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Bunhead17 Nov 2013
I Am Fly And You Are Flu
Which Means You Were Fly Before I Came Thru
I Walk In Slow I Steal The Show
And I Don't Want Your Man But I'll Take His Dough
I Am Me And Me I Do
I Keep My Dudes Like Curfew
So They Running Back
And Me Is Too
And I Pull More Dudes
Than I Pull Tissue

Girls Are Stupid
And Guys Are Lame (Lame)
Girls Want The Fame (Fame)
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
So Friday Thru Monday
My Phone Is On Vibrate
No Drama On My Plate
Im Just Gonna Party

I'm Just Gonna Party
No Drama On My Plate
My Phone Is On Vibrate
Friday Thru Monday
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
Girls Just Want The Fame (Fame)
And Guys Are So Lame (Lame)
Guys Are So Lame (Lame)

Groupie Girls Wanting Fame
Ugly Boys Wanting My Aim
Backstabbing Friends Playing Pretend
I See Right Thru Just Like The Lens
I'm The ****
I Set Trends
You're A ***** That Steals Boyfriends
He's A Loser
Broke He Is
Im Indigo
And Im Filthy Rich

Girls Are Stupid
And Guys Are Lame (Lame)
Girls Want The Fame (Fame)
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
So Friday Thru Monday
My Phone Is On Vibrate
No Drama On My Plate
Im Just Gonna Party

I Am Fly And You Are Flu
Which Means You Were Fly Before I Came Thru
I Walk In Slow I Steal The Show
And I Don't Want Your Man But I'll Take His Dough
I Am Me And Me I Do
I Keep My Dudes Like Curfew
So They Running Back
And Me Is Too
And I Pull More Guys
Than I Pull Tissue

Groupie Girls Wanting Fame
Ugly Boys Wanting My Aim
Backstabbing Friends Playing Pretend
I See Right Thru Just Like The Lens
I'm The ****
I Set Trends
You're A ***** That Steals Boyfriends
He's A Loser
Broke He Is
Im Indigo
And Im Filthy Rich

Girls Are Stupid
And Guys Are Lame (Lame)
Girls Want The Fame (Fame)
Guys Just Wanna *** Me
So Friday Thru Monday
My Phone Is On Vibrate
No Drama On My Plate
Im Just Gonna Party

Im Hot
Im Hot
And Haters Aren't
And Haters Aren't
Im Having Fun
Im Having Fun
While You Mean Mug
Uh Huh
Uh Huh
Oh Wee
Oh Wee
Oh Wee
Oh Wee
Im Nice
Break It Down!

Im Indigo Vanity
Every Guys Fantasy
Make You Lose Your Sanity
I Hate Groupies
No Sus Monkeys
Can't You See
I Do Me
So You Do You
I Do Me
So You Do You
I Do Me
So You Do You

I.... Do.... Me....
So.... You.... Do.... You!
blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, im bored.
gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper firmer
since darker than little round water at one end of the well   it’s
too cool to be crooked and it’s too firm to be hard but it’s sharp
and thick and it loves,   every old thing falls in rosebugs and
jackknives and kittens and pennies they all sit there looking at
each other having the fastest time because they’ve never met before

dead’s more even than how many ways of sitting on your head your
unnatural hair has in the morning

dead’s clever too like POF goes the alarm off and the little striker
having the best time tickling away everybody’s brain so everybody
just puts out their finger and they stuff the poor thing all full
of fingers

dead has a smile like the nicest man you’ve never met who maybe winks
at you in a streetcar and you pretend you don’t but really you do
see and you are My how glad he winked and hope he’ll do it again

or if it talks about you somewhere behind your back it makes your neck
feel pleasant and stoopid    and if dead says may i have this one and
was never introduced you say Yes because you know you want it to dance
with you and it wants to and it can dance and Whocares

dead’s fine like hands do you see that water flowerpots in windows but
they live higher in their house than you so that’s all you see but you
don’t want to

dead’s happy like the way underclothes All so differently solemn and
inti and sitting on one string

dead never says my dear,Time for your musiclesson and you like music and
to have somebody play who can but you know you never can and why have to?

dead’s nice like a dance where you danced simple hours and you take all
your prickly-clothes off and squeeze-into-largeness without one word  and
you lie still as anything    in largeness and this largeness begins to give
you,the dance all over again and you,feel all again all over the way men
you liked made you feel when they touched you(but that’s not all)because
largeness tells you so you can feel what you made,men feel when,you touched,

dead’s sorry like a thistlefluff-thing which goes landing away all by
himself on somebody’s roof or something where who-ever-heard-of-growing
and nobody expects you to anyway

dead says come with me he says(andwhyevernot)into the round well and
see the kitten and the penny and the jackknife and the rosebug
                                                                      and you
say Sure you say    (like that)    sure i’ll come with you you say for i
like kittens i do and jackknives i do and pennies i do and rosebugs i do
jeffrey robin May 2013

we  bein watched!
Do sumpthin stoopid !
May be dey go away !

