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"tralfamadorians" poems
What bad could happen to a boy of sixteen, walking through the woods trying to find a nice spot to smoke and read Slaughterhouse-Five? But now that I'm thinking about it, Stephen King may or may not have written a book about this exact question, more or less. And as everyone who has read The Gunslinger Volume Six: Song of Sussanah, knows, everything Stephen King writes happens. Stephen King is God, in this sense. Nevertheless, I found a nice spot, next to a dried out creek bed, complete with a gallon bucket and the scent of lavender. And so I sat, and rolled a couple cigarettes, and dove into the mind and time traveling of Billy Pilgrim. Sitting there, on that bucket, old Kurt spoke to me. The previous owner of this copy of Slaughterhouse-Five also spoke to me. With highlights and underlines he allowed me into his mind and thought processes while reading this book. He underlined every passage that had to do with the Tralfamadorians views on time and the coexistence of every moment. Soon, it became dark and I could no longer read, having only one cigarette left, I headed home. Fifteen minutes later I was home, and if Stephen King had written about this event he wrote it as it happened. With no harm and no foul. And maybe I dislike him for that and maybe I don't understand why he did that, why he would wrote a boring tale of a boring boy going on a boring walk in some boring Northern California forest. And this writing does not feel complete but the Pabst is starting to kick in so I think I'll leave this one alone for now. And Stephen King **** it, I can't even think of a title for this piece of **** Nevermind, I got it.
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May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
A Piece of **** Descriptive of a Boring Walk in a Forest of Northern California.
What bad could happen to a boy of sixteen, walking through the woods trying to find a nice spot to smoke and read Slaughterhouse-Five? But now that I'm thinking about it, Stephen King may or may not have written a book about this exact question, more or less. And as everyone who has read The Gunslinger Volume Six: Song of Sussanah, knows, everything Stephen King writes happens. Stephen King is God, in this sense. Nevertheless, I found a nice spot, next to a dried out creek bed, complete with a gallon bucket and the scent of lavender. And so I sat, and rolled a couple cigarettes, and dove into the mind and time traveling of Billy Pilgrim. Sitting there, on that bucket, old Kurt spoke to me. The previous owner of this copy of Slaughterhouse-Five also spoke to me. With highlights and underlines he allowed me into his mind and thought processes while reading this book. He underlined every passage that had to do with the Tralfamadorians views on time and the coexistence of every moment. Soon, it became dark and I could no longer read, having only one cigarette left, I headed home. Fifteen minutes later I was home, and if Stephen King had written about this event he wrote it as it happened. With no harm and no foul. And maybe I dislike him for that and maybe I don't understand why he did that, why he would wrote a boring tale of a boring boy going on a boring walk in some boring Northern California forest. And this writing does not feel complete but the Pabst is starting to kick in so I think I'll leave this one alone for now. And Stephen King **** it, I can't even think of a title for this piece of **** Nevermind, I got it.
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I want to be like Billy Pilgrim I want to walk Through time I want to look At us lying Together I want to see us From the outside I want to know Exactly how the Tralfamadorians Would see us I want to see us In our future And in our past I want to be Able to say Something Profound that Will change it All but I think I'll just say 'So it goes.'
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May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
Tralfamadorians