"terriers" poems - Hello Poetry

She kissed your cheek and smiled widely, the corners of her mouth almost touching her impeccably tattooed eyebrows. She was not what you had pictured from the back and forth email conversations on quotes and designs and sizes. She asked you to take a seat as she went to smoke a cigarette outside the shop with a coworker; Anna was her name...with two jack russel terriers - one of them is like a honey badger apparently. It's funny how the mind remembers certain things... the way the smoke on her tongue smelled as she leaned in adding ink to her needle, or the song she kept humming while you bit your tongue and stared at the decorated ceiling. But the pain of the needle depositing the ink into your skin was welcome... It was nothing compared to the internal turmoil you were experiencing the past seven days. It almost felt good... Not adrenaline good, but like good that you were capable of feeling something besides sadness and anger. In the Barcelona airport two days earlier, you made your appointment. One on your hip, one on your foot 100 pound deposit. No problem. You needed something to occupy your mind from the pain it endured over your "holiday." So much for a holiday... Surprise! Your friend is a backstabbing ***** who "secretly" hates you and tried to ditch you repeatedly. The needle grazes your hipbone and you wince. "You okay?" Tota coos in her Italian accent. You nod, but you know you're not really okay... You never were...probably never will be OKAY. Your mind wanders...wishing you were home and not in London, three thousand miles away from the only people who seem to care. "Done!" Tota exclaims. You examine her work, smiling. The first time you have smiled in days. "Get ready...this one is gona hurt!" she says, half excited. You don't care...nothing can hurt more than your heart... Too bad that can't be tattooed...

0

Apr 27, 2016

Apr 27, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC

katie-biesiada

Tattoo

She kissed your cheek and smiled widely, the corners of her mouth almost touching her impeccably tattooed eyebrows. She was not what you had pictured from the back and forth email conversations on quotes and designs and sizes. She asked you to take a seat as she went to smoke a cigarette outside the shop with a coworker; Anna was her name...with two jack russel terriers - one of them is like a honey badger apparently. It's funny how the mind remembers certain things... the way the smoke on her tongue smelled as she leaned in adding ink to her needle, or the song she kept humming while you bit your tongue and stared at the decorated ceiling. But the pain of the needle depositing the ink into your skin was welcome... It was nothing compared to the internal turmoil you were experiencing the past seven days. It almost felt good... Not adrenaline good, but like good that you were capable of feeling something besides sadness and anger. In the Barcelona airport two days earlier, you made your appointment. One on your hip, one on your foot 100 pound deposit. No problem. You needed something to occupy your mind from the pain it endured over your "holiday." So much for a holiday... Surprise! Your friend is a backstabbing ***** who "secretly" hates you and tried to ditch you repeatedly. The needle grazes your hipbone and you wince. "You okay?" Tota coos in her Italian accent. You nod, but you know you're not really okay... You never were...probably never will be OKAY. Your mind wanders...wishing you were home and not in London, three thousand miles away from the only people who seem to care. "Done!" Tota exclaims. You examine her work, smiling. The first time you have smiled in days. "Get ready...this one is gona hurt!" she says, half excited. You don't care...nothing can hurt more than your heart... Too bad that can't be tattooed...

47

Does anyone here know of a canine murderer? As I urgently need someone to bash the living **** out of My fat ugly neighbour's disgusting Yorkshire terrier. Oh Holy God, How I want the little ******* mutt to suffer. I’d love to see it choking and coughing its head off; Yorkshire terriers are the most repulsive things since sliced bread, Yappy, repellent smelly little ***** of malevolent fur. They only appeal when wriggling feebly at a rope’s end. Woof! Woof! Woof! Gurgle! Gurgle! Silence.

