this was the morning after the night after the day that ran you ragged, the morning after the night he lit your lights up, detangling all your broken ends and lost wires that never quite fit your cell phone charge girl.
if you follow some worthwhile philosophy, speak your mantra in clear soft tones then let them fall from the heights and ossify -- bleached bones knockin the floor to tell the veritable hardknock lifer you gotta exercise to feel good, man, it aint that hard to decipher. if youre gonna be a lifer, be a lifer,afterall. walkyour ass a mile or two, winter spring, summer and fall.
this was the predawn fab of sunrise mentality. this is at this moment our parfait reality. scream out your lungs and whip ice cream with tongues. the good sun he cometh, with that old vitamin-D-play. you feel it while breathing the hell out your lungs. 'its gonna be good today, its gotta b great!'
state your purpose, your claim, state your city and zip code. your street avenue circle, garden terrace or plain road. leave the frog sweatin plastic on rivers bombastic, kiss the toad for the curse, to free yourself from brainwash plaster. the plastic all around you is simply just fake, may feel so convenient like curing throat cancer via trache. until you gotta push buttons just to hear a voice not your own, your twice removed from your soul and cant get one on loan.
the capitalist mayhem is fighting itself, persisting, resisting , and not quite so top shelf as U touted S curve A subtle illusion....like high fructose corn syrup in 16% juice fusion. the water costs more now, you know why? cause its rare...the corn syrup epidemic has become that one thing to fear. its everywhere, check your raincoat, your ashtray, your ear...your whole system cache runs on corn syrup, did u know that my dear?
today lets all pray for those poor rich corn growers, who rotated out of all diverse true crops to chase a fad down the street. like we could only find milk from one single little teat? nonsense! but its played out. worn ragged til it fade out, this mindless fad crunching cocktail. masses run so fast, only to lose the race to some snailmail. email feels burdensome, a letter is rare. you know thats the truth, come on now, play fair!
you wont, damn old system, your eco non-friendly. you capture our consumption, then you treat us as enemies. the malware evoked by your very omnipresence. a capitalist rumor got its momentum on sugar substitution. a decade they would have thought it crazy, white sand kids b boosting?? why not steal a handsfree or some other new tech contribution? atleast when they catch u it wont be redhanded. you may still get jacked up on charges, delineated- redhandsfree.
just like the system took FREE and just owned it. anywhere you look , someones got their wallet to pay the price at the free sign. the banner lured them in, the salesman threw the pitch. free now you can hardly afford it! aint that a bitch? sugar on deck to get taken over, yes,possessed. exception: the mexican coke still has the real deal at your local taqueria. jammed up the sugar, made it look more attractive, a makeover by default--- the competitors are plastic. check out splenda, yellow coward, when she breaks it down we see, just like Equal and nutrasweet shes a one trick sweetener to avoid. to even sell that crap they needed psychological consultants, they conjured up Sigmund Freud.
sex is all of everything to base it all on, he said, after a taste test of sweeteners. the powerpoint Sigmund laid down was cluttered with porn. adult friend finder, he said, does not work well at high weights. sell your crap sweeteners as diet helpers, goes a long way towards a date. (this lifted some eyes in the boardrooms starched shirts) no other way to market it, i tell you all right now, heres a story before i go. dont doubt me, im never wrong, dont ask Jung hes no good. im the father of psychology, lets face it, i run this hood.
the superego met the id, according to his story, in the supermarket aisle, maybe safeway, maybe not. in the context of the meeting, it would not matter alot. superego met the id? yes it did, yes it did. (if it werent sigmund freud telling it, we would have canned it, dropped a lid. ) in the aisle full of cereal full of sugar for your kid. the id grabbed the oatbran instinctively, you see, the superego went for sugar, im sure thats plain to say as to see.
the story ended so abruptly as Freud dissolved in air. the weight of starched eyeballs was respnsible. no one cared. free association was a thing of the past. in modern corporate america, association costs money, networking = cash.
the unconscious faced thec conscious, in an empty cold stare. the boardroom was symbolic of a house... of cards in collective...archetyped truth or dare. cause everyone got it and Freud was so right. the sugars trumped up narcotic, propped up in marketing gloss. adware trite. nutrition was the real end to the search for something good!!!! this was the takeaway and they took it, left nothing behind, not even the board, just the room. well that was something, in futuretime real estate boom.
so next time youre hungry, hit the plain jane oatbran. youll find in your hood. the stuff you dont want has become the only stuff thats any good. (unless were talking about i phones,, you gotta get an iphone. can someone write an exception clause please? maybe an admin assistant? shit! wheres the disclaimer? we forgot the disclaimer. legals gonna have our heads.
