Goddess!
enemies love it,
menopausal drawers.

Better yet,
use a rubber.
Fool.

Entitled, Because Now I Look Like a Cheapskate

Do not, at office
Baby showers, employ the
Online registry

No Rolex
No sex

Your genitalia
Does not have the features
I require
for Penetralia*

(including shininess**)

*with apologies to the artist whose show’s name I ripped off

**with apologies to LP

The destination of this train is
God’s Rectum

This train will run express to
God’s Rectum

these ditties I write
in green highlighter pen
on yellow post-it pads
under fluorescent lights
the color of unforgiveness
while the trembling red line
of the Mozilla Gods
tell me that unforgiveness
is not a word

I guess the Gods
have never had Christmas dinner
with my mother

And that is why
I ride an express train
to their rectum

to impart upon them
these and other truths.

Wine.

Wine, wine, wine, wine, wine, wine, wine, wine, WINE!

Wine.

Poems and Poetry
In the month of October
Should include Monsters

Meditations on Lunch At My Desk

The cashew is smooth
The walnut, rumpled
But both are beige

While the raisin is purple

The raisin stand alone,
Yes the raisin stands alone.

The pain of waiting
Waiting after eating
Eating too many burritos
Waiting for the farts to come.

I was inspired by YOU, Dimmer! Hee hee.

Ah, sweet stuff Moon. I fully expect a (much better) remake of “Gone with the wind” this decade.

Fartin’ in the morning,
Fartin’ in the evening,
Fartin’ all summertime!

When you’re really gassy,
The wind is never fine!

The day starts
with my multiple farts.

(There’s another word
to use rather than “multiple”
but I may have just shat my pants
and “multiple”
will just have to do.)

downstains
stains you obtain
from sitting down
in something
wretched

or

stains blossoming
downstairs
if you know what I mean
blossoming after
a miscalculation
a bad call
or Taco Bell for lunch

or at least be less of a douchebag.

Anyway:

mai kitteh
watches me
thru
the frosted
soap-stained
shower door
thinking of
in no
order
particular tuna tartare the revolution the foxy Russian blue who used to live downstains
and the desert nights
ah, those desert nights
resting on the sand
with the finality of night
in the desert.

You would be mekkin toonz
bed toonz
if you knew
how to woo
a lady or two
with a proper haiku

What can I say, friend?
Woke up on wrong side of bed.
noisy neighbors suck.

so fuck off and die

harsh, dude,
like a brillo pad
made of pubes.

What I lack in skill
I make up for in mindless
belligerence, see?

I am too tired
to think of poetry now
so fuck off and die

say it
poetically
fool

But you’re still dead to me.

I was gonna say…

[a lover of the dead, even]

You miss, are now dead to me.

The necrophiliac’s retort
would make me moist
were I lusty for
a lower of the dead.

five; you lose, haha.

Mock me, will you?

You miss, are now dead to me.

Lit nerd must object
A haiku is five seven
five; you lose, haha.

Thump thump goes mattress
Amorous neighbors upstairs
Joys of city life, alas

sticky snow
floats down
like discarded
dreams or
people I
used to
know people
I used
to be

You gonna finish that?

Sometimes I imagine shaving Esme, and I think, God, she would look horrible. - Lady P

P is a Lady.
Yet ponders her shorn pussy
It’s a paradox.

kidnap poem
(Nikki Giovanni)

ever been kidnapped
by a poet
if i were a poet
i’d kidnap you
put you in my phrases and meter
you to jones beach
or maybe coney island
or maybe just to my house
lyric you in lilacs
dash you in the rain
blend into the beach
to complement my see
play the lyre for you
ode you with my love song
anything to win you
wrap you in the red Black green
show you off to mama
yeah if i were a poet i’d kid
nap you

poetry

Potery slam

A smoke first, then we go. A smoke

I like this a lot, Dimmer.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen is a great fucking poem, TAP. Thanks.

