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Array
(
[sid] => 50973
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Strings of kings and things with wings as beings with springs wear rings
[time] => 2004-06-08 14:02:49
[hometext] => In collaboration with Vitreous Soul ; ) (sorry--
[bodytext] => I wish I was one of those cat clocks with the pendulum tails and the shifty eyes. I could just see all the seeds of nightmares I'll plant. A regular Johnny Appleseed. The cat-clock-girl. Sometime I'd like to eat my fist, just to see what it tastes like. I was driving down the parkway When I parked within a driveway Combustion engine fires pistons I speak these phrases no one listens A mouse made plural addressed as mice Yet house times two cannot be hice Double squared is multiplied twice Trouble scared will flee in a trice Depravity a treasured vice Concavity a measured slice Impetuous, refusesd advice I am out of Dutch Chocolate Torte Cake. Thus my existence is deadened with one fatal blow. I've found that White is not the presence of white But the absence of black Dot Dot Dot North is south and west is east Walking dead are living deceased Up is down and red is blue For they are them and me is you Many things I just don't get Two, similarly opposite? A spirit that's wildly tame With one differently the same Why can't the sky be bright green Why aren't transparent objects seen Why can't lush meadows be blue Why can't facts be proven untrue During our Easter sunday dinner at my grandparents house, my mother pulled me aside to share a quite fascinating discovery. Now, just to note, my grandmother has only a couple marbles left to her name. If you catch that drift. And she directs me towards the refridgerator, whose door is sitting open. What? Inside my grandmother's frigidare are: 3 jars of mayonnaise 2 spray cans of Cool Whip 8 different, opened bottles of Parmesean Cheese 7 bottles of Ranch dressing and 2 of regular French And you wonder, How is this a true story? Don't wonder--- It's true, I assure. A sleepless soul, try to survive I'm still awake, it's ten past five The birds, they sing; my nerves they drive The night is gone, watch day arrive Repose eludes, I lie in bed Now what else can I do instead A mantra true runs through my head "There's time to sleep when I am dead" Sometimes if you say a word enough times... it isn't a word anymore. Just grunting and moving your lips. Then I think to myself, "Self, you should get some sleep before walking isn't walking anymore and life isn't life." We have such skill with our pens Makes us a hot commodity With our warped and twisted minds Our words are used for oddity A jumbled work chaotic A scrawling completely random Take in all these thoughts bizarre Ramblings of eccentric tandem [comments] => 3 [counter] => 199 [topic] => 25 [informant] => Jellybellyprincess [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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