Disclaimer: [if you want the disclaimer, you must first complete a short survey. the survey will ask for your email address, then spam you to death. you will not be able to sue because it says so in the disclaimer. if this seems unfair, remember, LIFEIS NOTFAIR. somehow knowing that may not bring you peace of mind, but hey, what did u think? peace of mind grows on trees? pay up! cashmoney, no money orders, no checks, are u a citizen? we dont trust u! [see our currency for details on whom we trust.]
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Sunday, 30 May 2010
'tsunami'
this is not the end, my friend, this is only you
staring up against yourself in the non reflection of light, screened, edited, popcorn scattered everywhere...empty chair working on the empty chair. and in the hall no more echos, in the theatre only one more hall, you know where this is going, so do i, just admit it. its eco-container afterlives we fear and avoid, and saved by the same is what we will be. like water pulling back at the tree
how we carry it sometimes, the fear, the embedded original wide eye not seeing... act more like the coon the hunter thinks he's treeing. Trapped? nowhere to go? when all we do every do is continue to move change resist til we gotta surrender. only the deepest roots pulled will they render
the darkest secret? anti oxidant of anti oxidant, the real solution of solvent? solve the mystery you made up, with collective madness of arching, back slacking of the rope when youre tired, when youre complacent, when your next child B nascent?
the plume of creative thought has risen over the factory laden london, of deep dreamy milky scenery, of your mind from your novels from your newsprint, from what they told you on a rainy day, from what you chose to learn and what you chose not to discern... far from the gutteral knowing of the yearning of the stern parent portending the future, pretending to suture up the hole in your whole time space continuum
pretentious fabricating of letters like scarlet, you turned her out the notorious harlot...
she wanted to turn swan to swan dive just to survive, cause her pure as white hit the ground cold with ice and the two had to unite. what a sight. cold and hot. beggars got. the meal, the match, the key to unlatch ties to nobility, then onward cultural senility and silence, anything preferential to moribund violence...
lets not mention the beauty of tension. lets tame it with tea, or some allegory. about the tree of knowledge. what grand foliage! how pretty. the words bouncing because we're so witty. here kitty here kitty! she calls so bizarrely, she who walks her big dogs and walks right around me. because she thinks she knows, and what she thinks is enough i guess. less to hold the line, no confrontation, no stress. just the invalidation that seeps across the nation, turning colors to sepia tones and interlacing all the button hole eyes with cotton plastic twist to cries...
so? will it take less time to lace up to your thighs? what once was irreverent, now steamrolled as lies. god must be a man, aint that right boys? guys? to a room full of women steady eating his steam: "no way motherfucker! go screw with your team. we got our periods out there. strict boundary waters, dont cross now. your whole planned agenda is like offal and tossed. your teeth we have traced them back to the gumline, we know you just said you would, and never really flossed. the world gets a root canal to dig any deeper. we're sending back the cell phones, man."
just give them their beepers. and ferme la bouche, is what you will promise when you go down to caves douched with green tea. whats a paradigm shift so pleasant to us...
to you?
au revoir
et
tsunami!
staring up against yourself in the non reflection of light, screened, edited, popcorn scattered everywhere...empty chair working on the empty chair. and in the hall no more echos, in the theatre only one more hall, you know where this is going, so do i, just admit it. its eco-container afterlives we fear and avoid, and saved by the same is what we will be. like water pulling back at the tree
how we carry it sometimes, the fear, the embedded original wide eye not seeing... act more like the coon the hunter thinks he's treeing. Trapped? nowhere to go? when all we do every do is continue to move change resist til we gotta surrender. only the deepest roots pulled will they render
the darkest secret? anti oxidant of anti oxidant, the real solution of solvent? solve the mystery you made up, with collective madness of arching, back slacking of the rope when youre tired, when youre complacent, when your next child B nascent?
the plume of creative thought has risen over the factory laden london, of deep dreamy milky scenery, of your mind from your novels from your newsprint, from what they told you on a rainy day, from what you chose to learn and what you chose not to discern... far from the gutteral knowing of the yearning of the stern parent portending the future, pretending to suture up the hole in your whole time space continuum
pretentious fabricating of letters like scarlet, you turned her out the notorious harlot...
