprawling sands. They point and gasp and they hum and they hush. They show me all of Uganda at once, Holding the globe in their palm and their whim; They capture it with their drones, blazing guns, Riding jeeps that cut jungles to a trim. Their mirrors shine brighter than all the suns They show me with praise and awe to the brim. They rant about how clean, and how unbound, How pure, as they yell and laugh and drop their Trash, but not their attitudes, to the ground. They cut through grass and leave cracks in their wake. They screen their footage and their findings on Flat-screens and talk of wonder and splendour, Five-stars in forests and lights blinding on, Massacring on hot days in December.

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Aug 20, 2016

Aug 20, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC

They show me vast expanse of virginal lands. They tell me words like breathtaking and lush. They gaze at dusty trees and sprawling sands. They point and gasp and they hum and they hush. They show me all of Uganda at once, Holding the globe in their palm and their whim; They capture it with their drones, blazing guns, Riding jeeps that cut jungles to a trim. Their mirrors shine brighter than all the suns They show me with praise and awe to the brim. They rant about how clean, and how unbound, How pure, as they yell and laugh and drop their Trash, but not their attitudes, to the ground. They cut through grass and leave cracks in their wake. They screen their footage and their findings on Flat-screens and talk of wonder and splendour, Five-stars in forests and lights blinding on, Massacring on hot days in December.

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There you were: Second to last track Side 1, “Atlantic Soul Classics”.1987 R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Take out the TCP) The power, the control, the energy, Never heard a **** thing like it. Then that Cliff Richard Show footage I saw on some old BBC clip show (yeah, I know…Cliff, eh?) “Don’t Play That Song” in crackly black & white Sorry for the language, Sister.. but **** the power of your piano playing in that moment made me realise that you were not “just a singer” but a full-on force to be reckoned with. Like Sinatra you studied lyrics like a monk deep in illumination and then blew the song away with your received otherworldly knowledge: Eleanor Rigby The Weight The Dark End of The Street Border Song Bridge Over Troubled Water I Say A Little Prayer Oh, these were your songs, now. Don’t let anyone forget it. But there was something more to you than all of this. The way MLK kissed you with beaming pride at some long, forgotten award ceremony. The way you sashayed African culture when you stepped out in public. The way you ripped up your own records when you tread the boards & faced your humbled audience. The way you stood by Angela Davis when she was hooked up on some stupid jackshit Hoover charge. The way you verbalized the black American experience not just through countless moments of sheer liberation but in the solemn way you stepped up to the piano on Amazing Grace You comforted this whiter-than-white Paddy on more than one occasion and forged a path of hope in many of his troubled waters. Oh, God we will miss you & your power – all of it. That once in a millennia voice whose measured restraint & joyful release touched millions. You will never walk alone. Farewell Queen. You are finally at peace. Thank you, thank you Ms. Franklin Sean M. O’Kane 16/8/18

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Sep 12, 2018

Sep 12, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC

WX 105 (for Aretha)

There you were: Second to last track Side 1, “Atlantic Soul Classics”.1987 R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Take out the TCP) The power, the control, the energy, Never heard a **** thing like it. Then that Cliff Richard Show footage I saw on some old BBC clip show (yeah, I know…Cliff, eh?) “Don’t Play That Song” in crackly black & white Sorry for the language, Sister.. but **** the power of your piano playing in that moment made me realise that you were not “just a singer” but a full-on force to be reckoned with. Like Sinatra you studied lyrics like a monk deep in illumination and then blew the song away with your received otherworldly knowledge: Eleanor Rigby The Weight The Dark End of The Street Border Song Bridge Over Troubled Water I Say A Little Prayer Oh, these were your songs, now. Don’t let anyone forget it. But there was something more to you than all of this. The way MLK kissed you with beaming pride at some long, forgotten award ceremony. The way you sashayed African culture when you stepped out in public. The way you ripped up your own records when you tread the boards & faced your humbled audience. The way you stood by Angela Davis when she was hooked up on some stupid jackshit Hoover charge. The way you verbalized the black American experience not just through countless moments of sheer liberation but in the solemn way you stepped up to the piano on Amazing Grace You comforted this whiter-than-white Paddy on more than one occasion and forged a path of hope in many of his troubled waters. Oh, God we will miss you & your power – all of it. That once in a millennia voice whose measured restraint & joyful release touched millions. You will never walk alone. Farewell Queen. You are finally at peace. Thank you, thank you Ms. Franklin Sean M. O’Kane 16/8/18