0

Jan 13, 2015

Jan 13, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC

edna-sweetlove

Yorkie On A String

Does anyone here know of a canine murderer? As I urgently need someone to bash the living **** out of My fat ugly neighbour's disgusting Yorkshire terrier. Oh Holy God, How I want the little ******* mutt to suffer. I’d love to see it choking and coughing its head off; Yorkshire terriers are the most repulsive things since sliced bread, Yappy, repellent smelly little ***** of malevolent fur. They only appeal when wriggling feebly at a rope’s end. Woof! Woof! Woof! Gurgle! Gurgle! Silence.

10

DEDICATED TO THE FAT HIDEOUS BETTY, MY NEIGHBOUR **Does anyone here know of a good mohel? As I urgently need someone to circumcise My neighbour's Yorkshire terrier, canine boil Needing lancing, joybringing to my eyes. A kindly mohel simply will not do; He must lack scruple and human pity; That hound’s not been bathed for a year or two So th'event might turn out a bit ****** Yorkshire terriers are of two classes: The insistent yapping ones we all hate And the ***** ones with hairy arses; But both look good nailed to your garden gate. And he needn't be a mohel either, Merely someone with a willing cleaver.**

0

Mar 26, 2015

Mar 26, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC

edna-sweetlove

A Bloodthirsty Yet Beauteous Sonnet by Edna

DEDICATED TO THE FAT HIDEOUS BETTY, MY NEIGHBOUR **Does anyone here know of a good mohel? As I urgently need someone to circumcise My neighbour's Yorkshire terrier, canine boil Needing lancing, joybringing to my eyes. A kindly mohel simply will not do; He must lack scruple and human pity; That hound’s not been bathed for a year or two So th'event might turn out a bit ****** Yorkshire terriers are of two classes: The insistent yapping ones we all hate And the ***** ones with hairy arses; But both look good nailed to your garden gate. And he needn't be a mohel either, Merely someone with a willing cleaver.**

15

HAVE I told any man to be a liar for my sake? Have I sold ice to the poor in summer and coal to the poor in winter for the sake of daughters who nursed brindle bull terriers and led with a leash their dogs clothed in plaid wool jackets? Have I given any man an earful too much of my talk-or asked any man to take a snootful of ***** on my account? Have I put wool in my own ears when men tried to tell me what was good for me? Have I been a *** listener? Have I taken dollars from the living and the unborn while I made speeches on the retributions that shadow the heels of the dishonest? Have I done any good under cover? Or have I always put it in the show windows and the newspapers?

0

1.8k

Carl Sandburg

Questionnaire

HAVE I told any man to be a liar for my sake? Have I sold ice to the poor in summer and coal to the poor in winter for the sake of daughters who nursed brindle bull terriers and led with a leash their dogs clothed in plaid wool jackets? Have I given any man an earful too much of my talk-or asked any man to take a snootful of ***** on my account? Have I put wool in my own ears when men tried to tell me what was good for me? Have I been a *** listener? Have I taken dollars from the living and the unborn while I made speeches on the retributions that shadow the heels of the dishonest? Have I done any good under cover? Or have I always put it in the show windows and the newspapers?

6

he said he loved me, he said he cared, he said he wouldn't break me, he said he understood, he said he loved me, he said he would protect me, he said he would help me, he said he loved me , he said he cared, he said a lot of things that i would die to hear once more. his lips were addictive just like air, he said he would stay with me, he said he would be there, he said he loved me, he said he cared. he told me he loved me. he told me he'd be there. he left me to hang. left me to bleed. left me to die. left me to be broken one more time. he snapped me in half again. he lead me on. he took what was mine, and ran away. he told me he loved me. he said that he cared. he said that he promised he’d always be there. he lied like all the others. i thought he cared. i thought that he loved me. i thought that he was different from the others but he was just a spare. a fool to be so cruel. a fool to sweep me off my feet, then let me weep in a pool of my own blood. i told him everything all my secrets and fears he knew i feared to lose him and he knew the game very well.. the game of love and the game of loss. he knew i couldn't lose another soul he knew id beg and plead for him to run on back to me but instead he led me to my death my heartbreak once more. he told me that he loved me he told me that he cared. he told me that he loved me he told me that he cared he told me that he’d be there he told me that he cared he told me things ive never heard before. he told me wild things that made my heart glow even more he told things that i fell for he told me that he loved me he told me that he’d save me he told me that he would protect me he told me that he loved me once more he’s just like the rest they destroy and **** they only want one thing they pretend to fall in love with you. they tell you they love you. they tell you they care. they tell you they’ll be there they tell you they’ll save you from your demons and terriers you believe them sometimes give in you believe them they kiss you, cuddle you. make you feel love. you believe you can feel the warmth but there is none just cold they take what they want then they tell you basically that you're not enough. that you can't give them what they want. what they dream of. they want perfection. seeking for innocent blood then they let you down easy they turn mean and start to destroy you. just remember they're just out for one thing and don't let your guard down baby because if you do they won't stay long

