for attention, perfection, the obvious objection of affection. release, rejected rejection, satisfying presence. beligerent deliverance. complete lack of motivated mortification. californification. a new station. certificate of forgiven evil, renewed dedication. condemned determination. for the tangible. manageable. synonym for what we used to be. for starvation. appreciation. desirable desire, understanding the void between. water rising from the fire. tin foiled turmoil. plans to plan a plan today for tomorrow. the next day. something. anything. exceeding successor cross dresser perfume testers D in nutritional values point AtoBtoZ.
good catch
you're only passing thru
locked up in an empty, rusted locket of truth
significance of the treasured moment in time
defining, cherished memory of the woman i'll always be for you.
locked up in an empty shell of everything.
locked up for good.
(my food almost fell off the plate.)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Vonnegut
Julian Castle Agrees with Newt 76
that Everything is Meaningless
Julian Castle and Angela went to Newt's painting. Castle made a pinhole of a curled index finger, squinted at the painting through it.
"What do you think of it?" I asked him.
"It's black. What is it--hell?"
"It means whatever it means," said Newt.
"Then it's hell," snarled Castle.
"I was told a moment ago that it's a cat's cradle," I said.
"Inside information always helps," said Castle.
"I don't think it's very nice," Angela complained. "I think it's ugly, but I don't know anything about modern art. Sometimes I wish Newt would take some lessons, so he could know for sure if he was doing something or not."
"Self-taught, are you?" Julian Castle asked Newt.
"Isn't everybody?" Newt inquired.
"Very good anwer." Castle was respectful.
I undertook to explain the deeper significance of the cat's cradle, since Newt seemed disinclined to go through the song and dance again.
And Castle nodded sagely. "So this is a picture of the meaningless of it all! I couldn't agree more."
"Do you really agree?" I asked. "A minute ago you said something about Jesus."
"Who?" said Castle.
"Jesus Christ?"
"Oh," said Castle. "Him." He shrugged. "People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order, so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say."
"I see." I knew I wasn't going to have an easy time writing a popular article about him. I was going to have to concentrate on his saintly deeds and ignore entirely the satanic things he thought and said.
"You may quote me:" he said. "Man is vile, and man makes nothing worth making, knows nothing worth knowing."
He leaned down and he shook little Newt's painty hand. "Right?"
Newt nodded, seeming to suspect momentarily that the case had been a little overstated. "Right."
And then the saint marched to Newt's painting and took it from the easel. He beamed at us all. "Garbage--like everything else."
And he threw the painting off the cantilevered terrace. It sailed out on an updraft, stalled, boomeranged back, sliced into the waterfall.
There was nothing little Newt could say.
Angela spoke first. "You've got paint all over your face, honey. Go wash it off."
that Everything is Meaningless
Julian Castle and Angela went to Newt's painting. Castle made a pinhole of a curled index finger, squinted at the painting through it.
"What do you think of it?" I asked him.
"It's black. What is it--hell?"
"It means whatever it means," said Newt.
"Then it's hell," snarled Castle.
"I was told a moment ago that it's a cat's cradle," I said.
"Inside information always helps," said Castle.
"I don't think it's very nice," Angela complained. "I think it's ugly, but I don't know anything about modern art. Sometimes I wish Newt would take some lessons, so he could know for sure if he was doing something or not."
"Self-taught, are you?" Julian Castle asked Newt.
"Isn't everybody?" Newt inquired.
"Very good anwer." Castle was respectful.
I undertook to explain the deeper significance of the cat's cradle, since Newt seemed disinclined to go through the song and dance again.
And Castle nodded sagely. "So this is a picture of the meaningless of it all! I couldn't agree more."
"Do you really agree?" I asked. "A minute ago you said something about Jesus."
"Who?" said Castle.
"Jesus Christ?"
"Oh," said Castle. "Him." He shrugged. "People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order, so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say."
"I see." I knew I wasn't going to have an easy time writing a popular article about him. I was going to have to concentrate on his saintly deeds and ignore entirely the satanic things he thought and said.
"You may quote me:" he said. "Man is vile, and man makes nothing worth making, knows nothing worth knowing."
He leaned down and he shook little Newt's painty hand. "Right?"
Newt nodded, seeming to suspect momentarily that the case had been a little overstated. "Right."
And then the saint marched to Newt's painting and took it from the easel. He beamed at us all. "Garbage--like everything else."
And he threw the painting off the cantilevered terrace. It sailed out on an updraft, stalled, boomeranged back, sliced into the waterfall.
There was nothing little Newt could say.
Angela spoke first. "You've got paint all over your face, honey. Go wash it off."
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
i love u so much it's retarded
down syndrome falling down falling falling drawing blank pages. scratch put the nina on the record. down by the pool, in the hot tub, in the wintertime. we rolled. we ran. we raced. we raved. we came. we sought. we are.
down by the place we used to be.
up and down the hills.
down by the river we never went to. scratch. spin. spun. spit.
slobber your kiss killed me. don't know how i'm still breathing. blinking. seeing. chromosome copy twenty-two, three, four, five, six, almost lost track of time flies. buzz. you slapped my thighs, and i liked it almost too much. you pushed me aside, i'll never forget the pain inside. coming from a dark place, the light will never know how good it feels to shine. how good it feels to quietly say i told you so. inside. it's all a lie. your roommate's shirt looked better on you. reddish-orange. passion. losers. close your eyes, that'll be the day. that'll be the time you get back home. it's the longest road, when you've lost sight of the beginning. turning circles. turning blank pages. blanket, pillow cases of queens of ringworms and fries. it's all a lie, but i have to tell you. i have to tell you. o the joy.
hail the king. long live the prince of popcorn. cranberry. pumpkin spice. everything nice, boy. strawberry surrender, aphrodisiac. damn do i have a secret weapon, if i can only get my hands on it. turning pages, double spaced, triple. praying for equality, simplicity, she says. keep it simple. he said it first, maybe. i don't know anymore. first son on the moon.
it's easy, he said, just follow me. you'll see.
_ 2 _ _ _
one really is the lonelinest#trust me.
down by the place we used to be.
up and down the hills.
down by the river we never went to. scratch. spin. spun. spit.
slobber your kiss killed me. don't know how i'm still breathing. blinking. seeing. chromosome copy twenty-two, three, four, five, six, almost lost track of time flies. buzz. you slapped my thighs, and i liked it almost too much. you pushed me aside, i'll never forget the pain inside. coming from a dark place, the light will never know how good it feels to shine. how good it feels to quietly say i told you so. inside. it's all a lie. your roommate's shirt looked better on you. reddish-orange. passion. losers. close your eyes, that'll be the day. that'll be the time you get back home. it's the longest road, when you've lost sight of the beginning. turning circles. turning blank pages. blanket, pillow cases of queens of ringworms and fries. it's all a lie, but i have to tell you. i have to tell you. o the joy.
hail the king. long live the prince of popcorn. cranberry. pumpkin spice. everything nice, boy. strawberry surrender, aphrodisiac. damn do i have a secret weapon, if i can only get my hands on it. turning pages, double spaced, triple. praying for equality, simplicity, she says. keep it simple. he said it first, maybe. i don't know anymore. first son on the moon.
it's easy, he said, just follow me. you'll see.
_ 2 _ _ _
one really is the lonelinest#trust me.
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