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Array
(
[sid] => 13666
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Everyone There Made Complete A**es of Themselves at the Automat
[time] => 2003-03-03 19:00:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => And he was wearing these light
brown shoes with a pair of very black pants. I mean, this is something I just cannot accept! I didn't do anything about it. Movie cameras. Hard-living criminals; and Porn girls, looking right at me. O if only I could've set down that ugly paranoia! Instead I recalled old Mr. Bojangles, and the conversation continued: "You know I don't believe in cups?" he asked. "Oh yeah?" I responded, "Why's that?" "I'm afraid they cheat gravity," he said. "Fascinating," I added, "So, the faucet is right out then too, yes?" "Most certainly," he confirmed, "every day I walk twenty miles east, then slip my tongue into the virgin Mississippi." I took a sip, "That's quite the jaunt my friend." "Yes," he smiled, "and most refreshing." After looking about I figured I should stop talking crazy to myself. I'd have brought the necessities, but my mind doesn't work that way. Things are always in the future, they're always coming, but somehow they never seem to finally get there. I put the razor blades back on the shelf. I felt I didn't deserve a hairless body after all. The sandwiches and applesauce were passed around like some, fantastic ritual. The first in line didn't want saliva dripping from their bread, and the last were hungry and poor enough not to care anyway, so what happened was everyone there made complete asses of themselves at the automat where the machines proved more intelligent. I couldn't hold it against them though. They didn't know we were in Russia. It was around that time when I had discovered that the sky really was blue. Or was it green? I don't remember. It's been a while since I've looked at the sky. My colouring books seem to convince me that it's drab with nothing much to look at, so I sold the rights to Nature for a cup of coffee and a good conversation at Denny's. That was the night I had left a box of crayons as a tip for the waitress. It was up to her to evaluate how much they were really worth. I sure hope she enjoyed them. Sometimes when things are over, you simply walk back into the cliché "vast barren wasteland" known as here and there. Then there are those times when things begin, and the here and there walks into you. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 185 [topic] => 30 [informant] => Adam_Gaucher [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => PoemsonBeauty )
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