0

Jul 9, 2015

Jul 9, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC

brookemyers

HE LIED

he said he loved me, he said he cared, he said he wouldn't break me, he said he understood, he said he loved me, he said he would protect me, he said he would help me, he said he loved me , he said he cared, he said a lot of things that i would die to hear once more. his lips were addictive just like air, he said he would stay with me, he said he would be there, he said he loved me, he said he cared. he told me he loved me. he told me he'd be there. he left me to hang. left me to bleed. left me to die. left me to be broken one more time. he snapped me in half again. he lead me on. he took what was mine, and ran away. he told me he loved me. he said that he cared. he said that he promised he’d always be there. he lied like all the others. i thought he cared. i thought that he loved me. i thought that he was different from the others but he was just a spare. a fool to be so cruel. a fool to sweep me off my feet, then let me weep in a pool of my own blood. i told him everything all my secrets and fears he knew i feared to lose him and he knew the game very well.. the game of love and the game of loss. he knew i couldn't lose another soul he knew id beg and plead for him to run on back to me but instead he led me to my death my heartbreak once more. he told me that he loved me he told me that he cared. he told me that he loved me he told me that he cared he told me that he’d be there he told me that he cared he told me things ive never heard before. he told me wild things that made my heart glow even more he told things that i fell for he told me that he loved me he told me that he’d save me he told me that he would protect me he told me that he loved me once more he’s just like the rest they destroy and **** they only want one thing they pretend to fall in love with you. they tell you they love you. they tell you they care. they tell you they’ll be there they tell you they’ll save you from your demons and terriers you believe them sometimes give in you believe them they kiss you, cuddle you. make you feel love. you believe you can feel the warmth but there is none just cold they take what they want then they tell you basically that you're not enough. that you can't give them what they want. what they dream of. they want perfection. seeking for innocent blood then they let you down easy they turn mean and start to destroy you. just remember they're just out for one thing and don't let your guard down baby because if you do they won't stay long

84

my happiness looks like this: three staffordshire bull terriers that keep stealing all the blankets on the bed, and a fourth back at my mother’s home who cannot contain his excitement when i visit grey winter morning light leaking in from behind the blinds— i hate winter and i should be asleep, but still my happiness includes this: the hours i lie awake, still insomnia ridden as i was when i used to write the nights away in sorrow, but now i watch videos of people who like the same pretty colours and the same pretty furniture as i do, decorating their houses and building useful things i put a little more spare cash into my savings each week and squirm impatiently for our first home together ours. mine and his. the main picture in my montage of happiness is the man lying next to me, sound asleep an arm cuddled around our oldest girl, both of them snoring and snuffling in their slumber sounds i loathed from other people are sounds i cherish from him. i kiss the tip of his nose, each cheek, the curve of his forehead, the point of his chin and settle one more on soft, lax lips my words don’t feel so beautiful because all life’s beauty, i find in him. i don’t have poeticism to spare for writing when all my love letters are spoken to him and he embodies everything beautiful from eyes to smile to skin down to the soul within