The dream

We hide in garbage cans
Impotently raging
At the skies

Under survielence

Afraid to breathe !

Afraid cause we know

We are always seen!
--always --


Do sumpthin stoopid!
Real stoopid!

Maybe den dey'll go away  !


mannley collins Jul 2014
I am the Individual Isness incarnated in this body.
I am not the body.
I have travelled through many lifetimes in many bodies.
always learning learning learning.
I have developed nous from my experiences only.
accept a mind in my head.
accept any conditioned identity as being  me.
cede control over my brain centres to any mind or groupmind
that exists anywhere..
cede control over my brain centres to any conditioned identity or
group conditioned identity that exists anywhere.
or accept that any other but me,the Individual Isness, using my brain centres,using my brain the way I,the Individual Isness,want to and can do
to be in charge of the brain centres in the head of this body that I,the Isness,am incarnated in.
be prey to opinion-formers and experts and  pie charts and
focus groups and surveys.
be manipulated by PR men and women in shiny suits.
see Edward Bernays book--Propaganda.
be manipulated by GroupMinds into thinking  their way.
be taken in by brutal security forces posing as "guardians of peace.
respect in any way any member of any military forces anywhere
no matter how fancy the uniforms or excuses for ****** they wear.
I do not respect these parasites anywhere as they are nothing more than paid mercenary murderers on behalf of various Oligarchies..
see Jaques Ellul's book--Propaganda.
take any dangerous addictive cancer causing drugs
such as Alcohol and Tobacco primarily--
food additives...
No one has ever died from any cannabis product.
or from LSD or Mesccaline or Psylocybin.
believe in any so-called "god" or "goddess".
believe in any so-called "prophet" of any so-called "god"or "goddess".
accept any so-called "holy" book as valid or truthful
or valuable in any way except as
emergency papers to roll a grass joint
or to wipe my **** on.
be taken in by depraved words and concepts in any of these so-called "holy "books that have led to endless wars and still ongoing terrorism and atrocities in the name of one bloodthirsty "god" or "goddess".
accept anything as reality unless I can see clearly that
it is beyond duality.
accept any Conditioned Identity as me.
For I am the Isness which is a small but equal,individual,
autonomous and independant part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe--!.
which is not a "soul" or Atman or spirit
or any other religious concoction.
accept Mind as a necessary evil
accept GroupMind as a necessary evil.
eat junk food of any kind.
drink tap water anywhere except in direst emergency.
eat white sugar or any other pure carbohydrate.
be a hypocritical moralising vegetarian.
become stoopid through bowing and scraping
and stooping at stupas.
I will be just a Self realised man living on a big ball in space
with a Self Realised woman playing and singing and dancing the Song of Our Lives.
fdg Feb 2015
most days i try cracking every bone and my neck only ever whispers and each finger wraps around it, wondering what goes through someone's mind when they push their fingers down their throat
(i could guess)
bored and uninspired
goodbyes are hard to get right,
at least pretend you like to kiss me goodnight
and **** it, maybe i should eat more so my body image starts to match my perception
or something like that
i don't care
I need the sun or the beams that come from your eyes when you're really in love, or at least pretend to be

sorry i'm still sometimes insecure,
i'm not asking for any reassurance
"Say, whus tha good wurd, Mista Mornin Bird?"
"Ahh, ya know just chillin here singin these here tunes waitin fah Mista Worm."
"Ahh dat Mista Worm - he alwayz be runnin late."
"True dat!”
”Yo! peep this...
Last night he took his ol girl out on a date."
''A date? Really? Mistah Worm?”
But it getz betta tho.
It wuz dare anniversary. Ol fool went to tha chapel an got married."
"Where dey get married?"
"At dare special spot in tha apple orchard.
Mistah worm told me he and hiz girl are movin to the Big Apple.”
“Big Apple? Fah what?”
“He gunna work fah tha East New York Farms.  I guess hiz uncle Jim
got him in.”
“…Mista Worm…”

"Say, howz Mista Skunk doin?  He evah get clean?"
"I dont see much of him theez dayz.  Heard heez down on his luck. Evah since tha paper mill closed he aint been tha same.  Heez so stressed out he got mo white hairz than a polar bear.”
”Sumone told me that heez a nasty lil ol drunk wit a funky attitude and a quick tempa!
No wunda hiz wife leftem.
My understandin iz he still outta work - rummigin through peoples junk - collectin cans, tryin to make a buck.
Itz a **** shame, aint it?"
"Uh huh."