she wanted to turn swan to swan dive just to survive, cause her pure as white hit the ground cold with ice and the two had to unite. what a sight. cold and hot. beggars got. the meal, the match, the key to unlatch ties to nobility, then onward cultural senility and silence, anything preferential to moribund violence...
so? will it take less time to lace up to your thighs? what once was irreverent, now steamrolled as lies. god must be a man, aint that right boys? guys? to a room full of women steady eating his steam: "no way motherfucker! go screw with your team. we got our periods out there. strict boundary waters, dont cross now. your whole planned agenda is like offal and tossed. your teeth we have traced them back to the gumline, we know you just said you would, and never really flossed. the world gets a root canal to dig any deeper. we're sending back the cell phones, man."
just give them their beepers. and ferme la bouche, is what you will promise when you go down to caves douched with green tea. whats a paradigm shift so pleasant to us...
to you?
au revoir
et
tsunami!
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
erotica: in response to an admirer
she fronts real hard, tough, aggressive, but her smile gives away the suburban kinda field hockey tight kinda upbringing behind the shade of the shallow skirts they wore then... a distant memory now she rocks the metro urban kinda look, sportin fun tights with leopard print capri length, and down her ivory calf where she felt his pinky finger draw a heart or something which touched her, of course, shes moody, not always smiling anymore cause shes gotta be real as she can be... still, life is fun, life is a blast.... depending on the diverse cast and unxpected... like the finger sent chills, and she could not wait til it rose up and under hipster type style panties, no cellulite and no fantasy, young and chi chi with the energy sensitive, mystic, and perenially she wore tennies, no socks, and submissively curved her spine on top to drop on hard cock herself -- sans panties.
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
snake venom - ex - pink giftwrap heart
we gotta start somewhere... so commence here... with the feeling, the feeling in her (and all about, so strong a penetration both within and without), the feeling turned on and lit up -*- sparkle clean -*- like the 20watt transparency of light with fangs sautered on, to metal posts conduct the host, sunk in tight...half full...tilt of cup
All for the juicy metallic taste you dont wanna miss... (unless you would shy from deliciousness itself) of a ripe half-century old american standard wall outlet... those old general electric televisions with matching postbellum deux de monde..... hair curlers all neatly up in a row like bombs awaiting their drop from a generic saab diesel powered alphabet city B one two three and you can choose destruction? or a fall from a height so high you feel in your stomach the sudden drop?
well so can we. whistle in your pipe, concussion force. is the real deal, aint no hype, no adware spyware, dont nobody care for us in the marketing industry, selling stepford pussy? -*- meow! lets get busy! jet from the maniac spinning out in his cadillac, yes sir, swerve to the left he almost hit it i swear!
to be continued...stop and stare .... -*-
All for the juicy metallic taste you dont wanna miss... (unless you would shy from deliciousness itself) of a ripe half-century old american standard wall outlet... those old general electric televisions with matching postbellum deux de monde..... hair curlers all neatly up in a row like bombs awaiting their drop from a generic saab diesel powered alphabet city B one two three and you can choose destruction? or a fall from a height so high you feel in your stomach the sudden drop?
well so can we. whistle in your pipe, concussion force. is the real deal, aint no hype, no adware spyware, dont nobody care for us in the marketing industry, selling stepford pussy? -*- meow! lets get busy! jet from the maniac spinning out in his cadillac, yes sir, swerve to the left he almost hit it i swear!
to be continued...stop and stare .... -*-
Monday, 10 May 2010
home became homeless part deux
continued..... out of the country vineyard wealth many were cast...those who had not yet graduated from Napa State got put on long buses heading south to urban life, San Francisco...some came to rest in Tenderloin houses halfway meeting their needs...addictions rolled out red carpets, self-medicating feeds.
california she did her best to care for them all. gave them a place in a city where they could coexist. sealed with a golden gate kiss.
for this we thank her, california the sweet. with hands grasping out from 3 point restraints, and kicking of feet. her economies had no scale, always delivered fresh, never stale, consider silicon valley hitting quality of life, direct to your doorstep like the mail.