0

Feb 23, 2022

Feb 23, 2022 at 2:31 AM UTC

george-anthony

7 AM as you sleep next to me

my happiness looks like this: three staffordshire bull terriers that keep stealing all the blankets on the bed, and a fourth back at my mother’s home who cannot contain his excitement when i visit grey winter morning light leaking in from behind the blinds— i hate winter and i should be asleep, but still my happiness includes this: the hours i lie awake, still insomnia ridden as i was when i used to write the nights away in sorrow, but now i watch videos of people who like the same pretty colours and the same pretty furniture as i do, decorating their houses and building useful things i put a little more spare cash into my savings each week and squirm impatiently for our first home together ours. mine and his. the main picture in my montage of happiness is the man lying next to me, sound asleep an arm cuddled around our oldest girl, both of them snoring and snuffling in their slumber sounds i loathed from other people are sounds i cherish from him. i kiss the tip of his nose, each cheek, the curve of his forehead, the point of his chin and settle one more on soft, lax lips my words don’t feel so beautiful because all life’s beauty, i find in him. i don’t have poeticism to spare for writing when all my love letters are spoken to him and he embodies everything beautiful from eyes to smile to skin down to the soul within

33

Nuit noire mais belle de Malaga Empoisonne-moi De tes hamecons et de tes leurres Envenime-moi De tes vers luisants et polissons Qui gigotent dans le vin du clair de lune Instille-moi de tes piqûres, de tes ourlets Des criquets qui chantent au fond de tes criques Innocule-moi Tes vaccins, tes rappels et tes antidotes Cachés au creux des terriers Des mangues et des câpres qui mûrissent Sous tes obscènes caresses. Obsède-moi De la froidure romantique de tes rhums capiteux Muselle-moi dans la cannelle de ta souricière Bâillonne-moi de tes eaux de Styx Engloutis Capture Relâche Aspire-moi de tes yeux de khôl Je ne suis qu'étincelle Infime brindille incandescente d'amour Dans l'attente fébrile du point du jour.

0

Sep 14, 2019

Sep 14, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Nuit noire, empoisonne-moi

Nuit noire mais belle de Malaga Empoisonne-moi De tes hamecons et de tes leurres Envenime-moi De tes vers luisants et polissons Qui gigotent dans le vin du clair de lune Instille-moi de tes piqûres, de tes ourlets Des criquets qui chantent au fond de tes criques Innocule-moi Tes vaccins, tes rappels et tes antidotes Cachés au creux des terriers Des mangues et des câpres qui mûrissent Sous tes obscènes caresses. Obsède-moi De la froidure romantique de tes rhums capiteux Muselle-moi dans la cannelle de ta souricière Bâillonne-moi de tes eaux de Styx Engloutis Capture Relâche Aspire-moi de tes yeux de khôl Je ne suis qu'étincelle Infime brindille incandescente d'amour Dans l'attente fébrile du point du jour.

24

sloppy joe, why do you keep yelling when you cross the road? your meat keeps falling from your sides and i swear you are beginning to scare the neighbors. the dogs keep chasing you, yet you never seem to care about those hounds and terriers. self- preservation (though you are a sandwich, and a quite enjoyable one at that) seems like it should be an instinct which someone as tasty as yourself should have. you never seem to worry about those massive hands reaching out to bite into you and taste your guts and innards, and all the sauce in between them; but for some reason, i'm beginning to think we should all be as relaxed as you, sloppy joe. even though maybe we should be more cautious about how our grease gets all over everywhere. however other than the grease we should still be like sloppy joe.

0

Nov 22, 2018

Nov 22, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC

deNegrePoetry

sloppy joe

sloppy joe, why do you keep yelling when you cross the road? your meat keeps falling from your sides and i swear you are beginning to scare the neighbors. the dogs keep chasing you, yet you never seem to care about those hounds and terriers. self- preservation (though you are a sandwich, and a quite enjoyable one at that) seems like it should be an instinct which someone as tasty as yourself should have. you never seem to worry about those massive hands reaching out to bite into you and taste your guts and innards, and all the sauce in between them; but for some reason, i'm beginning to think we should all be as relaxed as you, sloppy joe. even though maybe we should be more cautious about how our grease gets all over everywhere. however other than the grease we should still be like sloppy joe.

