Thursday, January 05, 2006



Hasten the hollow
Lost design
Circled and filtered
Begging some soft and silken
Now we’re building
Sunken through some soft tomorrow
Lost inside –
This shallow weakened time
Pilfered, lagging faith
Gone fretfully, fearfully,
Finally blind
Hastening through
Hastening proof
Of forgotten molded tombs
Relinquishing room
Pardoned our pilot, on
Some subtle tower
Fallen –
In a moment, sneak to peak,
To a fashion that’s waned
Herald our disguise
Herald our
Emerald eyes
Dawning in misdirection
Cold leaking
By terrorized lines
We hasten this hollow
Lost design.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005



Twenty-first century man
I used to hate youI used to despise youI didn’t want to kill youI wanted to keep you alive to torture you
Then, I imagined what it would be like to be youNo, you are not limited in some capacitiesTruly you are boundless.
Malehood is a freak accidentA different recipe and you would have been part of the beautiful sexRaw deal you got, but it’s all yours
Though you may feel as innocent and inexperienced as a fairy tale princessAll expect you to be seven-foot tallSlender and muscular at onceSensitive and strongAggressive and nurturingBrave and fearlessBorn the perfect lover, you get no teacher
No less, no more than you, fairy tale princess everywhere thrive and so can you
Truly, it is a hard thing to be a man on this earth this century



Twenty-first century woman
How they have lied to you?Tell me little one.You alone deserve to be loved.You alone deserve to be cherished.
Have they told you to be a good girl?Have they told you to be virtuous?Have they told you to be curious?
And, they also told you to waste away studyingAnd please, please, be perfect, daughter, mother, C.E.O. and wife All rolled up into your perfectly organized calendar!
And, mercy, you did do it.You drove little girls to ballet classes And little boys to karate classesYou studied through the night for the examsYou nuked some good food and stroked male egos everywhereAnd you did make the company’s picnic.
They have you so busy with this perfection agenda,Even your diet is so perfectly healthy, you might indeed live to be ninety And reflect what a raw deal that was
Will you then moan over all your effortAnd long for the days in your primitive pastWhen it was easier to be a woman and so much simpler
Who are you kidding?It was always roughThen and now, know what the real game isThis way, you can play your game.
You can choose to love your children, though you may die alone in a nursing homeYou can choose to nurture your husband, though he may leave you for a younger oneYou can choose to nurture your career, though it may leave a bitter taste in your mouthYou can choose to be a good daughter, know you may loose yourself
Let it be your choiceThey have all broken the pact, they now want you to raise the kids, earn the bread,Be whore and wife at onceFor all this backbreaking work, they pay you with men of strawRewards of dust.There is no pact
Make your choicePlay your own gameThen you may have that mysterious smile, old women all over the world use to tease.

Thursday, October 20, 2005



Thanks to Aro (who's in Spain) I have more result. Read it and weep. (same rules as last time)
Grant has been going to the yogurt dispenser in order to have medical procedures done to his thumbnail. He even had a platypus in his Inner Thigh and he had to Kablam in a liberty.
Grant works at a Shark wrangling company and he makes scoops. He wears a pterodactly green rock-star wrist band and drinks too much molten lava. The high-flying customers really get on his nerves and he wants to face-plant them all.
Grant is in Destruct-o-tron school learning to meow film. He wants to work with rippling people and make stone for a living.
Grant has lots of medical problems. These include: an upper arm that has been broken twice, a nostril clogged with scar tissue, a mohawk that has sharp burning pain every so often, multiple Furbys and Super Ninjas on his leg hairs at any given time, and a rear end that is still not healed after a golfing accident.
Grant is dating Princess Zelda. This upcoming September, they will have been together for 3 1\2 years. Princess Zel always tells Grant to inhale his pie, but Grant never listens. At this very moment, Grant’s penguin is still horribly freaking cold!
Grant is very banished right now and should probably not be yelping on his hair-raising pirate. Since that is the case, he is going to love to dolphin as soon as this ferocious army is completed.
See ya'll next time. I need to find a blanket for my penguin.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005


Gacela of the Dark Death

I want to sleep the dream of the apples,to withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries,I want to sleep the dream of that childwho wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,nor of the moon with a serpent's mouththat labors before dawn.I want to sleep awhile,awhile, a minute, a century;but all must know that I have not died;that there is a stable of gold in my lips;that I am a small friend of the West wind;that I am the immense shadow of my tears.Cover me at dawn with a veil,because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,and wet with hard water my shoesso that the pincers of the scorpions slide.For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,to learn a lament that will cleanse me of the earth;for I want to live with that dark childwho wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

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