So when she found that she was homeless, her vineyards she did seek, got drunk off her own land, solar winds left her weak in her dustbowl. Her fog become smog, no grass without rain, the seals out at seal rock just bitch and complain.
Gave too much of herself, dear miss california. tossed from like to dislikes, or no one could afford her...she was destined to wash up on shore hypothermic. Wasted of energy and dried by the sun, she crawled through the valley, holding out her dry tongue. Nevada then took her clothes and her jewels off her skin, through bright Vegas lights saw wealth from within.
No matter how its told, or in what light its remembered, the truth will be told come every December. This beauty toward which dreams were aimed, she then made. Offered up from stark midday hot landscapes some shade. Farewell to her native sons she gracefully bade. They had the biggest part of her, her heart she confided. The dreams that once sifted at sunset through toes in salt water, she buried them deep in the Donner pass snows.
For those who made landscaped of tenement type brothels, she let loose the spirits from her land something nasty. Her timing was immaculate, just after dinner unwinding... when auras are susceptible, even more so with moonshine. The native ancestry came into their eyes, and the Europeans paced off and turned, aimed and fired. This is what happens when honor is not shown, when purveyors set on profit built bars over bones.
She thought they had learned, having traversed all dangerous territory and lived on to tell it. Nor did she deprive them of anything; gave them all of it. She even unclasped her blouse to stranger, and hung tit. Not a thought preceded it. And her tragedy played out like her life, very simple. She who was home to so many, so freely....She who once gave shade and water, to point of no ending? for pack animals and coyotes from hills down descending. Her hands always outstretched, her neck always bending?
she, the maternal source divine, powerful and clean as the source of river....
she who the traveler of any place and any time,
exclaimed in various tongues 'so blessed to find'....
and to think, matters not, no thought can explain,
how this one so selfless could suffer the same?
She the source, she the home...
she died in despair,
without home
and
alone
california she did her best to care for them all. gave them a place in a city where they could coexist. sealed with a golden gate kiss.
for this we thank her, california the sweet. with hands grasping out from 3 point restraints, and kicking of feet. her economies had no scale, always delivered fresh, never stale, consider silicon valley hitting quality of life, direct to your doorstep like the mail.
So when she found that she was homeless, her vineyards she did seek, got drunk off her own land, solar winds left her weak in her dustbowl. Her fog become smog, no grass without rain, the seals out at seal rock just bitch and complain.
Gave too much of herself, dear miss california. tossed from like to dislikes, or no one could afford her...she was destined to wash up on shore hypothermic. Wasted of energy and dried by the sun, she crawled through the valley, holding out her dry tongue. Nevada then took her clothes and her jewels off her skin, through bright Vegas lights saw wealth from within.
No matter how its told, or in what light its remembered, the truth will be told come every December. This beauty toward which dreams were aimed, she then made. Offered up from stark midday hot landscapes some shade. Farewell to her native sons she gracefully bade. They had the biggest part of her, her heart she confided. The dreams that once sifted at sunset through toes in salt water, she buried them deep in the Donner pass snows.
For those who made landscaped of tenement type brothels, she let loose the spirits from her land something nasty. Her timing was immaculate, just after dinner unwinding... when auras are susceptible, even more so with moonshine. The native ancestry came into their eyes, and the Europeans paced off and turned, aimed and fired. This is what happens when honor is not shown, when purveyors set on profit built bars over bones.
She thought they had learned, having traversed all dangerous territory and lived on to tell it. Nor did she deprive them of anything; gave them all of it. She even unclasped her blouse to stranger, and hung tit. Not a thought preceded it. And her tragedy played out like her life, very simple. She who was home to so many, so freely....She who once gave shade and water, to point of no ending? for pack animals and coyotes from hills down descending. Her hands always outstretched, her neck always bending?
she, the maternal source divine, powerful and clean as the source of river....
she who the traveler of any place and any time,
exclaimed in various tongues 'so blessed to find'....
and to think, matters not, no thought can explain,
how this one so selfless could suffer the same?