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today I read a series of rules for writing poetry. one that caught my eye was: "If it hasn't been edited, it isn't a poem. It is a draft." it was stated with such conviction, I was convinced. I said to myself: "I've never written a poem... these are all drafts." but this guy also said: never rhyme, use the word soul and you should be shot, if it doesn't sound beautiful it isn't a poem. also he was writing rules on how to write poetry. who does that? I resolved that he must be a pretentious ****** this is the raw stuff that we all have to work with. but no one ever publishes their first draft. so we're stuck living in our own raw footage, and comparing it to everyone else's highlight reel. if you don't want to call this poetry, that's fine. you can **** on my initial *****

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Sep 30, 2012

Sep 30, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC

****** laureate

today I read a series of rules for writing poetry. one that caught my eye was: "If it hasn't been edited, it isn't a poem. It is a draft." it was stated with such conviction, I was convinced. I said to myself: "I've never written a poem... these are all drafts." but this guy also said: never rhyme, use the word soul and you should be shot, if it doesn't sound beautiful it isn't a poem. also he was writing rules on how to write poetry. who does that? I resolved that he must be a pretentious ****** this is the raw stuff that we all have to work with. but no one ever publishes their first draft. so we're stuck living in our own raw footage, and comparing it to everyone else's highlight reel. if you don't want to call this poetry, that's fine. you can **** on my initial *****

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have you ever noticed anything that sent you spinning off into the empty infinity of blossoming cognizance? pupils dilate, sweat beads, words collapse back into what they imply; we only know because we watched the footage. yes, we watched it together and yes, it is the only father figure that pays for her own dinner these days. i wish i was worth forgetting in the future. i wish people didnt feel they had to be anything but here. i wish people would teach their children about how i could market loose teeth to coastlines. im laughing at your puzzled aura from the next epochal shift. (man enters and exits stage right, nervously) it's deep is a depth but really nonsense.

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Nov 10, 2018

Nov 10, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC

the great mystery was just a headache

have you ever noticed anything that sent you spinning off into the empty infinity of blossoming cognizance? pupils dilate, sweat beads, words collapse back into what they imply; we only know because we watched the footage. yes, we watched it together and yes, it is the only father figure that pays for her own dinner these days. i wish i was worth forgetting in the future. i wish people didnt feel they had to be anything but here. i wish people would teach their children about how i could market loose teeth to coastlines. im laughing at your puzzled aura from the next epochal shift. (man enters and exits stage right, nervously) it's deep is a depth but really nonsense.

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Facebook makes me want to ***** Spew chunks of fake houses perfect spouses So many poses perfect smiles and staircases tout it. Adorn rose-colored glasses as you watch the egregious ***** boast champagne in their glasses as they fool masses. What does it matter the square footage if you can’t teach your children how to solve problems? Or start movements? Or have values? I’d rather wear hand-me-downs and have roots than don Versace and walk in rich boots. When the day ends, as you are lounging in your satin linens do you ask yourself how you grew today? How you moved today? How you flew today? Well I am… So get out of my way.

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Feb 14, 2016

Feb 14, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC

Facebook makes me want to ***** Spew chunks of fake houses perfect spouses So many poses perfect smiles and staircases tout it. Adorn rose-colored glasses as you watch the egregious ***** boast champagne in their glasses as they fool masses. What does it matter the square footage if you can’t teach your children how to solve problems? Or start movements? Or have values? I’d rather wear hand-me-downs and have roots than don Versace and walk in rich boots. When the day ends, as you are lounging in your satin linens do you ask yourself how you grew today? How you moved today? How you flew today? Well I am… So get out of my way.

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And the very last, the endling, Caged in the sunlight at Beaumaris Zoo, Tired of the poking and the prodding Paced out of existence into history, Into emblem and icon Legend and label, On to things protected by copyright, Footage and fable, And the internet's electric jungle, And into that great white emptiness Of extinction, That giant ship which we are building, Stacking and storing, Fitting and filling, Recording into the grand voyage Of oblivion.

