gettin' gin lives in that iceberg over there
I
When I first saw you I thought, "Oh Rebel Rebel," another one of those
cock-eyed cool-cat consumers of specialized TV show wear. Ah,
another one of those seemingly splendid cigarette kids pining for
pious thought, dreaming night and day about getting twenty dollars
and gutting fish bait in the annals of historic carnivoric digestive
juice instead of slitting straight-lined A's in the alleyways lighting
up smoke outside the fields schoolgrounds fairgrounds playgrounds.
When I first saw you I wasn't sure what would come out o
Candies tainted with Mexican factories, said the
Newspapers in California. Oh, California,
Network of fame and high-profile attorneys,
May you live informed on the West Coast.
Ah, Chaca Chaca, my Ayala Lauder,
Kidnapping in Santa Ana is truly an
Example for our children.
Sunday's editions tell us all, no?
Moguls in the mall of Mali simply cannot be
Eaten, as manufacturers showed high levels of
Lead. You are MOST POPULAR; save this, email that,
Associated Press of Southern California.
Unsafe as chili powder is, I find
Gasoline to be more concerning.
Here, California, your lies are seen through.
A venture down the highway found me lost,
Sustaining thrill with valiant blunder while
The silhouette of metrist Robert Frost
In nimble verse accompanied a mile.
"And miles to go before I sleep," said he,
Filling the silence with his clever sounds
As I sipped on quixotic Earl Grey Tea
And suffered to extremes the illness bounds.
When good old Robert was the oven bird
And settled over all the highway dust,
I stopped my reading as my thoughts occurred:
Did I and could I in my senses trust?
With that I found the way at last through my
Running shoes and I was found, by and by.
What the hell, she thought,
Rifling through the pages
In which were ingrained
The very truths of her
Innermost secret self.
No, not good enough; she
Grabbed hold of the shredded trees and tore.
she's yearning for that free road
and she hasn't set foot yet
but someday in her old age
she'll look back at her youth
and realize that what everyone else said
about childhood was so untrue
because all they cared about were
material things and superficial experiences
that didn't mean anything besides the purity
of the moments.
and she's thirsty for that highway path
and her tank's half full half empty
but she doesn't floor the pedal just yet
because she knows the tumbleweeds dent metal
and she's unsure where the strip leads anyway
so she won't go until the signal flares its
"you're allowed to live" digits.
and she's longing f
People know better than I
who I am.
They know where I'm going;
everything from my future career to
what dreams I eventually kill
is clearer to the others than to myself.
Perhaps someday
I'll suddenly discover after
I
graduate
from
college
that maybe, just maybe,
they were right and I
was simply just
caught up with the need
to not be serious
and not accept help
with anything concerning
the future in general and my
inexperienced too-teenaged life.
It seems as though almost everyone sings
about California. They sing about
how it's so warm, how it's so great. Movie
heaven, celebrity gatherings, and
Disneyland. All I can think about when
someone mentions California is how
I had to spend a week with my great aunt's
diabetic cat. It kept throwing up
and one day I accidentally let
it out of the house. I remember that
there were male cats of all shapes and sizes
sitting on the lawn, on the low brick wall
and on the steps of the house. My great aunt
had to go outside and rescue the sick
cat from the suitors. The cat was very
picky and stubborn, and that was why she
was diabetic
The Real[ity Of] Mice and Men by floppymoo, literature
Literature
The Real[ity Of] Mice and Men
The sun was setting, and the orangey-red light came through the three windows and danced across the colorless floors and the white walls of the bunk house. There were metallic clangs coming from outside, but the scarce cheers were subdued. Slim and George sat facing each other at the card table. In front of George there was a partially played game of solitaire which looked like a gust of wind had blown through the room and scattered the cards on the table. Cards were strewn on the ground near the box George was sitting on, but he paid them no attention and instead stared blankly into his hands folded in his lap. He examined the lines in
11/27/02
2:30 PM – It's snowing; only lightly, but still discernable. My bus driver slows to a halt at the Decaturs', my normal bus stop, which is a long block away from my house. I get up and walk down the aisle. When I near the exit, the driver turns toward me and tells me that she can drop me off in front of my driveway if I want. "I'm not that mean," she says to me. "You'll have to show me where your house is; if it's ever really cold out you can just wait in your driveway and I'll pick you up." I nod, glance at her sad basset hound face and vaguely wonder what she does other than drive busfuls of loud, obnoxious high-schoolers. H
Row Me, Oh! and Juliet-With-The-Pronunciation-"Hoo-liet"
Act 4
-Scene 1-
[Enter Fryer L'r'nce and French City]
FRYER L'R'NCE
Hey, Thursday it is, right?