"Howz Mista Rabbit?"
"Miiiista Rabbit! Oohh dat Mista Rabbit he dunn got himself a nasty habbit."
"Whys dat?"
"He be stealin outta Mizz Jonsens garden again.
Otha day Mizz Jonsen shooed him away chasin him down tha block wit a pair of ol rusty scissors in her hand."
"Yup. She told him next time he wont be so lucky wit out hiz foot."
"WHUT!!??  Whus dat suppose da mean?"
"I dunno.”
"Dat Mizz Jonsen gone crazy!!
She dunn lost her mind in her ol age.
She crazier than a ******* rat!
Man, when Mista Rabbit gunna learn?”
"I guess when he haz no foot."

"Say, you talk to Mista Squirrel at all?"
“Itz been sum time.”
“How wuz he doin?”
"Man, you know Mistah Squirrel.  He wuz all ova da place, or at least he wuz.  He alwayz be jumpin from one tree to tha next, alllllwayz tryin to get a nut or two.  Last I heard he got deported and now lives in anotha county.”
“Why iz dat?”
“He dunn got locked up fah breakin in a few too many attics. They finally caught him....Stoopid fool."

"Nuff about tha neighbahood.  How you been?  Havent seen you inna while."
"Im still doin my thang, ya know.
Roamin from town ta town, chasin down tail."
"Yous still chillin in dem alleys too?"
"Fa sho!"
"Man, aint a **** thang changed wit chu.
Yous alwayz been a cool cat...”
Mark Upright Aug 2017
Mr. Zuckerberg
just another billionaire,
making moola off of us
giving us something free
in return for our email address
so he can sell us stuff and
direct out attention where he wants it
and think we too stoopid to know it

u feeling a flu of guilty
for we, the the ordinary people,
we, the excess humans of the world,
who scrape by day to day,
who don't have a measly million
not even a stinking billion to spare,

should be given a
guaranteed income by,
courtesy of,
myself, my taxes own?

dude, that is
how can you lose when you play with yourself?
which had a fancy name, can't recall tight now
cause I'm worrying about my next paycheck
which is less than half from FICA, and other initials
I don't understand

but gotta go Z,
time got a get on a toad road trip to get in touch
with the common peeps,
we, the excess,
so glad u taking a
p a s s i n g interest in
we, the excess
(pieces of data)

and if u need a buck,
or have a few to share,
I'll be in  touch shortly
after I get fired,
check this vacation spot out,

so popular
even u may have trouble
getting a hotel room,

MAY 25, 2017
CAMBRIDGE, Mass. — In March, Mark Zuckerberg visited the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C., the site of a mass ****** by a white supremacist.

Last month, he went to Dayton, Ohio, to sit down with recovering opioid addicts at a rehabilitation center.

And he spent an afternoon in Blanchardville, Wis., with Jed Gant, whose family has owned a dairy and beef cattle farm for six generations.

Mr. Zuckerberg in March at Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C., which was attacked by a white supremacist in 2015.
These were all stops along a road trip by Mr. Zuckerberg, Facebook’s chief executive, across the United States this year. His goal: to visit every state in the union and learn more about a sliver of the nearly two billion people who regularly use the social network.

On Thursday, in a commencement speech at Harvard, from which he dropped out in 2005, Mr. Zuckerberg discussed how his views on how people live and work with one another had broadened, partly as a result of what he has seen on the tour. He said he had come to realize that churches, civic centers and other organized meeting places are integral to building and maintaining a strong sense of community.

“As I’ve traveled around, I’ve sat with children in juvenile detention and opioid addicts, who told me their lives could have turned out differently if they just had something to do, an after-school program or somewhere to go,” said Mr. Zuckerberg, who also received an honorary doctoral degree at the ceremony. “I’ve met factory workers who know their old jobs aren’t coming back and are trying to find their place.”

To his critics, Mr. Zuckerberg’s road trip is a stunt and has taken on the trappings of a political campaign. His every pit stop — eating with a farming family in Ohio; feeding a baby calf at a farm in Wisconsin — has been artfully photographed and managed, and then posted to Mr. Zuckerberg’s Facebook page.

Mark Zuckerberg, Facebook’s founder and chief executive, on Thursday at Harvard University, which awarded him an honorary doctoral degree 12 years after he dropped out of college there.
“He has all of the mechanics needed for a massive, well-staged media operation,” said Angelo Carusone, president of Media Matters for America, a nonprofit media watchdog group. “Photographers, handlers, its size, scope and scale — all the ingredients are there. And he’s appearing in an environment where there’s no sole Democratic leader or counterbalance to Trump, who’s consuming all the oxygen in media.”

Mr. Zuckerberg has publicly denied that he is using the visits as a platform to run for public office. He has said they are a way to “get a broader perspective” to inform how he runs Facebook and the Chan Zuckerberg Initiative, a limited liability company through which he plans to give away the majority of his wealth over the course of his life.

