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Member Since: 1/27/2008

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i romanticise things.
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You make me want to wear dresses
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we are the wonder kids.
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"I guess you could say we're a beat generation..."
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Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Currently
All We Could Do Was Sing
By Port O'Brien
see related
the funny thing about words
is how they can seduce you
faster than any writer could
and before you know it
you're half-crazed over
someone you've never even met
or maybe only someone
with whom you've attempted awkward
conversation between outbursts
from people far too inebriated for
8 pm on a wednesday night
the funny thing about those words--
the type that grab you and hold on--
is that they hurt you in the best way
a fading throb
and they remind you of the reason
you've been holding out this long

you will continue to do so.


autumn.

the colour is in the dying,
the falling, the crumbling.
the beauty is in the going out.


Wednesday, November 04, 2009


these are monday night thoughts and this is what they do to you:
leave you speechless and with a gaping empty hole of a mouth where words were expected to bloom.
hours dressed up as minutes dance past your limp hands as you ponder things shapeless and abstract and essential and fleeting.
what is art, do i make it, do i contest, can this last, do i have a hold on it at all, and how could it be anything,
when it leaves me floundering so.
but i teeter on the brink of something yet unfound and anticipate the finding and anything that tuesday brings.


Monday, November 02, 2009

rended.



so many words. so many chances to get it wrong. i am broken for the part of me that cries out in wordless frustration.
what do you call the feeling you have when everyone is talking to you and you don't even remember how to utter "hello"?
all you can picture is the 5 letters in black pen on a white page, the straight lines and the curves,
and 4 of those letters are definitive of where your mind is.
h-e-l-l.

what do you do when you're tired of translating, of carrying, of waiting, of hoping?
you drum nervous fingers on empty packs of cigarettes and think of ways to spend the next hour,
that's what.

pointless solutions,
worn out suggestions.

worn
out
everything.


Thursday, October 22, 2009

SURVEY

I AM NOT A PAGE.
I AM NOT A RESUME OR A COVER LETTER.
I AM NOT A SALARY OR A JOB OBJECTIVE
AND I AM CERTAINLY NOT A DESK IN A CUBICLE.

I AM AN EYE, A WET MOUTH, A NERVOUS HEARTBEAT,
A TWISTED SMILE AN ACHING SOUL!
A FIRE! AN EXPLOSION! A QUIET GRAVE!

MY GOD, DON'T PUT ME IN A FILE.
 




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