20

Walking under an indigo sky With a cream colored moon shining in her eyes Sniffing at the ground instead of looking up Is my little mixed breed pup Running under a blanket of blue Chasing squirrels like terriers do After the chase, sleeping like a log Is my little puppy dog Woofing quietly at my feet Acting like it's time to eat Staring up hopefully, looking so cute Is my sixty pound little pooch

0

Jan 15, 2017

Jan 15, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC

breeze-mist

Luna

Walking under an indigo sky With a cream colored moon shining in her eyes Sniffing at the ground instead of looking up Is my little mixed breed pup Running under a blanket of blue Chasing squirrels like terriers do After the chase, sleeping like a log Is my little puppy dog Woofing quietly at my feet Acting like it's time to eat Staring up hopefully, looking so cute Is my sixty pound little pooch

12

The Beggar at Canterbury Gate The beggar sits at Canterbury Gate, Thin, pale, unshaven, sad. His little dog Sits patiently as a Benedictine At Vespers, pondering eternity. Not that rat terriers are permitted To make solemn vows. Still, the pup appears To take his own vocation seriously, As so few humans do. For, after all, Dogs demonstrate for us the duties of Poverty, stability, obedience, In choir, perhaps; among the garbage, yes, So that perhaps we too might live aright. The good dog’s human plays his tin whistle Beneath usurper Henry’s1 offering-arch For Kings, as beggars do, must drag their sins And lay them before the Altar of God: The beggar drinks and drugs and smokes, and so His penance is to sit and suffer shame; The King’s foul murders stain his honorable soul; His penance is a stone-carved famous name Our beggar, then, is a happier man, Begging for bread at Canterbury Gate; Tho’ stones are scripted not with his poor fame, His little dog will plead his cause to God. 1Henry VII, who built the Cathedral Gate in 1517, long after the time of Henry II and St. Thomas Becket

0

Dec 15, 2016

Dec 15, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

The Beggar at Canterbury Gate

The Beggar at Canterbury Gate The beggar sits at Canterbury Gate, Thin, pale, unshaven, sad. His little dog Sits patiently as a Benedictine At Vespers, pondering eternity. Not that rat terriers are permitted To make solemn vows. Still, the pup appears To take his own vocation seriously, As so few humans do. For, after all, Dogs demonstrate for us the duties of Poverty, stability, obedience, In choir, perhaps; among the garbage, yes, So that perhaps we too might live aright. The good dog’s human plays his tin whistle Beneath usurper Henry’s1 offering-arch For Kings, as beggars do, must drag their sins And lay them before the Altar of God: The beggar drinks and drugs and smokes, and so His penance is to sit and suffer shame; The King’s foul murders stain his honorable soul; His penance is a stone-carved famous name Our beggar, then, is a happier man, Begging for bread at Canterbury Gate; Tho’ stones are scripted not with his poor fame, His little dog will plead his cause to God. 1Henry VII, who built the Cathedral Gate in 1517, long after the time of Henry II and St. Thomas Becket