So far, Mr. Zuckerberg has made it to roughly half the states, including ones he has previously spent time in. The visits have plunged him into self-reflection, according to four current and former colleagues and people close to the chief executive who asked for anonymity because they were not authorized to talk publicly. The self-reflection is especially the case as Facebook has wrestled with more questions about its responsibilities and its role in the lives of its users, many of whom rely on the network for news and information.

The trips are part of a real-world education for Mr. Zuckerberg, who grew up comfortably upper middle class in the suburbs of New York, walked the elite halls of Harvard and then moved to Silicon Valley, where he became a paper multibillionaire by the time he was 23. (He is now 33.)

Mr. Zuckerberg has said his road trip and visits to churches, homes and workplaces is a way to “get a broader perspective” that can inform how he runs Facebook.
Recent events have forced Mr. Zuckerberg to step out of that Silicon Valley bubble. Last year, after the presidential election, Facebook was assailed as a repository of fake news that influenced the way the American electorate voted. People have also posted videos of killings on Facebook, raising questions about what responsibility the social network bears in distributing such content.

(In a related development, the website of The Harvard Crimson, the student newspaper, was hacked on Thursday with stories briefly replaced by Facebook-related fake news, including some that mocked Mr. Zuckerberg.)

The American road trip follows many international travels for Mr. Zuckerberg in 2015 and 2016. In January, he said on Facebook that he wanted to talk to more people about how they’re “living, working and thinking about the future.” Friends said Mr. Zuckerberg was catching up on many things that he missed out on by spending the last 10 years in Silicon Valley building a $438 billion company.

“I think he’s just really curious and wants to visit all the places that he’s never been,” said Ashley Gant, 27, who spoke with Mr. Zuckerberg when he visited her family’s Wisconsin dairy farm in April. Over a midday meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes and her grandmother’s applesauce Jell-O, Ms. Gant said, she answered the chief executive’s questions about daily life on a farm.
Sir B Oct 2013
A sense of urgency
A feel to write something

This feeling
That everyone
Will be against me
Because of their persuasive

It's this feeling of paranoia
When I talked to you
and you told me
That I was been crahzy and stoopid

This feeling is oppressive
and I can't seem to think
And question myself
"When is it going happen?"
This my paranoia, the feeling that everyone will be against me..
The ****** makes you crazy
the ****** makes you sick
the ****** will make dumb and stoopid like a stick

Marijuana is a terrible drug that no one should ever do
It kills whole family's just like the wandering jew
If you avoid marijuana you will never be a tyrant
so just be sure to remember, marijuana makes you violent.

Ja feel?
Michael W Noland Dec 2012
Scooped some loops of troops with their heads offed, scoffed, at the loss with the cost from my own losses, in lawless, flawlessness accosted by pentecostal brothels hugging it out with the clout of the lord.

Oh lord! what am i talking about, as I am doubting the amount i can pile on my brow, and not break a sweat, playing my stakes to their best, and jettin, while i'm still a veteran in the scrambled lettering of my iris, spreading viruses, inside us, uniting us, to Set...

The scores straight with annihilation on my mind, and an island for them to find, my station at the shrine, to launch codes in kind, to your denied existence of the lines in time, cruxing the fluxing path of inevitability, crossing out the math of probability, clearly seeing everything that once be, bettered. Be. Been, about to be, grinning again.

Because it tickles when i'm stoopid, but im snoopin steadily through your blueprints, moving amongst your movements, and proving that you will lose this, in clueless, fluid, drizzling down the drain with your social stains, still straining the veins to my brain, trying to maintain one sane morsel of a reason not to **** you, i love you, but booooom.

Making room for my assumed solitude, in astute rudeness to the rudimentary business of idiots, stand back i got this, and when im into it, there are no limits to what my digits do, in true blinding hoops of halos bent, in unrelenting wrenching of a stint, of greed, but having everything needed, and settling for sanity.

If humanity had a hand, it may demand a stance in return for a burn that's graphed away, in firm concerns made in forgotten stays of my patience, ghost writing in payments, to my slavers, giving blood to my saviors, saving us from the lesson.

I merely choose to burn in the learning curve, that curbs my satisfaction with distractions, with past tense presentations, intending to mend in venting of the clues to the other news askew ..

In smoking away the blues to hues of happy, haphazardly, chappy in the final hour of sappy nights, of goodnightless fights in righteous might, of my mandatory story telling, of the felling of the fireworks in finale fires that burned, until the uncle died, and smirked from the casket of a bizerk card shark, barking from the starkly stripped semblance of a resistance to tyranny

Its tearing me up to think, that i care, laying bare, to the bruises, these intrusive abusers use to move this rock from its plot, and stop, a catastrophe..

But i'm mastering.