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Mar 25, 2016

Mar 25, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC

And the very last, the endling, Caged in the sunlight at Beaumaris Zoo, Tired of the poking and the prodding Paced out of existence into history, Into emblem and icon Legend and label, On to things protected by copyright, Footage and fable, And the internet's electric jungle, And into that great white emptiness Of extinction, That giant ship which we are building, Stacking and storing, Fitting and filling, Recording into the grand voyage Of oblivion.

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Maybe it's just the first time doing ******* in order to expand my horizons; gain perspective in great company and knowing full well the moreish nature, as it has been purported, of such a vice; but, you know what they say: "When in Rome..." but lest ye forget; "Do or do not, there is no try" all the while still maintaining moderation, partially by habit and partially by force, for there is said to be no such thing as quality in that regard from whence I come. and thus, as if by providence, "When in Rome.." So, 'twixt that personally groundbreaking experience plus lots of Caffeine and Alcohol in some haphazard alchemical combination helped Reno to be a good-ass time on Halloween after playing a sweet-ass Rock Bar with some sweet-ass bands. And, to boot, having not slept, this morning was a rude non-awakening, as well as an ominous first day of November, what with the LAX shooting; our roadie and I watched it as it unfolded with repetitive loops of footage and dodgy claims with more qualifiers than actual substantial language; but the Media is just doing it's job as usual; play on sensationalism especially for ratings; okay if profitable. Needless to ******* say, it's been a crazy ******* day. Needless to ******* say, it may be a crazy ******* month.

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Nov 1, 2013

Nov 1, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Reno (When in Rome)

Maybe it's just the first time doing ******* in order to expand my horizons; gain perspective in great company and knowing full well the moreish nature, as it has been purported, of such a vice; but, you know what they say: "When in Rome..." but lest ye forget; "Do or do not, there is no try" all the while still maintaining moderation, partially by habit and partially by force, for there is said to be no such thing as quality in that regard from whence I come. and thus, as if by providence, "When in Rome.." So, 'twixt that personally groundbreaking experience plus lots of Caffeine and Alcohol in some haphazard alchemical combination helped Reno to be a good-ass time on Halloween after playing a sweet-ass Rock Bar with some sweet-ass bands. And, to boot, having not slept, this morning was a rude non-awakening, as well as an ominous first day of November, what with the LAX shooting; our roadie and I watched it as it unfolded with repetitive loops of footage and dodgy claims with more qualifiers than actual substantial language; but the Media is just doing it's job as usual; play on sensationalism especially for ratings; okay if profitable. Needless to ******* say, it's been a crazy ******* day. Needless to ******* say, it may be a crazy ******* month.

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Use your fingerprints decorate walls, stain old world maps. Whorls spiral into comic book wallpaper, vertical designs and heart lines. Glass pillars fogged with secrets, bits of chipped concrete, 2:34am security footage. 42 minutes of prepackaged snowstorms. Lying corners of the mouth whisper plans B through Z. Rusty sleep theories, half-truths in runaway boats. A static pulse casually remembers menthol cigarettes, apple cores and eighties music. Espresso roast washing blue and white porcelain from 1683, knotted pale navy dots. Wisps of kites anchored in the sand, anthropology in lighthouses stretching for the aurora borealis.

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Jan 14, 2013

Jan 14, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC

Use your fingerprints decorate walls, stain old world maps. Whorls spiral into comic book wallpaper, vertical designs and heart lines. Glass pillars fogged with secrets, bits of chipped concrete, 2:34am security footage. 42 minutes of prepackaged snowstorms. Lying corners of the mouth whisper plans B through Z. Rusty sleep theories, half-truths in runaway boats. A static pulse casually remembers menthol cigarettes, apple cores and eighties music. Espresso roast washing blue and white porcelain from 1683, knotted pale navy dots. Wisps of kites anchored in the sand, anthropology in lighthouses stretching for the aurora borealis.