I love that Noel Coward, I do. He’s in my favorite movie.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen
(Noel Coward)

In tropical climes there are certain times of day
When all the citizens retire,
to tear their clothes off and perspire.
It’s one of those rules that the biggest fools obey,
Because the sun is much too sultry and one must avoid
its ultry-violet ray --
Papalaka-papalaka-papalaka-boo. (Repeat)
Digariga-digariga-digariga-doo. (Repeat)
The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,
Because they’re obviously, absolutely nuts --

Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The Japanese don’t care to, the Chinese wouldn’t dare to,
Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one,
But Englishmen detest a siesta,
In the Philippines there are lovely screens,
to protect you from the glare,
In the Malay states there are hats like plates,
which the Britishers won’t wear,
At twelve noon the natives swoon, and
no further work is done -
But Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

It’s such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,
That though the British are effete,
they’re quite impervious to heat,
When the white man rides, every native hides in glee,
Because the simple creatures hope he will
impale his solar topee on a tree.
Bolyboly-bolyboly-bolyboly-baa. (Repeat)
Habaninny-habaninny-habaninny-haa. (Repeat)
It seems such a shame that when the English claim the earth
That they give rise to such hilarity and mirth -

Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The toughest Burmese bandit can never understand it.
In Rangoon the heat of noon is just what the natives shun.
They put their scotch or rye down, and lie down.
In the jungle town where the sun beats down,
to the rage of man or beast,
The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.
In Bangkok, at twelve o’clock, they foam at the mouth and run,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen, go out in the midday sun.
The smallest Malay rabbit deplores this stupid habit.
In Hong Kong, they strike a gong, and fire off a noonday gun.
To reprimand each inmate, who’s in late.
In the mangrove swamps where the python romps
there is peace from twelve till two.
Even caribous lie down and snooze, for there’s nothing else to do.
In Bengal, to move at all, is seldom if ever done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

It’s late.
The cat visits.
Begs me for bed.
Not for bestial purposes:
Just so she can curl around my head.

A smoke first, then we go. A smoke.

‘Red breasted robin
In make believe mid-morning,
Hop along.

I am neither a man of romance nor reason
although my actions may speak to both

I am a man misinformed with spleen eviscerated
spread around to splay the entire furrow-
as it were or when or what, I know not
but the splendid circuits of sorrow

For this is the filthy declaration of the 21st c. highbrow rustic’

Avoid Enhancement Pills

Ramsey was suddenly weary. How
Gideon laughed. “Including me!”
Ramsey sat down and stretched.
“Are you certain you didnt let...?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “But I-ha!”
Gideon laughed again. “Perhaps,”
Ramsey shook his head. “Do you...”

My father is to blame for this

Gideon laughed again. “Perhaps.
How is it that I have had to do?”
The question exasperated Ramse:
“She sent her refusals from her-”
Gideon instantly sobered. “But
Are you certain you didnt let...”
“She sent her refusals from her.”

“My father is to blame for this!”

Ramsey shook his head. “Do you?
You dont have a choice in the--”
Ramsey stood and then suggeste
“Aye, and it might rain pigs th--”
Gideon laughed again. P"erhaps,
Not yet,” he answered. “But I—ha!”
“Then Id brace myself if I were-”
Ramsey was suddenly weary. How

My father is to blame for this?

It Was Torn About the Pockets and the Collar Was Shiny

A party favour with no surprise inside it. Glaubt dem Geruchte nicht!
Sometimes the damage was relatively minor,
good inventions that weren’t
quite right for the
target environment. Impact A:

remote attacker may attain
the privilege level of the authentication module.
On the other hand, probabilistic schemes
may be much faster than
their deterministic counterparts,
an attractive feature for
smart-card implementations.

Your workstation uses the Hypertext
Transfer Protocol (HTTP) to respond to browser requests!

We don’t clap people in irons,
we put them in chains. So why was it
not her face that kept filling his mind?
You can’t just leave it lying there.
One of the Queen’s heads dipped
into a bowl, came up with a small
carven doodad in its mouth.