Katie Sep 2014
No, maybe we shouldn't
"just throw a couple pokes"
copper brained.
severely stoopid
#savages #drunk #idiots #******
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S E L Oct 2013
open your ******* eyes

and see how you freeze-frame yourself in silly grandeur
all captured in the height of cool splendor à la mode
brandishing badges of recognition
and epaulettes of faux likes so heavy
the stoopid jacket wears you down

you're willing to manhandle all your graces
and throw them out like pigswill
while they shine like pearls  - covered

message slipped to tired waitress
while a spiritually dead cowboy drinks from drying puddle in desert
and you siphon thru the longest straw
from the sky
all the deepest blues
that fog horn blows,
worries my mind, lord knows, we don’t need,
more obstacles in this tired world, so the horn
trying, to be blowing fog away, without success

the sound’s remainder air-lingers like foam bubbles
ridden down to coffee cup bottom, resisting, protesting,
refusing to expire, useless/nonetheless, says no dying

sole boat outlined, bout mile out, must be anchored, it’s
unmoved by fog danger or noise, fishing is my informed
best guess, but fish ain’t stoopid, swimming another way

the fog horn wakes the woman who looks askance
cause there is neither coffee or a newly christened
poem upon her nightstand, an explanation is sought

“stand by me,” I sing, “be unafraid my darling, stand now,
stand by me,” poet said “been guarding our bed, this long
foggy night, agin interlopers, bad dreams and sea troubles”

shied ‘em away, knowing that when a man loves a woman,
she can lean on him, cause he’s load bearing, her safety is
always first, poem second, coffee coming, with sun rising

she bemused, funny you’re, kooky like the poems you’ve up-
written all night, up all life long, all stored up in my nightstand,
you’re sweet, like  Tennessee whiskey, ignore my scowling my own
poet-mr. coffeeman-sea guardian, you’re alright with me
Marshall Gass Nov 2014
aint got no home?
watz wit der smokey ayes
aint got no famly
no roof?
wur you goin, bro?

i aint got no dolla
no mo pahwuh
no momma
son gone stoopid
dotter freakin out
in der good

im broke and dun fer
gotta a spare coin?

i can sing
from me soul. yeah

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 10 days ago
Organized Chaos Jan 2017
Won might axe, "What is the mind?"
It tells you two think...act...or find.
Think of memories, that strain the hart,
Or act ridiculous, like making a ****!

"Find what?" People shall inquire.
"Four all of these miss steaks, written with know desire?"
But think twice, thrice, why not mice?
For this poem was written to give you spice.

The mind you sea, can make cents from error.
The mind can bee a place of terror.
Please do not be afraid, if eye must say.
For the monsters inside can stay at bey.

The fear within can be a hindrance.
Especially, when safety is off inn the distance.
Sow why does your mind keep you back?
You can't get away! You're always under attacked!

The answer is knot what you always feel.
No, it's not even complicated like making a deal.
For if you look deep down inside.
It's just your emotions, trying to hide.

Let's think a bout this, it's quite simple.
Like finding that stoopid annoying pimple.
You mite be the type to complain and blame.
**** your delicate mind is just a game.

Fall pray to it's claws, and you will lose.
In reality, it's only a ruse.
It will toss, turn, and try too undermine.
In order to win, you must mine the mind.

Dig in the depths of this vast beautiful world.
For you are the one that made it unfurled.
The only difference between yours and mine,
Is that I have mine, and yours is perfectly fine.
In my mind, I don't misspell the words... for the most part. Just a little somethin' somethin' that popped from the deep recesses of my brain :p
jeffrey robin Feb 2014

Another day!
Another day!

Another chance to stay mis-informed

More potential LIFE to waste!

More of LOVE to lay disgraced


Yippee !


Where my hugie doll?
Where my *****?


Hey hey hey!


Once ya decide to be a worthless pile a crap

It gets easier to do so

Don't it ?


& soon

Ya too stoopid ta change!





here we are
Lytrell Howard Jun 2015
U and that **** phone!! Lol!!
Look I'm not tryin to force nothin too soon but I feel a lil magnetism between us.
I know your life is crazy hell mine is just as upside down.
Kickin it with u makes me forget bout all my madness.
I want to take it nice and slow and let this grow to its fullest potential.
I don't want u to feel pressured or stressed to see me or talk to me.
You r a very cool nice smart woman and I really like that about u.
Yes I want to talk to u more now and I want to see more of u becuz I realized I found a rare jewel and only a fool would let u easily walk away.
This may not be the perfect time for us but when is it ever the perfect time for anything?
Right now all I want to be is your ear to vent in, your partner to drink with, your foot massage therapist, your game of thrones/walking dead recap homie, your chicken skin eater and your tour guide to escapin the madness and sadness that we call life.
So... Ummmmm... No I'm not accepting your offer!!! ****!! Can we please keep hangin out durin this crazy time in our lives?
I promise it will be a great experience for both of us.
I know u have a stoopid stacked plate.
Lemme be dessert
PK Wakefield Oct 2014
the new perfectly lewd sublime
umm drunk sum
*** dum
blindly apart


