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When

stupid things you write in little books...

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ive heard things

slurred truth

everything sounds much truer

much more lovely through

a cloud of barley and hopps

 

i partake to find out more

i spill my truth

just as you have

spilled your knowledge

half the bottle gone

and yet its only just begun

 

if only

this bottle would last forever

or so i would wish

the things i am hearing are

bliss to my ears

its been so long

since hearing these things last

 

that the most beautiful thing

i have seen

could feel the same...

or is that just my dream?

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i do a zine... i got lots of this stuff...

--------------------------------------------------------

i realized tonite that rooms with lots of windows bum me out at nite... for the most part, i like being outside at nite, but the whole point of going inside is to be able to escape the outside. but windows allow the outside to invade in... turning on the lights just pushes the darkness back a few feet, and makes it all the more black and solid.

---------------------------------------------------------

sweet mimosa smile

perpetually wasted

alcoholic breath

i get drunk off of your presence

 

sweet mimosa style

sweetest ever tasted

alcoholic stretch

intoxicating essence

 

i fuck

your thoughts

you fuck

mine

 

no need

for us

alone

we’re fine

----------------------------------------------------

my blood is a narcotic

you lick my wounds, and fuck yourself

mutual masturbation

you think my blood is hot

 

i spray my cum across your tits

your fist across my chin

bound and gagged as you choke on sweat

sex passes by time lapsed

 

we wear each bruise with a private smile

each scab with the shiver of climax

every scar with a memory of

how the best love is pain

 

beaten, into submission

how quick the roles reverse

you lay bloody and broken

then back to life you pounce

 

swollen lips and a bloodshot eye

we could be the same

 

(^^^this isn't nearly done...)

----------------------------------------------

 

good stuff when... i'm gonna put up more later... about time there was a thread like this...

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Originally posted by vinyl junkie

(^^^this isn't nearly done...)

 

is the broken record player gonna be included?

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the day rolled around

we made plans, they fell through

i didnt care

 

we felt the same way

not like the others

connection

 

i got you lost

but not for good

you got scared

i held your hand the whole way through

i lost touch

 

havent seen you since

i wish i could

that night shouldnt have ended

out on the end staring into darkness

with your warmth

we connected

we were one

 

we were one against the darkness

we were one holding tightly

if i only saw you again

i would never let you go

you broke the curse...

i love you

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Originally posted by vinyl junkie

 

you asked for it... before i start, please note that any action i describe was asked for, and very welcomed... here goes...

 

so i'm doing my ex from behind, and slapping her ass repeatedly (i have a very good picture i'll try to post soon...) if i hit her hard enough she would start to get a little woozy (she blacked out a few times...) and i was hitting her hard, and several times... so she's a little out of it, and her ass and lower legs are sore and going numb... suddenly she pulls off me, turns around on her knees and tells me to hit her... so, i pull back, make a fist, and...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

as i swing towards her face, she's wobbleing, and through her own wobbles, her numb ass and legs, and me shifting the mattress through swinging, i don't connect and she tumbles backwards... she hit her head on the bedframe, blacks out, and practically skewers her leg on the post of my record player (it would hold multiple records, so the post is about 4 inches long...) the record player tumbles down, snaps off the needle arm, bends the post, and makes the platter turn on an angle... she ended up with a concussion and a nasty little puncture wound on the front of her leg...

and that's how i lost my record player through a night of rough sex...

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one more before my computer battery craps out...

 

 

hey, girl, come sit in the car with me and smoke your voice away. maybe sleep for a minute. look at the lights. put our arms around each other. come upstairs with me. put the cd player on shuffle and fall asleep. get up when the car horns wake us up. don’t bother with a shower, just get in the car with me and drive. nowhere in particular. it’s really easy, you just pick a direction and step on the gas. go somewhere we’ve never been before, even if it just means going to a different 7-11 for a different soda and a different pack of cigarettes. find a place to park, to read, to write, to listen. check this off the list of places you’ve never been. now, get back in the car, we’re headin for the freeway. you know how you’ve always wondered what’s on the other side of that wall on 101... we’re gonna find out, you and me. now we know. come back home with me and sleep through the afternoon. wake up and it’s dark outside, everyone’s asleep, and there’s no cars going by on the street. hey, girl, come sit in the car with me and smoke your voice away.

