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George Dubyah Bush

For: Writers of thoughts, stories, and such

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Does anybody have any good writings of stories poems, or any thoughts done by themselves? i have a story some people tell me is pretty good, but im reluctant to post here, but.......if you warn me first, we can exchange stuff via e mail.

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yeah i have some poems...

they suck and are kind of generic and non original but ill post a few anyway.


for you, for all to see...

the end of a life,

no one cared until now.

unimportant until death.

where were you when it counted.

phoney people voice concern.

too late now.


faux creativity for days...

mistaking conformity for genius.

you're the reason for it.

express yourself like everyone else.

you're not different or unique.

downward spiral until the end.

redemption is impossible.

leave me and move on.

bigger and better things.

smaller and shallower things.

buzzwords cut the air of intellectuality.

you will not be forgotten.


this will be the last one for now.


conversation rendered impossible...

mechanized enjoyment.

silence like shards of glass.

splintered in my brain.

thinking brings pain.

memories of past forgotten joys.

seem like possibilities.

never feel again.

unable to cry.

nihilism is the answer.

fade to memory.

soon forget.


there are some. i hope you enjoyed them.




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the first one is dope. really reminds me of many people......::nods::

i have poem stuff like that laying around, but i really polished this one story, which i will send to your hotmail thinger since you've replied some good stuff.

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im in the process of writing a porno .....heres what i have so far......

i knock on the door, girlfriend answers-

me:"hi, im here to fix the bed...."


my little brother writes poetry....hes actually won awards and had works published...smart kid




brick, brick ,brick...thats how i be up against your girlfriends ass...

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without revolution,we are at death..

how i hold glory as she takes her last breath..

victory is dead,torment has sliced his neck..

as all who have faught,as all who have strived....



-willy!wonka- http://www.12ozprophet.com/ubb//smile.gif'>


time is now ticking as it always has..

but there was no time living in the past.

away in denial how long will this passion last..so much to do here...things need to be cleaned up!as i melt away in present..my future looks currupt..time travelling has always kept time still...looking around..deciphering of false and real..am i stuck?or am i..

living in the present,,looking to the past and time flies by....


-all these are pretty much freestyle-

the revolution...i came up with on this other dude's thread..it scares me...to think i had talent i have not looked into but knew was always there...i am a poet....a poet that is not here..tahda



-willy!wonka- http://www.12ozprophet.com/ubb//smile.gif'>

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let me take your hand so that we may chase fireflies that you speak of.

so we can dance in the night air and be alone with only each other.

Just walk away and leave behind all that you wanted to take with you.

I knew this was over before it began.


Be careful when you hold my heart...its fragile.

It will take a while before the glue dries on all the pieces.

It can only be broken so many times.

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Where the streets have no name …I wander. Lost amongst the cracks and dusty

Shadows…broken wine bottles reminiscing of when they were once filled and brought warmth at a party..now just lucky if they reflect the few rays of sunshine that pentrate these forlorn streets. Wandering like a matchbook blown by the gust of wind…I notice how long it had been since a spark of hope lurked these parts..desperation reaches at your feet like vines of wrath pulling you down faster than quicksand.I t is hard to not slip and vanish into hollow doorways littered with cardboard that served as a goose down mattress..and has stains of love smeered into them like poison.It is tragic and captivation all wrapped in one…like a tootsie roll pop…but if you get a wrapper with a star it means you get a free bottle of vodka and a package of Top tobacco.Then again nothing is free in these parts..and the cost of consequence is astronomical..Food stamp packets lay empty and were all in hopes of continuing the drama..for one more day.

I am an outsider yet completely in my comfort zone..for I welcome the harshness like a

Child awaiting christmas morning. My new toy is sufferation and the experience it may bring is priceless.. A rat scurries by my pinhole eyes and I spit at it..in hopes of cleansing the damn thing. Diseases of unpronouncable latin names breed in these parts along side of yesteryears fading legacy. The rat has more tuffness in it’s pace than a freight train late for it’s destination and a mission to carry out. I wonder what it would be like to find treasures in here..like a pirate searching the tragedies of sunken ships..instead it only looks for sustainance. I keep walking….lighting a smoke to help calm my breath and remind me of death…I once read a poem about smoking..forget who wrote it..someone famous..something about ..smoking abroad…I smoke my pipe and worship GOD…it stuck with me …I t is chasing death like the smoke that slips from my lips chasing the sunshine ..it reminds me that I am only here for a brief second

As fast as it comes…it goes…like a shoooting star only visible for a flash…but it sticks with you for an eternity. This street has no name..it was forgotten by the planning commision and ignored by the GPS M apping system for safety purposes.I call it my street..I carved my name into the wet cement.

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zack morris' first one was awesome.........im really digging that.

And willy wonka, you first one i am digging, more respect even if i don't really know you.

ummmm, im going to post my story in a little bit because the people i've given it to have realllly liked it. it's a first person piece that i based ona video i've seen on vietnam.


lemme go find it and i'll post. p's

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wow. Retired Hasbeen's pretty damn amazing...

ok, well none of you's take this seriously...

just a story,


this story must be visualized. hope you like this crap i've put together

don't take any of this seriously



--The accounts of a Vietnamese Man.--


by George Dubyah Bush (yeah)



12:00 hours.


What the hell is this man saying?

I am just a peasant.


(My sons, my wife, ....)


He shouts at me yet i do not understand him,

His people, dressed in uniform.

They're all around me.

A man stands behind a photograph machine.

They persist yelling at me ,

what can i say?


(how wil my children eat?)


They scream at me now.

sticking a gun to my head.

My will is being broken by this pressure.


(Tear sheds. Teeth grind.)


What do i say?

I open my mouth and try to yell out.

All tha tcomes out is gibberish to them.

It is forced harder to my temple.

Assorted yells.........my heart is on the point of explosion.

More screaming.

Fear has empowered me. I cannot move.

my limbs are not under my control,


The volume of their voices rise tremendously, ...oh please no.


(I hope my sons know i love them,)




(his teeth clench like never before, his face tightens.)


more yelling,


(my wife , i love you so dea.)


a shot rings.



12:04 Hours.

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


freed. i'm leaving myself...

My life flows in eruptions pulsating in front of me.

I'm dying, leaving,

My body is atruated in its own pool,




The man laughs at his achieve ment.

He laughs.







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Shameful entries of the scrape face diaries. Itchy skin epiphany, laceration remorse. Slipping into the murky sludge face arena. The water will wash away the blood, focus for two seconds and just look at it. The water the slime the blood. It's all there, but half of you is away. How often do you think about these things? Another silly two second epiphany? Take these burdens, wash them away, scrub me raw. Just unbind me like the life long sinner purchasing a bible with stolen money. Would you sell your soul to be released? Bye bye soul. Say your prayers or if it fits you better just say "some days are beautiful".

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