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The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane 506th Easy Company Of the 101st Airborne The leg bag Tore right off They jumped lower than they should have been Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute Tracers spraying around in the air Firing in every direction Paul "Buck" Rogers Lands in a tree Some worked their way down Through a farm area To a hedge row Easy Company captured and destroyed The guns at Brecourt Manor Saving countless lives on Utah Beach They helped to liberate the Dutch Angels from the sky The black and white footage is amazing The gratitude and love the people show To the men is wonderful Finally free after four years Of Occupation by the Germans Battling from village to village Along "Hell's Highway," Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River Nine men of Easy Company Lost their lives Battling in Holland By the End of the Holland campaign, Easy Company had been on the frontline For more than 70 days On Dec. 16, 1944 ****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes The Battle of the Bulge would become The largest engagement In the history Of the U.S. Army 600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne Surrounded by Germans Branches knocked off of trees Holes in the ground Artillery attack 88s, mortars, rockets They jumped into foxholes He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole The wounded got relief from battle Maybe a ticket home If they died they were at peace At Berchtesgaden They uncovered artwork In Zell Am Zee, Austria Easy Company helped secure The surrender of 25,000 German troops On November 30, 1945 The 101st Airborne Division Was inactivated Day after Day They fought together Fought for each other Knowing some would not return This veteran said, "I cherish the memories Of a question my grandson asked me the other day. 'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said no But I served in a company of heroes."

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Feb 22, 2015

Feb 22, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC

God Bless 506th Easy Company of the 101st Airborne

The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane 506th Easy Company Of the 101st Airborne The leg bag Tore right off They jumped lower than they should have been Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute Tracers spraying around in the air Firing in every direction Paul "Buck" Rogers Lands in a tree Some worked their way down Through a farm area To a hedge row Easy Company captured and destroyed The guns at Brecourt Manor Saving countless lives on Utah Beach They helped to liberate the Dutch Angels from the sky The black and white footage is amazing The gratitude and love the people show To the men is wonderful Finally free after four years Of Occupation by the Germans Battling from village to village Along "Hell's Highway," Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River Nine men of Easy Company Lost their lives Battling in Holland By the End of the Holland campaign, Easy Company had been on the frontline For more than 70 days On Dec. 16, 1944 ****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes The Battle of the Bulge would become The largest engagement In the history Of the U.S. Army 600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne Surrounded by Germans Branches knocked off of trees Holes in the ground Artillery attack 88s, mortars, rockets They jumped into foxholes He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole The wounded got relief from battle Maybe a ticket home If they died they were at peace At Berchtesgaden They uncovered artwork In Zell Am Zee, Austria Easy Company helped secure The surrender of 25,000 German troops On November 30, 1945 The 101st Airborne Division Was inactivated Day after Day They fought together Fought for each other Knowing some would not return This veteran said, "I cherish the memories Of a question my grandson asked me the other day. 'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said no But I served in a company of heroes."

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Into the back of any thoughts it simply had gone those penetrating words Nuclear War! Also spoken a nuclear winter that followed not since nineteen ninety two. Had they been uttered with such meaning with it a real threat leaning! Footage of Hiroshima seemed distant images but many countries have the weapon! A real peril is no longer mere speculation each with their known instability! Without morality to hold their actions back they'd have no qualms but attack! Tensions are running ever closer to danger levels as the irresponsibility explodes! Even a limited nuclear war could easily escalate into billions of human deaths! Obliterated from a once green fertile surface! to an ash covered uninhabitable place! Maybe the few could survive along with the cockroaches! Is this man's inevitable fate? The Foureyed Poet.

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Dec 30, 2011

Dec 30, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC

malcolm-terence-gould

Into the back of any thoughts it simply had gone those penetrating words Nuclear War! Also spoken a nuclear winter that followed not since nineteen ninety two. Had they been uttered with such meaning with it a real threat leaning! Footage of Hiroshima seemed distant images but many countries have the weapon! A real peril is no longer mere speculation each with their known instability! Without morality to hold their actions back they'd have no qualms but attack! Tensions are running ever closer to danger levels as the irresponsibility explodes! Even a limited nuclear war could easily escalate into billions of human deaths! Obliterated from a once green fertile surface! to an ash covered uninhabitable place! Maybe the few could survive along with the cockroaches! Is this man's inevitable fate? The Foureyed Poet.