girl around
rotund hurting


without self
gives each lurching
empty towards full mouthing
, "please



Slur pee May 2016
While you're snoring
I'm leaning against the wall
Listening to music-
Slightly Stoopid
'cause I might be too, even
Though I was good in school.
Where's my proof?
When I'm sitting her aloof
To life, and focusing on strife
My brain's playing
With throwing knives
I'm running out of lives
If I could get my score as high
As I'll be before we die
I could get another try
Always practicing my hand-eye
Coordinating my "please, may I's"
Focusing on your **** lies,
Chaining myself to my own mind.
If I spent half the effort that
I put into words, drawing figures;
Creating things of no worth.
Then maybe, I'd be worth it
Just enough for you to focus
On the fact that I'm a person
And inside I'm hurting-
A reflection,
Of your own dejection
A friendly reminder
That we all face rejection
Searching for some form
Of heaven.
I'd make you happy again,
At least I'd try to make you laugh
Hold your hand, if you'd hold mine back
But you'd smoke my heart like crack.
Blame me for your heart attacks.
This is just another stupid rant
When my dreams are out of reach
Away from my grasp
Which is always.
My body just works like that,
I could lay in the darkness
And quiet
With closed eyelids,
But always an open mind
Just can't shut those blinds
My thoughts tend to slow time
Stretching night over the morning
That never seems like it's coming
But I can feel it running-
Down my leg.
Like the sharpness of a
Razor blade.
Blood is warmer than your touch,
Welcomes me with a little love.
You never give me goosebumps,
My heart had never jumped,
We just use each other like bums
For drugs and a quick ****
Indulging the dirtiest of thoughts
Along the way we just got lost.

Miss Ana Dec 2016
beautiful sin
rusting whole
salty quench  
hasty grace
giving lies
classic birth
clearly symbolic
largely narrow  
friendly fire
wicked cool
stoopid smart
**** baby
classy *****

and other things that make more sense when you meet her
.i simply can't get this song out of my head, for a second day: nancy & lee - summer wine... just like i couldn't get jimmy rodgers' kisses sweeter than wine (then again... that might have been the jackson browne & bonnie raitt rendition, i'm guessing most probably the latter)... as i'm pretty sure it's nancy springfield and lee the 70's tash-donning pornstar - sly upperhand singing on the side in between eating oysters...

as i knew i would end the day and begin
my catch-2-hours of: night proper with
a bottle of wine...
how else to celebrate: 'you know,
i really enjoy working with yeast-dough...
oh hell yes, it's much more fun than
the usual dough associated with poaching
dumplings... it's the perfume of yeast...
catch me with a cube of fresh ones
and i'll sit for a while just sniffing it...
yeah... sniffing fresh yeast before actually
using it...'
or at least that how to do it proper
without wanting a take-away pi-za-za...
the sauce is extra herby (extra
basil and oregano) and there's
an added chilli or two...
and enough mozzarella to drown a slice
of ham in with a mushroom or two...

cooking... whoever said it was supposed
to be this pre-****** liberation
1950s postcard homecoming of the housewife:
who said that cooking was a feminine
after all, who is Milo Minderbinder?
and who was the cook on the Pequod
or was it Essex?
perhaps that old saying from the Demeter:
it's bad luck to bring women onto a ship...
bad luck indeed: having to name a ship
a woman's name...
but cooking... he hunts and then has
the audacity to cook the **** thing?!
stereotypical - i guess...
what else could i possibly write:
to "correct" myself...

was that anything, in italics, as an introduction...
akin to talking over a radio playing
in the background?

'it was of your making and
then objection, inference and resignation
and revolt. well done'....

and and and...
how best to sum a slow-pacing...
i would have never managed to: well done or
do myself by reaching for the skeleton...
like: it was of your own making,
then an objection, then an inference -
pause: resignation and a crescendo of revolt...

the dignity of walking (cogitans per se)
is being referenced...
and any comment is not a kick-in-the-teeth...
but perhaps i... lack the basics in
identifying very common psychological

how can something can become so simple?
did i over-romantise it with the latin?
in terms of morality:
i "trans-gender" myself as
new pronoun!

θought: i.e. I ought...
besides, there's the crude manifestation
of a will... when all the knives have
been sharpened...

a comment and i don't know what to do with
i don't know: like it? love it?
dislike it?
can i just keep it, can i just sit on it?
can i pickle it?
can't it wait?
am i expected to provide a dialogue?
which is why i rarely comment...
i could never leave comments
or annotations on books i've read
in the past...

it seems so simple, though!
it's like everyone is supposed to keep this "reality check"!

