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Array
(
[sid] => 109284
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Quixotic blood
[time] => 2005-11-08 02:15:33
[hometext] => this just came out, dont' bother trying to psychoanalyze it away :D
[bodytext] => oh yes...another night, another ramble, another nightmare wirring through the sky and into my heart, like the hordes of soilders of Peter the Great (what was he so great for anyway) Take me home to the soil where my skin can rest assured in the grass, Smelling of dandylions and two bit novels, the printer has run out of Color ink. and i must live in black and white. Purple rays of sunshine shielding me from my own naivete, Running around aimlessly looking for something, A wanderlust so strong, so potent, that it can not be pinned down like a monarch butterfly on a peace of cork. Intoxicated by the smell of the ingorance of youth, we stumble over our untied shoes, tying bows in our hair and knots on our tongue, we remain silent. Hiking up our jeans, cleaning our glasses, brushing our teeth, does it matter? Caught in the landslide of materialism while we struggle to find that person living inside of us, struggling to find the one other person in the universe who can see that person, the unanmed source of passion, the bohemian hiding under the mask, the patient, starving, lost soul out there writing poems in chalk on a rainy street. disillusioned children flee into fairy tales of Hollister and Abercrombie and Fitch as they search for Just the Right Top to match their Just Right Lives. As if... as if we are not all born from dust, and then return to dust. Staring up at the stars, wanting to look God straight in the eye and ask why. But knowing all along. that the only answer is to sit very, extremely still. very, extremely, still. and pray. and just let it be. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 178 [topic] => 21 [informant] => SunflowersAndTea [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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