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Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the light falls. Streetlights glowing, Like bedcovers laying, Over the harbour waters inky as Freshly-spilled car-crash blood, Reflecting deep as a thought can penetrate. A parade of gunfire Startles silent rage into the frightened round-up locals Eyes cowering and arms raised like scarecrow’s overhanging, While in a side-alley doorway A soldier anxiously caresses A girl who he will never speak to again The tequila-resembling sun standing watch Their sole clandestine companion. A child is given relieving news, Having arrived not without frustrated effort That she no longer has to follow the same life-stifling routine. Her doctor, after the dizzying business of congratulating her parents, Looks out his window without witnessing their departure Until his eyes are cast back to dispersion Appreciating fresh rain turn a week’s snowfall Into puddles upon the ground. The mind resists the heart’s attempt to repress, We resist our own borders admitting a consistency of strain Memory indulging in a fleeting spectacle of sin, The Sickly exterior of the heart’s delight. Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the light falls. Moments throughout our lives repeated in the stock footage of the mind,washing thoughts matted out of stark exposure seeding out a negative frame.

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Apr 22, 2012

Apr 22, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC

Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the light falls. Streetlights glowing, Like bedcovers laying, Over the harbour waters inky as Freshly-spilled car-crash blood, Reflecting deep as a thought can penetrate. A parade of gunfire Startles silent rage into the frightened round-up locals Eyes cowering and arms raised like scarecrow’s overhanging, While in a side-alley doorway A soldier anxiously caresses A girl who he will never speak to again The tequila-resembling sun standing watch Their sole clandestine companion. A child is given relieving news, Having arrived not without frustrated effort That she no longer has to follow the same life-stifling routine. Her doctor, after the dizzying business of congratulating her parents, Looks out his window without witnessing their departure Until his eyes are cast back to dispersion Appreciating fresh rain turn a week’s snowfall Into puddles upon the ground. The mind resists the heart’s attempt to repress, We resist our own borders admitting a consistency of strain Memory indulging in a fleeting spectacle of sin, The Sickly exterior of the heart’s delight. Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the light falls. Moments throughout our lives repeated in the stock footage of the mind,washing thoughts matted out of stark exposure seeding out a negative frame.

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deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18 monday started top draw my venom going to spill natalie is going to get poetry draw forget girlfriends she will run for hill. how dare she complain when something is uncontrollable insomnia through hardeep may rain but freedom of speech not so honourable. gabby and chloe showed they cared how natalie was blunt explaining hardeep was literally chaired footage available now hunt. onto shares and stocks rodrigo learning how to trade laughing off my socks no barings even if bad bug won't fade. nick and rodrigo in control on boarder line ready to hassle the biceps taking fall patrol it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel. failure to the task hunger will be plenty one comment can not mask hardeep can make something out of empty. dans hands were magic don't get confused gabby refusal was award and tragic like basic budget just amused. was sally watching adverts the aviva app dash cam i log roxanne will need youtube diverts it was a tin man not a brown dog. nick explaining about travel lands of paradise and greens at airport all unravel seeing face on all them screens. legs up and over natalie and gabby to exercise hardeep with a nasty dig and sober saying nick doing shopping add criticise. natalie and hardeep getting louder hardeep gets my crown unacceptable all about curry powder she bring herself not hardeep down. going to end with a critic natalie won't see no irony vicious mouth and hyper-critic its all add to cbb savoury.

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Aug 21, 2018

Aug 21, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC

deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking

deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18 monday started top draw my venom going to spill natalie is going to get poetry draw forget girlfriends she will run for hill. how dare she complain when something is uncontrollable insomnia through hardeep may rain but freedom of speech not so honourable. gabby and chloe showed they cared how natalie was blunt explaining hardeep was literally chaired footage available now hunt. onto shares and stocks rodrigo learning how to trade laughing off my socks no barings even if bad bug won't fade. nick and rodrigo in control on boarder line ready to hassle the biceps taking fall patrol it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel. failure to the task hunger will be plenty one comment can not mask hardeep can make something out of empty. dans hands were magic don't get confused gabby refusal was award and tragic like basic budget just amused. was sally watching adverts the aviva app dash cam i log roxanne will need youtube diverts it was a tin man not a brown dog. nick explaining about travel lands of paradise and greens at airport all unravel seeing face on all them screens. legs up and over natalie and gabby to exercise hardeep with a nasty dig and sober saying nick doing shopping add criticise. natalie and hardeep getting louder hardeep gets my crown unacceptable all about curry powder she bring herself not hardeep down. going to end with a critic natalie won't see no irony vicious mouth and hyper-critic its all add to cbb savoury.

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