The time is very short.
Maybe 3'2", maybe 3'1"...? (gestures the heights, with a big difference between the 2)
We haven't got much time.
FRENCH CITY
[in a heavy French accent maintained throughout the scenes, or if you can't, just fake one]
Oui, oui. Vieux M. Capulet, mon b-- *ahem*
Yes, yes. My future father-in-law-to-be said so himself.
I couldn't agree more with him.
Hooliet will be mine, mine, MINE! (evil laugh)
*Ahem* Eh, pardon.
I am nothing.
Slow two slacks!
His pa
Trembling, she opened the drawer and took out the small silver handgun. It fit snugly in her hand, like it was meant to be there. Her whole body shook as she cocked it and held it up, looking at it.
She could do it right then and there, in her parents' bedroom. No one would miss her. Everyone at school was too preoccupied with their own affairs to notice if she was there or not.
But it would hurt. She suddenly imagined herself lying on the ground, blood everywhere. She shuddered. Then she remembered something she had heard – if you shot yourself in the temple, it wouldn't hurt. She shuddered again just thinking.
She would be free.
I didn't learn anything new. We're all human, no matter where we're from. Country of residence could change in an instant. We're versatile. We're flexible. We've created transportation devices to move us around in somewhat more practical ways than going by foot. One can hold dual citizenships, or more. What does it matter when there are people of all ethnic backgrounds gathered in one place? We're united as one -- the human race. Yet, people still discriminate based on race -- or if not race, then country. (Not to mention prejudice against gender, religious beliefs, sexual orientation -- or even fashionability and even a simple thing such as
She writes with huge sweeping arcs.
Spit odium.
Black paint on a clean white wall,
a blemish for every sin.
Condensation forms in the shape of words.
Frosty self-hate bottled,
finally uncorked.
Turning on herself viciously all the while
knowing that she could expunge the evidence if needed.
Stupid. Fuck-up. Failure.
Paint can with innards sloppily applied,
unleashing devastation.
\"Do not consume; inflammable.\"
Douse the fire dry with cover.
Any indication obliterated when finished installment.
silent documenter of history
lifeless recorder of life
hexagonal, tip indites
copper metallic bullet spewing forth thick blue blood
handwritten glimpses of reality
tool evolved – automatic flow
skilcraft, mix and match
blue hemisphere ending to a white barrel shaft
hard and brittle and yet soft and flexible
perfect in the grips of rhymers and rimers,
artists and authors, doctors and dramatists alike
useful to even those illiterate
one of many
a species varied
creation in the hands of mankind
a taste of the personalities of the past
Silky camouflaged ties, white against royal blue
Military officer conductor
Overenthusiastic around a herd of sitting drones
Waving his arms upon toes
Whipping the players with a pillow and hoping that
Maybe all the right notes will be played at the right times
With good pitch and good tone and
Expression
Flat waves indicate nervousness falling on deaf ears
Slouching yawning robotic fortuitous movements
Signifying to gold-medal veterans that chance laid them on stage
Arrogance flares
Minutes of agony go by
And it\'s a standing ovation
PROGRAM:TSPROG
:1 -> A
:2 -> B
:3 -> C
:4 -> D
:5 -> E
:6 -> F
:7 -> G
:8 -> H
:9 -> I
:10 -> J
:11 -> K
:12 -> L
:13 -> M
:14 -> N
:15 -> O
:16 -> P
:17 -> Q
:18 -> R
:19 -> S
:20 -> T
:21 -> U
:22 -> V
:23 -> W
:24 -> X
:25 -> Y
:26 -> Z
:DISP "ENTER FULL NAME"
:DISP "W/O SPACES"
:Input "YOUR NAME",Ø
:DISP "YOU ARE WORTH",Ø
:DISP "POINTS"