She the source, she the home...
she died in despair,
without home
and
alone
Sunday, 2 May 2010
the very home became homeless, i swear
i wished her a great day.... i wished all her anxiety fall away.... there she was quite firmly floating, anchored by her depression in monterey bay.... california herself (not the girl representing the state, mind you, but the state herself) (and in what a state she was!), smoking on a Jay, not ten minutes prior to fresh press suggesting she legalize the hay.
poor california, i heard she gone bankrupt.... last year heard tell she was burned real bad down south, the fires licked her sides. poor california, she holds so much , she cares for so many, she forgets herself. everyone gravitates to her, asking, begging, pleading for her help, her support, or just a look their way to know that someone cares. the downcast from cities that dont care so much as her, often make that desperate move west to come within her dominion. she listened patiently to all the same stories, crying off the same onion passed around to the next waiting in line. or else the tears came as a fronted jag half past a magnum of wine.
They all kissed her ass then, as i would now. No wonder she was down, everything she predicted came to bear, the state had become so small like a desert town. Dear dear miss fair, miss golden hair and bear. will you ever find time to hibernate again? maybe in the empty paper strewn classrooms where you tried to teach so many packed in with the afternoon sunlight, in the evenings. maybe in the vacant former forests now charred & open fields. what you give so precious. even more so now, what with reduced crop yields.
what ever happened to your gold that we panned? gone west to find fortune, just as we planned? your infrastructure failing and falling down when the earth quakes, the nights unpredictable chills cause your natives shakes.
can sacramento save you, sweet boo? what about the dry skin drought you went through? carrying your water all the way from the sierras up north of saint francis down to sea level, drained by LA and dripping slowly into the mouths of the san diegans (mostly adopted sons and daughters of the Reagans).
Well that was it, that got a rise out of her, for sure, for sure. She knew it would, and so did I, its the package deal of politics, the always keeping score. She lifted her head right off wyoming, and bumped right into Oregon. She touched her tongue to air, and tasted lick of Portland. The taste was not good, not good at all. If California tasted so, that would signify great decline. The rain they got up north up there, Ken Keseys acid and still not fine.
She went into her diatribe, her monologue, her lost girl vibe. Dare to say 'no fair!' when salt is all remains to give? (her words disjointed like the spot around Big Sur where she twists but not alot. Then beeline to LA for lids, from early aging pharmaceutical kids. Avocado lotteries excluding food stamped bids. while all the hours that can make up thirty or more years, all the grief all the tears (she continued), drowned out below the cheers you gave our photogenic future president from the past? cowboy savior in the shadow of the duke? and typecast? better think harder, better think fast. Say no to drugs, it wont be your last. Easily said between healthy red cheeks and handkerchief wrapped around his neck. Say no to drugs and watch out everybody! Red Dawn is rising! now when i say Boo! just hit the deck. Give me money, let fear write the check.
She was clearly obsessed with Reagan, years after Reagans gone. This is where her illness became more than just a phenomenon. Dare we say an earthquake hit her? Would this be her swan song? Oh California, please dont leave me! where will i stay when you split in two and float out in the sea? Alas, i knew what to do to protect sanity, and boiled myself one more cup: green tea. this aint Arabian nights, but if you want part 2, youre gonna have to wait and see. To B Continued...
poor california, i heard she gone bankrupt.... last year heard tell she was burned real bad down south, the fires licked her sides. poor california, she holds so much , she cares for so many, she forgets herself. everyone gravitates to her, asking, begging, pleading for her help, her support, or just a look their way to know that someone cares. the downcast from cities that dont care so much as her, often make that desperate move west to come within her dominion. she listened patiently to all the same stories, crying off the same onion passed around to the next waiting in line. or else the tears came as a fronted jag half past a magnum of wine.
They all kissed her ass then, as i would now. No wonder she was down, everything she predicted came to bear, the state had become so small like a desert town. Dear dear miss fair, miss golden hair and bear. will you ever find time to hibernate again? maybe in the empty paper strewn classrooms where you tried to teach so many packed in with the afternoon sunlight, in the evenings. maybe in the vacant former forests now charred & open fields. what you give so precious. even more so now, what with reduced crop yields.
what ever happened to your gold that we panned? gone west to find fortune, just as we planned? your infrastructure failing and falling down when the earth quakes, the nights unpredictable chills cause your natives shakes.
can sacramento save you, sweet boo? what about the dry skin drought you went through? carrying your water all the way from the sierras up north of saint francis down to sea level, drained by LA and dripping slowly into the mouths of the san diegans (mostly adopted sons and daughters of the Reagans).