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yes indeedy

damn im gonna go have a cigarette now

i came up on a tin of camel dark mints

from some shithead at the hooka bar tonite

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Guest unoprimero

in my assignment book, there's a bunch of little bullshit bored writings, dont even get me started on that shizzle.

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the thinker has stopped thinking

lashing out at the wreched sky

burn it into a sun singed the earth

closed on a tattered sea of grins

 

none of the lines have anything to do with the others. oh well.

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Guest ledzep

----------------

i am your world

i have never seen what is behind my forward

yes i am the most useless creature

if only i had a pencil

hello princess

----------------

is this your forehead?

---------------

would you burn money?

what if you manipulated children to become whores and crackheads

if you were sent to fed somolians

a firecracker in your nose isnt so bad

maybe that way you could eat a kick in the face

what if you were a god?

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Guest Pilau Hands

fondness for faraway places with strange sounding names

http://www.freephoto-i.net/users/Pilau%20Hands/lttlebook.jpg'>

that's the little book. sometimes i have too many thoughts that i can't hear one clearly, or if i can, i can't remember all of them later. someone suggested i get a tiny book and write lots of things down. there are no real coherent sentences, just ideas i have for things, tiny sketches

 

example of things written down:

vanilla corn!

you should paint a fresco

chuck close

she sees mygood deeds, and she kisses me windy

bowtie spy camera

head at your feet, fool to your crown, fist on my plate, swallowed it down...

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vanilla corn sounds yummy. i hate poetry otherwise.

 

i keep a list of movies i need to rent

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Guest MR BOJANGLES

names of people i want to kill.

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Originally posted by MR BOJANGLES

names of people i want to kill.

 

quit posting after me..... stalker.........

 

 

 

xoxo

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I LIKE TO WRITE MY POEM IT IS SO DEEP LIKE TORI AMOS

 

dead baby

grind your bones for gravy

serve it to the navy

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ehh why not...

 

 

 

 

you are mysterious

why i do not know

you lay it all out

but no one sees

 

except me

i see

your beauty, your mind

ive thought what you think

and what you have thought

i understand

 

i havent a chance in the world

but maybe its better that way

too much of a good thing always turns out bad

if only you were mysterious to me

i could be like all the rest

wide eyed and wondering why...

why they cannot stop thinking about you

 

ive figured you out

which i find to be the most beautiful thing of all

if only they could see

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Guest i create destruction

selling my soul (which may or may not exist) for full market value

 

sitting with my back to the window i watch the real world on television and begin to feast voraciously on the children that i may forever be on the cutting edge of fashion. hilfigger, it seems, is so last year. p diddy sells designer denim freshness which would be over priced, but the satisfaction of rocking a dope rapper's name on my ass, chest, neck, and forehead becomes the blinding light at the end of the tunnel that i slave in, day in, day out, for seven dollars an hour. seven dollars and hour for eight hours a day. fifty-six dollars a day for five days a week. 280 dollars a week for fifty-two weeks a year. 14,560 dollars a year for forty-five years.655,200 dollars for my life. 655,200 dollars for my mind, which i seem to have misplaced. 655,200 dollars for my soul, which may or may not exist. 655,200 dollars for my body of water. of course, i plan on being baptized in the company fountain of productivity and one day floating through the pearly gates of upper management. i will drown my own children in public education as an offering to the corporate gods whose gospel is written in the textbooks and brand loyalty on the hides of third world livestock. i'll salute the stars and bars and support the execution of the minorities locked behind them.

 

i don't know if this is poetry or not. i just write because i'm ugly and girls don't like me. it's not finished.

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Originally posted by i create destruction

i don't know if this is poetry or not. i just write because i'm ugly and girls don't like me. it's not finished.

 

right on, it doesnt matter if its poetry or not, just post whatca got

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Originally posted by Mr. Mang

I LIKE TO WRITE MY POEM IT IS SO DEEP LIKE TORI AMOS

 

 

BAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAH!!!!!!!!!!

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