26

Stanley belaban was a happy boy who lived in New York and born in New York in 1936 He played little league baseball for his local school and he enjoyed swimming in the local Bronx swimming pool, and Stanley was a very popular kid in his school where he had 5 main best mates who were really good for him and every thanksgiving Stanley would walk down to the Macy's thanksgiving day parade As well as really enjoying trick or treating at Halloween where he got bullied a bit by the rougher kids who were mucking around and Stanley really enjoyed being in his baseball team where he had a dream to play for the New York Yankees Which is parents were very sure that it would be nice if he does And Stanley also walked around the streets looking at all the sites of Broadway and Stanley really enjoyed doing that especially with his parents And the bronx swimming pool Was his favourite summer spot You see Stanley won a lot of swimming medals in various swimming carnivals and Stanley Participated in 20 different swimming carnivals where he won many medals and this made Stanley very happy Stanley sang away in a manger at the bronx's carols by candlelight as well as being santa's little helper in santa's arrival where he helped sing jingle bells and Santa Claus is coming to town and after that Stanley said merry Christmas everybody you see very much like me Stanley baraban really loved the holiday season and sports and as Stanley was staring at all of his baseball trophies saying I am popular But then came one day in 1947 A pack of bull terriers were let loose in the Bronx and Stanley was very excited about appearing in his 3rd ever teams event where he was destined to win a medal but then Stanley's parents went into the swimming pool unaware of what happens next and suddenly the pack of bull terriers mauled young Stanley leaving him when he was dead and then the dogs went over to attack the police officer who was there to make the day safe and this was a sad day for the Barabans as Stanley was mauled by this pack of dogs and each dog was put down but still Stanley was missed by family and friends And that is why I am scared of dogs in this life because I was Stanley baraban way back then Well, there could be many reasons like the liking of parades and the holiday season Everyone in the Bronx missed stanleys lovely smile at every holiday event and he was very sadly missed and now I live in Canberra remembering all my previous lives like this one I still jump when I see a dog

0

Sep 25, 2016

Sep 25, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC

johnny-georgy-brown

i lived in new york as stanley baraban, till the dogs attacked me

Stanley belaban was a happy boy who lived in New York and born in New York in 1936 He played little league baseball for his local school and he enjoyed swimming in the local Bronx swimming pool, and Stanley was a very popular kid in his school where he had 5 main best mates who were really good for him and every thanksgiving Stanley would walk down to the Macy's thanksgiving day parade As well as really enjoying trick or treating at Halloween where he got bullied a bit by the rougher kids who were mucking around and Stanley really enjoyed being in his baseball team where he had a dream to play for the New York Yankees Which is parents were very sure that it would be nice if he does And Stanley also walked around the streets looking at all the sites of Broadway and Stanley really enjoyed doing that especially with his parents And the bronx swimming pool Was his favourite summer spot You see Stanley won a lot of swimming medals in various swimming carnivals and Stanley Participated in 20 different swimming carnivals where he won many medals and this made Stanley very happy Stanley sang away in a manger at the bronx's carols by candlelight as well as being santa's little helper in santa's arrival where he helped sing jingle bells and Santa Claus is coming to town and after that Stanley said merry Christmas everybody you see very much like me Stanley baraban really loved the holiday season and sports and as Stanley was staring at all of his baseball trophies saying I am popular But then came one day in 1947 A pack of bull terriers were let loose in the Bronx and Stanley was very excited about appearing in his 3rd ever teams event where he was destined to win a medal but then Stanley's parents went into the swimming pool unaware of what happens next and suddenly the pack of bull terriers mauled young Stanley leaving him when he was dead and then the dogs went over to attack the police officer who was there to make the day safe and this was a sad day for the Barabans as Stanley was mauled by this pack of dogs and each dog was put down but still Stanley was missed by family and friends And that is why I am scared of dogs in this life because I was Stanley baraban way back then Well, there could be many reasons like the liking of parades and the holiday season Everyone in the Bronx missed stanleys lovely smile at every holiday event and he was very sadly missed and now I live in Canberra remembering all my previous lives like this one I still jump when I see a dog

17

Spoiled West Highland Terriers Man, they're everywhere Pulling back on leashes giving us humans that look as if we've mistook what time is and the value of the smell that is right now

0

Mar 22, 2017

Mar 22, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC

NiallPower

Spoiled

Spoiled West Highland Terriers Man, they're everywhere Pulling back on leashes giving us humans that look as if we've mistook what time is and the value of the smell that is right now

