08567552747

last nite i w as feel in gsa d

so i texted a great poet

i said :

                                              dear goD

do you think, if
i havent really suffered
if

basically

                                                          ive lived a spoiled
and                          TOTALLY


       pampered life

is there still a chance that sometimes
at least

i could still write good poetry ?

and hE said no.

No my child
as with anything in lifE

there are prerequisites :

like two heads in the oven
or a noose hanging
off a wooden beam

a chair kicked over into the corner of a room
those are the ideal
asia weevils
plaths

you need those

but who would want those my child

wouldnt you just want to be dr williams
dead of a recurring stroke
that pushed his weelchair
into a bush
of crimson cyclamen

he, pushed over
headfirst ?

leave dying alone
at a stinking hospital bed at tangiers
both yr legs cut off at the knees

leave greatness
to the real Gods

to the Rimbauds of the world
to the Rambos of the world

remember how in First Blood Part Un
he had to chisel a bullet
out of his arm
with a hunting knife ?

you want that ?

no you dont
believe mE

you wouldnt want that kind of lifE
greatness is overrated
believe mE

Mnemosyne

i remember you

the center of the universe on a square patch of grass

it was early summer

the grass was the colour of your hair

blond, bits of dark, natural roots

as if you and god decide which strands of hair and grass

should go ahead and shield the rest from the sun

god, thou lazy hephaestos !

you were sitting on a green bench

regulation issue, parks dept.

with one of the cross-bars on its back missing

you were sitting leaning forward

into the sun

when i saw you

from behind the hedge-bush

trimmed immaculately like always in that city of buddhist order

you were wearing :

peasant dress, black with grey almost invisible vines running through the black

imitation rm williams, black

green cotton socks.

i remember your pale pale chicken legs

the copy of carrie fishers surrrender the pink you werent reading

lying abandoned next to you

i remember you

there

white as the sun

clouds of freckles on your pudgy face

the sun brought them there

and me to you

i remember myself

standing there

enjoying the view of you

waiting for me

i enjoy the view of anyone waiting for me !

but especially you !

i wished i could peel the bright blue sky

and show you heaven in all its glory :

nothing compared

to the heaven in me

now !

in nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti

esorais m’hos ekdika paskho !

im happy

i will not let the grass go green

ever again.

let this moment be
 
the eternal summer

of my happiness.

in loving memory.


 

she wrote this then he wrote this and then im such a smart ass

violet wrote on Dec 6

drugs, modern day fruits of 'the tree of knowledge of good and evil'. the shortcuts to god, or godliness at least. and poor know-it-all men and women, most of them can't handle the knowledge. knowledge, our original high, our original sin. the more we know, the more helpless we become. the world is a giant rehab, you fools, for god has expelled adam and eve from eden. and we're now suffering from a life-long hangover fighting terrible withdrawals overcoming relapses. we're not coming down, we're down there, way down. our doctors are dressed in gowns and turbans carrying bibles and korans. then we create discotheques and open-air rave parties and put our doctors behind the turntables. a squeamish effort to make things a wee bit bearable.

that's why i think beer is better.

hahahaha

blackuniverse wrote on Dec 6

and we throw each other bread crumbs while citizen dicks and government licks
run around naked singing lullabies carrying still-born babies looking for comfort underneath the churches' canopies crying dying jumping like lucifer on crack

thats why i also think beer is so feckin much better.

:)

thetruthaboutjakarta wrote on Dec 6

violet reply violet wrote today at blackuniverse reply blackuniverse wrote 3:43 AM today edited AM 3:20

in the beginning was the drugs
on the seventh hour then
we throw each other modern day fruits
of 'the tree of bread crumbs'
knowledge of citizen dicks
good and evil government,
the shortcuts to god, godliness, hot licks.
at least.
poor know-it-all men and women
run around naked,
singing 'can't handle the knowledge!,
can't handle the knowledge!'
lullabies
our original high,
our original sin.
the more we know
of still-born babies,
the more helpless we become.
the world is a giant comfort
rehab, you fools!
for god has expelled adam
and underneath the churches
eve of eden is now suffering
from a life-long hangover
fighting terrible canopies
looking for withdrawals
overcoming
relapses.
we're not coming down
we're crying!
we're down here, way down
we're dying!
our doctors are dressed in bibles and korans
carrying gowns and turbans
then we create lucifer
black universes of discotheques
open-air rave parties
put our doctors behind
violet turntables
a squeamish effort to make crack
at 3:43 AM 3:20 then
things violet
black universes
might get
a wee bit bearable.

that's why i that's why also i think beer is beer is so better feckin much better.

:) ahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (:

Le Mal est simplement la présence de Dieu en soi

the absence of god will bring you comfort, baby
- rilo kiley

distract
the windows

Escape
silver Ford

Hasan

will you
eat the cherry

in your
martini?

i really
really like

like the
cherry

cherry cola
oriflames

in your eyes

lucifer
my maker

half-man
half-soul

meet
thy faker

Later

much
later

babes
in boyland

neckless
mannequins

rosy-eyed
dawn

in bundled
headlines

*in loving memory of freud, derrida, marx and a shrek-y god