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Freewrite 4/5 (unfortunately I'm not doing NaPoWriMo
We live in a cardhouse of doors ( Read more... ) -
Rum and tonic(tea)
Drank rum and tonic, with tea. Bad rum; horrible stuff. Had cinnamon apple sauce. Made it with too much cinnamon. Read Bukowski with a cigarette; cherry nearly fell out ( Read more... ) -
Random ramblings while reading Bukowski (more later)
I sit in my still-lonely room, listening to Sunny Day Real Estate and reading Bukowski rant against the rantings of most of the literary world. I can't help but wonder if the hateful words were truly heartfelt and not just angry ramblings of a jealous drunk, because let's face it, he was. I enjoy his writing and I think some of it has a lot to ( Read more... ) -
Fuck Easter
So... I got wasted last night, puked my guts out and I get a call at 10 this morning that my grandfather died last night. Fuck easter. -
Bitch/grumble
I told Lisa how I feel about her, she's not into me. Fucking bummed, big time. The first legitimate crush I've had since I broke shit off with Michelle, which was already over a year ago. Holy shit, it was over a year ago. How fucking pathetic am I? Oh, not the first legit crush I've had since Michelle. Nevermind, it was Keirstin, who I never told ( Read more... ) -
3:45 in the morning
I miss thunderstorms... and the things that happened with them in high school. They're probably the only good thing about the AV. Thanks for the memories. And now for a poem:
We will fuck this night
Into oblivion
We will hide behind
The guise of logic and reason
With a whole world blind
By the lies of equality
We will not shy
From a caustic reality
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Love poem for a girl I haven't talked to
For some time now
I've been stalking you
If only in my head
And I must admit
It feels a bit...
Creepy
Especially when all I know
Is that your mouth is a piano
Your sonnets, candied ginger
Now I'm no poet
My mind doesn't think in metaphors
But sometimes
I want the space between our
Finger tips to be that clumsy note
Reverberated on the string of my ( Read more... ) -
Poetic freewrite (there were some slight brain-word barriers)
Boots step sidewalk sonnets, your freshly cut grass tongue spitting silently words forged and still forgotten. But once I was a lost child in fields of strawberries, wishing well my aching feet. But my mouth was cut with glass from windows windows windows windows windows that loose leaf tobacco stained lips once kissed and breathed a heart of dust ( Read more... ) -
Slam poem written January 26, 2009
I'm staring at a blank page ( Read more... ) -
Ugh
So, I'm sitting at my friend's house right now, wondering why I can't get any play. Yeah, I know, that sounds kind of degrading, sure, but I just can't wrap my head around why I haven't gotten any action this quarter. I mean, sure, I'm not the greatest looking guy but hell, I'm smart and somewhat talented (or at least I'd like to think so) and ( Read more... )