Line breaks are taken into account.

In multiple display
environments where no display
contains the control, the display
closest to the specified control
is returned.

When used as a link,
the pixel coordinates
of the click spot are
transmitted with the URL.

Rats, she supposed,
died when they should.
Finally Fraser gets through
to his young lady in Paris.
The ground rose, wooded and sandy,
to overlook the meadow,
the stretch of river
and the swamp.

Gets the access keys
in the collection.
This utility
can detect if a
host is alive
and
get the information
of the route
to the host.

There was another article
that had become necessary,
a small lighter.

Line breaks are taken into account.

This is a guess,
but not a completely
uneducated one. Shortly after
his return on leave
to Russia in 1825,
the Decembrists staged
their revolt.

If this method is not required,
this can be omitted,
will default to
NULL,
and will be ignored.

This technology creates
virtual workgroups
based on protocol type
or subnetwork address,
and requires less
configuration
on the part
of the network manager.

ToP - you FILTH MERCHANT! I shall have you disbarred for sharing that with the unspoilt eyes and minds of the jerryhood.

Eloisa to Abelard
by Alexander Pope
In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav’nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal’s veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal’d,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal’d.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix’d with God’s, his lov’d idea lies:
O write it not, my hand--the name appears
Already written--wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg’d with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey’d virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov’d, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav’n’s while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray’rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath’d in sighs, still usher’d with a tear.
I tremble too, where’er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o’erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with’ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent’s solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench’d th’ unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow’r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray’r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
Heav’n first taught letters for some wretch’s aid,
Some banish’d lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin’s wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

Thou know’st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach’d me under Friendship’s name;
My fancy form’d thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th’ all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp’ring ev’ry day,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz’d; heav’n listen’d while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail’d to move?
Too soon they taught me ‘twas no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish’d an Angel whom I lov’d a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them, that heav’n I lose for thee.

How oft, when press’d to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove,
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires;
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world’s great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I’d scorn ‘em all:
Not Caesar’s empress would I deign to prove;
No, make me mistress to the man I love;
If there be yet another name more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, possessing, and possess’d,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev’n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas, how chang’d! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
Her poniard, had oppos’d the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress’d,
Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.

Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
When victims at yon altar’s foot we lay?
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss’d the sacred veil,
The shrines all trembl’d, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav’n scarce believ’d the conquest it survey’d,
And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix’d, but you:
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamour’d let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press’d;
Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray’r.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You rais’d these hallow’d walls; the desert smil’d,
And Paradise was open’d in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father’s stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv’n,
Here brib’d the rage of ill-requited heav’n:
But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker’s praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown’d,
Where awful arches make a noonday night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus’d a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten’d all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
‘Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others’ pray’rs I try,
(O pious fraud of am’rous charity!)
But why should I on others’ pray’rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o’er yon rocks reclin’d
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand’ring streams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But o’er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev’ry flow’r, and darkens ev’ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.

Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
And here, ev’n then, shall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till ‘tis no sin to mix with thine.

Ah wretch! believ’d the spouse of God in vain,
Confess’d within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heav’n! but whence arose that pray’r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev’n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn’d to Heav’n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
‘Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th’ offender, yet detest th’ offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch’d, so pierc’d, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget.
But let Heav’n seize it, all at once ‘tis fir’d;
Not touch’d, but rapt; not waken’d, but inspir’d!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
“Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;”
Desires compos’d, affections ever ev’n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav’n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp’ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th’ unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav’nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch’d away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh curs’d, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o’er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake--no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more--methinks we wand’ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other’s woe,
Where round some mould’ring tower pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow’d rocks hang nodding o’er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long, dead calm of fix’d repose;
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv’n,
And mild as opening gleams of promis’d heav’n.

Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check’d; Religion disapproves;
Ev’n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th’ unfruitful urn.

What scenes appear where’er I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev’ry hymn to hear,
With ev’ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown’d,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.