10

it's kinda funny, but all i keep thinking about is the clipped tooth and the 3 pancakes awaiting me gnashing the smoothness into poached pear baby goo; i will not allow language to subordinate me... i, will, subordinate language! language will be my clothes, and not, my, tailor! i abhor people owned by language, it's a bit like debate between portishead vs. poliça... love a bitch-fight... scratching, itching, hair-tugging, my type of replacement when it comes to being entertained by cockerels or bulls (terriers) - got i love petting those beastly boy pig snouts! the problem with me? i love drinking more than conversations with people - synonymous with: animals make more sense to me that humans... oops; i gather. i have a 10kg / 20+ pound maine **** that i bite for fun... bite a maine **** get an apache headgear... ****** kicks like a kangaroo when i tickler his hind paws... sings the **** out of a reincarnation of Pavarotti... either that or it's ***** 'arry, or simply rudy (ginger) - i love cats for their autism... it will never end up being a death-stare match: there's always "something" to be preoccupied with cats... usually? nothing, the anti-thesis of narcissus was a cat. people never have stories about dogs, other than: lick my ***** take a nap... i hate the cat i own... man originated with a heart, while woman originated with a mind... notably the grand-schemer locusta - hell knows no fury for a woman scorned, as, heaven knows no peace for a man: pardoned. since we're on equal terms, we can only politicise language, rather than the, infantile, politicising of language... i always wonder how an exhausted meow exhausts the mind of a cat, with no cognitive notion of a a meow... how does a cat meow... when there's no thought of meow... in the same exhaustion... how does man speak of god, when he think nothing of god? if god is a beyond word, yet trapped in (moral) action, can we discuss the case by merely using onomatopoeia? i.e. onomatopoeia, an etymological return to the prime of syllables? prior to letters having names akin to A - alpha - or O - omicron? cut short pretty jesus? oh, what, a, shame! p.s. sure, he can be the alpha and the omega, but i'm the omicron in between.

0

Nov 21, 2017

Nov 21, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

Meow Pavarotti

it's kinda funny, but all i keep thinking about is the clipped tooth and the 3 pancakes awaiting me gnashing the smoothness into poached pear baby goo; i will not allow language to subordinate me... i, will, subordinate language! language will be my clothes, and not, my, tailor! i abhor people owned by language, it's a bit like debate between portishead vs. poliça... love a bitch-fight... scratching, itching, hair-tugging, my type of replacement when it comes to being entertained by cockerels or bulls (terriers) - got i love petting those beastly boy pig snouts! the problem with me? i love drinking more than conversations with people - synonymous with: animals make more sense to me that humans... oops; i gather. i have a 10kg / 20+ pound maine **** that i bite for fun... bite a maine **** get an apache headgear... ****** kicks like a kangaroo when i tickler his hind paws... sings the **** out of a reincarnation of Pavarotti... either that or it's ***** 'arry, or simply rudy (ginger) - i love cats for their autism... it will never end up being a death-stare match: there's always "something" to be preoccupied with cats... usually? nothing, the anti-thesis of narcissus was a cat. people never have stories about dogs, other than: lick my ***** take a nap... i hate the cat i own... man originated with a heart, while woman originated with a mind... notably the grand-schemer locusta - hell knows no fury for a woman scorned, as, heaven knows no peace for a man: pardoned. since we're on equal terms, we can only politicise language, rather than the, infantile, politicising of language... i always wonder how an exhausted meow exhausts the mind of a cat, with no cognitive notion of a a meow... how does a cat meow... when there's no thought of meow... in the same exhaustion... how does man speak of god, when he think nothing of god? if god is a beyond word, yet trapped in (moral) action, can we discuss the case by merely using onomatopoeia? i.e. onomatopoeia, an etymological return to the prime of syllables? prior to letters having names akin to A - alpha - or O - omicron? cut short pretty jesus? oh, what, a, shame! p.s. sure, he can be the alpha and the omega, but i'm the omicron in between.

79