'it was of your making and
then objection, inference and resignation
and revolt. well done'

a well done i'd call an inedible roast
of beef... a well done i'd call:
chewing gum chicken ******* that
were allowed to sit in the oven for
a period that: doesn't excuse them being
165 degrees when a thermometer is spiked
into the flesh...

what is so "blantantly" obvious!
william buckley jr interviewing norman mailer,
public intellectualism and being drunk
at the same time...
and this horrid testament of gory:
for the better health of the public discourse...

i imagine all the books that never arrived
at the hunchback's angel's purvey
of: what's worth reading... and what isn't...

there i was "thinking" that:
the per se suffix attached... "something"...
it's clearly not a noumenon: res per se
(thing in itself)...
and if it's thinking in itself...
it has to be complicated... adored for what it
is... esp. if it's not related to
some moral θought: I ought...

of the comment provider...
it's quiet staggering...
when you can emphasize with someone...
you hope they're writing about themselves...
you dare not think they're writing about you...
but... in their writing: they are like you...
writing about yourself...
so no... they're not writing about you...
they're writing from a "solipsism" venture
into the horizon "undistrubed"...
you can only retort... i've just come back...
from where you're thinking of going...
and it's not what any hope wishes
itself to envision...
for better or for worse...
for either life or dream...

it's so simple though!
i should listen to strangers more often!
(a) it was of your (own) making
(b) then objection
(c) inference
(d) resignation
(e) revolt

what's that in terms of schematics
and geometry?
that's a pentagram! i haven't seen...
schematics evolve past the square...

that's why i don't like commets...
if i could comment on everything i've ever read...
third-party sourcing someone for
a first-person reply...

perhaps i'm not playing the psychology
game - if it even is a game - at all?
the psychology was just a tow-along
dog with a leash and a muffer...
fair enough: muffer "vs." muzzle...
FF ZZ...
there was this concern for:
what sport will there be demanded...
for man to perform... if he truly
takes walking to the task of countering
all other pleasures: coinciding with
a physical exercise of the body?

i call this: prompt...
how could i not come to such a simple
conclusion, prior?
how could i have possibly coupled:
the freedom of thought...
free speech...
when being... bound to an otherwise:
automated body...
an automated heart... a conscious-unconscious heart...
same for the liver, the kidneys, the brain...
and how... only when it fails...
do people... give it any conscious effort
to mind its existence...
a heart-attack will leave the heart in the hands
of someone who will prize it above...
as long as he is able to sacrifice an eye for it...

walking is where thinking "happens"...
it's a forever dasein since there's
no real "here" or "there"...
and... there's the pervasive interlude...

to have to abhor explaining "things" to oneself...
what are the chances of conjuring
the royal-we or the royal-one...
in that first person via third person meddley?
is there a "they" to be made inclusive...
from a perspective of: the horde of hallucinations?

perhaps i am mad:
but i do know that such conditions do not
become viral,
or at least they shouldn't...
it's not like a schizoid hallucination
can be passed to the next person
with the impetus
of a common detrimental cold: or... zee flu...
you can't "somehow" ingest
symptoms of something akin to this:
without a self-regarding
violition to become... debased to begin with...

i will rarely dare to leave a comment...
on anything...
in so doing i will always want to bypass
"the work"... "in question"...
and speak to the narrator...
because whatever this is...
is it's own purpose...
once i click on the save button...
i do the Pontius Pilate deed...
this poo'em becomes
an abandoned house...
it becomes a squalor...
it becomes a "*****"...
a point of reference for all things
public... akin to a toilet...
**** on it, **** on it... comment: yes do...
**** it... ******* over it...
take Alice with you for
the walk through the corridors of...
not another imagining of not yet another

sometime ago: this would have been...
exactly january 8th...
at ten minutes to 1am...
perhaps it would have been five years
where was i five years ago?
somehow not right now, "here"...

after a while i get a brailled response...
⠼⠁ view... it's cruel... to have to resort to +
a ⠼⠁⠼⠁ is ⠼⠃
well because of the equals (=) symbol...
morse... contra braille...

count them! (⠼)...
⠁(a and 1)
⠃ (b and 2)
⠚ (j and 0)
⠊ (i and 9)...
and all the other "numbers"
follow suite...
because you really couldn't
write an la dièse: A♯
in braille... then again... perhaps you could...
but that's how i figured out...
it's not exactly the case that
people are born into wheelchairs...

some skydive... some ride horses
some scale mountains...
they fall...
i like walking... i always liked walking
more than i would ever care for running...
ignorant of me then...
to "presume" that people are born into
like "nothing happened"...
that 101th carrot a man would eat
being going blind...
or rather: not eating that 101th carrot...

ask blind willie johnson what he
thought about picking up the guitar...
better than waxing a phallus
with forrest gump intent of also playing
the do'whip stoopid toto too!