While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops just gath’ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is op’ning on my soul:
Come, if thou dar’st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav’n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray’rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!

No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate’er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov’d, ador’d ideas, all adieu!
Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav’nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!

See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propp’d on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch’d the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
“Come, sister, come!” (it said, or seem’d to say)
“Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray’d,
Love’s victim then, though now a sainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev’n superstition loses ev’ry fear:
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.”

I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow’rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow’rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin’d in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no--in sacred vestments may’st thou stand,
The hallow’d taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov’d Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
Till ev’ry motion, pulse, and breath be o’er;
And ev’n my Abelard be lov’d no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when ‘tis man we love.

Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown’d,
Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,
From op’ning skies may streaming glories shine,
And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.

May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o’er,
When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wand’ring lovers brings
To Paraclete’s white walls and silver springs,
O’er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov’d,
“Oh may we never love as these have lov’d!”

From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion’s self shall steal a thought from Heav’n,
One human tear shall drop and be forgiv’n.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn’d whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint ‘em, who shall feel ‘em most.

Fred Schneider from Athens, Georgia wrote:

She came from Planet Claire
I knew she came from there
She drove a Plymouth Satellite
Faster than the speed of light

Planet Claire has pink air
All the trees are red
No one ever dies there
No one has a head

Some say she’s from Mars
Or one of the seven stars
That shine after
3:30 in the morning
WELL SHE ISN’T

the poetry nook
is for pansies
i’m going to watch
Hockey Night in Canada
and have a beer commercial life
for the evening

These are the words of a lad from Glasgow. They mean a great deal to me.

once upon a sign i read a warning and it said
‘when in rome don’t feed the lions’
what is meant i can’t hazard a guess
but now i’ve learned my lesson i’m a better person
i’m filled up with high hopes and i’m fed up with soft soaps
long in the tooth and short on wisdom
up to here with the ache of it

and if the matchmaker calls hand in hand
with a catch of the day i’ll rise to the bait
but it’ll still be more than a heart can take
more than feeling great
more than a tongue can tell

i’d need to take leave of my senses to get a moment’s rest
following in footsteps
footsure in fancy dress
head in my hands i’m making plans
hoovering up for the day

when the matchmaker calls hand in hand
with the catch of the day i’ll raise to the bait
but it’ll still be more then a heart can take
more than feeling great
more than a tongue can tell

and the itch to get rich quick
has never been so hard to reach
with my hands tied behind my back
shin deep in cement and sand
just like the anchor man i broke loose
and crashed to the sea bed
clutching the shortest straw
and if you threw me a line that’s as smart as you think
it wouldn’t stop me sinking down to cry
on what flashed before my eyes
what flashed before my eyes

The Leader thinks you are disgusting, and would you please put that down.

The Leader thinks that your future progeny’s English class is in for a bacon-clad treat.

The Leader

The Leader is radiant, and pure, and all-knowing.

The Leader had some altoids for lunch.  They upset His stomach.

The Leader enjoys buckets of chicken and ticker tape parades.

The Leader knows where you hid the bodies, and thinks you’ve done a fantastic job.

The Leader was, in a previous life, a performing seal at a third-rate Sea World-esque amusement park.  To this day, The Leader shudders at the sight of brightly colored rubber balls.

The Leader would like your milk money.  He would like to buy milk.  And Heroin.  (Mostly Heroin)

The Leader loves you and your twenty eight teeth.

The Leader once had a threesome with Bea Arthur and the Lincoln Memorial statue, and it was beautiful, for such are the powers of the leader that he imbues all with a beauty that is radiant and pure, much like himself.

The Leader is amused that you actually believed the last story.

The Leader would like a back massage.  Please bring the chattering turtles.

tbc

My prescribing shrink says
I need
a Neurologist: I came up with
this Music Man song, it was
wonderful and I—

forget it.
Extras H.

My prescribing shrink says I need a Neurologist: I came up with this Music Man song, it was wonderful and I forget it. Extras H.