Well that was it, that got a rise out of her, for sure, for sure. She knew it would, and so did I, its the package deal of politics, the always keeping score. She lifted her head right off wyoming, and bumped right into Oregon. She touched her tongue to air, and tasted lick of Portland. The taste was not good, not good at all. If California tasted so, that would signify great decline. The rain they got up north up there, Ken Keseys acid and still not fine.
She went into her diatribe, her monologue, her lost girl vibe. Dare to say 'no fair!' when salt is all remains to give? (her words disjointed like the spot around Big Sur where she twists but not alot. Then beeline to LA for lids, from early aging pharmaceutical kids. Avocado lotteries excluding food stamped bids. while all the hours that can make up thirty or more years, all the grief all the tears (she continued), drowned out below the cheers you gave our photogenic future president from the past? cowboy savior in the shadow of the duke? and typecast? better think harder, better think fast. Say no to drugs, it wont be your last. Easily said between healthy red cheeks and handkerchief wrapped around his neck. Say no to drugs and watch out everybody! Red Dawn is rising! now when i say Boo! just hit the deck. Give me money, let fear write the check.
She was clearly obsessed with Reagan, years after Reagans gone. This is where her illness became more than just a phenomenon. Dare we say an earthquake hit her? Would this be her swan song? Oh California, please dont leave me! where will i stay when you split in two and float out in the sea? Alas, i knew what to do to protect sanity, and boiled myself one more cup: green tea. this aint Arabian nights, but if you want part 2, youre gonna have to wait and see. To B Continued...
Thursday, 29 April 2010
when they tell u 'fuck u' you know they just hit you with the predicate
Fuck you! was her status quo response to alot of people in the past 6 months. She was angry, this brunette skinny leg low rise wearing queen who you would still want to meet if you were a guy, why? cause you love the way her blood circulates, the way her energy flows, breaking up the frozen river to your heart, creating various ice floes? cause of the way she comes up to kiss you and comes up on her toes?
fuck you... no wait! thats what he wants, she thought, simmering as she thought it. these guys these guys, when you let them part your thighs. whats wrong with you girl? you jus trying get a rise? yes, yes, you are. lets be honest. give it up. they are right, it is true. tonight im headed to to work them, work them all. tonight in my garter, tonight at the pool hall.
Not forever! fuck no! After having met the man her very jesus, all colors went pale, all voices went cold. She could have swore he was the savior, in modern day times. She knew the second coming would not be obvious or outdated, nor dressed to the nines. He was minimal, calm, wearing white, hanging with anyone, blind to class, non-judgmental...and denied nothing, held silence. Smoked cloves. She sized them up quick, this was part of her skill. The trauma she suffered fueled her vigilance, not her will.
She listened to her one and only savior, in extraordinary spirits and unusually mild-mannered; could be dubbed a miracle relative to her typical misbehavior. she promised she would go chaste before she went mental. he said he would throw a parade... (they both knew it wouldn't last, yet he treated her gentle).
heels so high, she's destined for a fall! everyone could see this, found her sad, base, demeaning, off-balance. the shorter guys would gather close, in hopes to receive her overcompensatory twins at eye level. She stuffed them somewhere in between her and them, mad as hell, ears ringing. Before she would enter the motel room known as hers, she shouted just a sec! to buy herself a few minutes. as she headed back to back rooms unidentified, where her mother not from birth looked her up and down...sighed.
fuck you! came her venom, residual to her chat with her pseudo-mom generic (better than the original, not so ignorant, more fun). all flourescent quality vibrational molecules could be cherished as they rained down up him from the balcony of the motel. Getting spit at by her may be least desired, but still he thought about it with his (characteristic) unrealistic kind of denial; as a connection. What for him was hard-wired. To most was plain weird.
The kind of guy who fails to comfort the desperate. Left her anxious and pissed, not that she knew different, when a trick tries to create some sick, concocted position. she once implored him for help to pay for dentures when her teeth hit the hygiene basement: enamel crack defacement. No dentures no flossing! You may blow me more often! see hes not worth it! she yelled to herself critically. What did you expect? he would forfeit?
The reference you may know, was to seven card poker; his favorite game, second only to Pin the Tail on the Choker. All which coalesced very nicely with our heroine borderline. Ya, the one who had some men breathing for her within a three hour acquaintance. The one who stopped his breath. Who kept his heart from frozen death. He could care less of his heart, he could care. Asked stanford surgeons to replace it with a pump, if they could. He could pay six digits was his offer...three weeks later the offer still stood.