no... something happened...
Melaine Reid... sure as **** she wasn't born
in a wheelchair...
that's not being mean:
but can i at least enjoy walking when
i don't have a need for the 50th goldstruck marathon
gimmick to celebrate the olympics:
but not the ping-pong or the archery?

can i? it's not like i'm about to swim
like an octopus with inks spare
for a page... that just requires
a dabbling in... a Rorschach?!

who is this person that would have written
either circa 15th century german music
or the dignity of walking (cogitans per se)...
well... certainly not circa me, now...
i was expecting a slow night...
to have written something and not have
clinging to it...
i was welcoming it to have passed
with the purpose of time as:
neither classic... nor worth any intellectual
something private for those...
wishing it to be most private...
never a taunt...

you can guess when a comment is asking you:
is this a taunt on purpose...
or a taunt... without purpose?
- about how to start a d.m. escapade...
how something is not, "punctuated enough"...
or how... when diacritical markers come to play...
it's somehow... "overtly-punctuated"...

feed me to the lions! feed me to the wolves!
never expect me to go down easily
as being fed to democracy in the lineage
of anglophile "public intellectuals"!
give me the wolves! spare me the mob!
the anonymous mob of the comments!
i'll probably sound german when
i have to: reiterate:
geben mir der wölfinnen...

perhaps i chose the feminine...
over the masculine... thinking of the valkyrie:
kyrie eleison!
when wolves showed up...
or the crab-bucket intellectualists...
i said it once... i'll say it again:
crab-bucket intellectualism...
even in my darkened abode i will never levy
myself to leave a remains of my self...
not in the comments...

but then again: i am chasing
1 millions words as a pauper...
semi-, oh lord! i have somehow missed
the calculation to offer: relief with!
if these not be hebrews...
then they must be anglo-ßaß!
esp. h'americanißed anglo-sächsisch...
the scurge of the spitz...
the pomeranian... the bohemian...
the bayer...

oh i'm content with my dole...
my dice roll...
i usually ridicule myself...
there's no better humor than...
self-deprecating humor...
and it always involves...
not succumbing to cheap psychiatric
metaphors associated with
a melancholic... i.e. the diagnostics...

rhyming should only happen on a whisper
of a whim...
there should be no...
dissection scrutiny.... no fibula no tibia:
oh god... there's also a crest?!
what's a coccyx supposed to be?
ancestral tripod / pivot...
something we'd make of a monkey
should he not jump at your command...
break a few bones,
wind him up... until the jack 'n' box
would pop out?!

it's a poem: it's not a book...
it's certainly not an investment worthy
of these modern binges: season rocky XI...
star wars episode... X...
or some spin-off...

if it were as simple as the retort to the question:
why do you **** people?
- why do you pluck flowers?!
dracula, b.b.c. and what not...
it's not exactly a cliche if...
there's an afterthought lingering behind it...
no "great" punctures onto paper
would ever give
the secrets of constellation or...
if it wasn't for the drinking and the loitering
in the antechamber of spontaneity...
what sort of whim,
what sort of "inspiration"...
what muse... would be bound to loiter...
in a day...
for a day: where the zenith is here...
and the nadir the everyday welcome "chores"
that have, already been disclosed...

i looked at the output of the commentators...
someone's bound to be peacocking...
for a solid minute i thought i was
i.q. 95... sub-minimal...
and a reply to these comments would be?
a "conversation" with this current mask,
of a voice, only 10 minutes later: 10 minutes
too late...

so... why bother?
there's a better vision in my head...
10 minutes from now...
i'll be pandering a cushion
to allow my heavy head to fall into its cusp
and ready me with 6 hours of blissful night...
perhaps i'll dream: i hope not...
unless the dreams are less dreams
and more: ciphers...
upon waking i do not meet the litany of:
i think, i am, i will be, i hope to be...
instead... with a backlog of a dream...
i will wake up as:
de- and -cipher...
half an hour upon waking...
having to relax my strict rules of memory
being reserved for "things" that happened
to me when i was 4 years old...

that's when i break the rules for having
an extensive memory...
when i dream and sleep...
or rather: when i dream i forget that i slept...
and when i sleep and not dream?
i'm left with a hangover of not being awake
for 8 hours plus...
"conundrum" or what?

but if i do dream... those 8 hours of sleep
will seem like a breeze...
otherwise i'm ******...
when i wake up and persist with eyes closed...
de- and -cipher...
de- being i... and -cipher being: the dreamed...
perfect grammar doesn't really matter, now...
given that the royal-pronoun game
has been abandoned...
what with no care for the royal-we
or the royal-one...
one was not expecting to come across
the Mongolian Vay... of They... of the horde...
seems times are...
some on the way in... some on the way out.

— The End —