She lost her patience and went mental, our tragic antigone. Ran away to Hollywood, then Vegas, then Hong Kong. Took pain pill generics to partial effect. Kept the cast waiting on many a porn set. Doing her K lines in some palace of brine; up in her head, things were fine fine fine....when truly she had given all the men all she had...had left her half of half-dead; underwhelmed, oversalted and unfed.
Kept company of one eyed jacks gone wild, token chain newport smokers, toward the end, out in Reno. they played well into the previous night, or so they said, what they know. Somebody probably dipped into deeper deep pockets. She was purported to have pawned a silver locket. Tumbleweeds tumbled round the edge of old Reno. Forecast was the usual, dry as a bone, the day she went missing; a tip called in by payphone. the receiver hung in the wind, looking defeated, when found. anxious drunks hung about similar, lost in their bottles and unsettled loans...With what teeth? what mortgage? with what home, what home?!
fuck you... no wait! thats what he wants, she thought, simmering as she thought it. these guys these guys, when you let them part your thighs. whats wrong with you girl? you jus trying get a rise? yes, yes, you are. lets be honest. give it up. they are right, it is true. tonight im headed to to work them, work them all. tonight in my garter, tonight at the pool hall.
Not forever! fuck no! After having met the man her very jesus, all colors went pale, all voices went cold. She could have swore he was the savior, in modern day times. She knew the second coming would not be obvious or outdated, nor dressed to the nines. He was minimal, calm, wearing white, hanging with anyone, blind to class, non-judgmental...and denied nothing, held silence. Smoked cloves. She sized them up quick, this was part of her skill. The trauma she suffered fueled her vigilance, not her will.
She listened to her one and only savior, in extraordinary spirits and unusually mild-mannered; could be dubbed a miracle relative to her typical misbehavior. she promised she would go chaste before she went mental. he said he would throw a parade... (they both knew it wouldn't last, yet he treated her gentle).
heels so high, she's destined for a fall! everyone could see this, found her sad, base, demeaning, off-balance. the shorter guys would gather close, in hopes to receive her overcompensatory twins at eye level. She stuffed them somewhere in between her and them, mad as hell, ears ringing. Before she would enter the motel room known as hers, she shouted just a sec! to buy herself a few minutes. as she headed back to back rooms unidentified, where her mother not from birth looked her up and down...sighed.
fuck you! came her venom, residual to her chat with her pseudo-mom generic (better than the original, not so ignorant, more fun). all flourescent quality vibrational molecules could be cherished as they rained down up him from the balcony of the motel. Getting spit at by her may be least desired, but still he thought about it with his (characteristic) unrealistic kind of denial; as a connection. What for him was hard-wired. To most was plain weird.
The kind of guy who fails to comfort the desperate. Left her anxious and pissed, not that she knew different, when a trick tries to create some sick, concocted position. she once implored him for help to pay for dentures when her teeth hit the hygiene basement: enamel crack defacement. No dentures no flossing! You may blow me more often! see hes not worth it! she yelled to herself critically. What did you expect? he would forfeit?
The reference you may know, was to seven card poker; his favorite game, second only to Pin the Tail on the Choker. All which coalesced very nicely with our heroine borderline. Ya, the one who had some men breathing for her within a three hour acquaintance. The one who stopped his breath. Who kept his heart from frozen death. He could care less of his heart, he could care. Asked stanford surgeons to replace it with a pump, if they could. He could pay six digits was his offer...three weeks later the offer still stood.
She lost her patience and went mental, our tragic antigone. Ran away to Hollywood, then Vegas, then Hong Kong. Took pain pill generics to partial effect. Kept the cast waiting on many a porn set. Doing her K lines in some palace of brine; up in her head, things were fine fine fine....when truly she had given all the men all she had...had left her half of half-dead; underwhelmed, oversalted and unfed.
Kept company of one eyed jacks gone wild, token chain newport smokers, toward the end, out in Reno. they played well into the previous night, or so they said, what they know. Somebody probably dipped into deeper deep pockets. She was purported to have pawned a silver locket. Tumbleweeds tumbled round the edge of old Reno. Forecast was the usual, dry as a bone, the day she went missing; a tip called in by payphone. the receiver hung in the wind, looking defeated, when found. anxious drunks hung about similar, lost in their bottles and unsettled loans...With what teeth? what mortgage? with what home, what home?!
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