poetry critical

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iii. "Red Seinfeld"

A flask for each of us, and yeah we smoked that whole bag of weed in a day. I bought it for twenty bucks.
I like my look to the sound of a french movie. My shirt disappears in the clutter on the floor. A guy walks by and becomes a peeping tom. My chest is burning red, a signal. My face is warm.
It would be just as hard to find a genuine criminal mind as it would be to find a mind like mine. I am a criminal with a heart.
I wonder if women feel remorse about posing nude. It would be terrible to watch your mother fall in love with someone besides your dad.
Zip-zap-suspicious of God's plan. I pray occasionally. What's a day anyway?
I hate reading formal writing. The reality of things is killer. Men don't like their women talkative. Femininity in the sexual sense is a very quiet thing or else it is not erotic.
Went to an alleged musician's house and there was a blonde boy on the drums. Met him later that night, and his breath smelled like rotting milk. Gave him blue balls. That's all I'll say about that.
She's a friend of the cops. Fat girl blocks my image from the view of a handsome man. waiting for me to acknowledge her.
Michael Cera is such a darling. I would like to marry him.
A man comes and sits next to me. I ignore it by continuing to write. It turned out to be a woman. Crank!
"Numbing Ourselves Thru Dis Terrible Time"
Twenty one, starving, sleepless, high above a lighter, gumshoes on fire, gumshoes burning, Joey is my fashion guru.
There's a cock drawn on the seat, with the words 'have a seat.' I sat down. Stephni's going to go meet Seafood. "Seafood?" says I, "No Sifu," she says, "he's a DJ." "Everybody's a DJ," said I,  "A DJ for life," she said, "it is a very popular profession; methinks because it is easy to get BJs with."
I put a flower above my head, "everything is a hat."
"Everything is everything."
"Take off your pants!" I shout to the flamboyant singer of amazing grace. "Boating shoes, these are boating shoes," I lift my foot.
"More like Jesus boots," says Max, who I just met," those things will make you walk on water."
"OH sunny LIES! I will cut his face and make him equal to everyone else on earth," I used my eyes to indicate the handsome dancer.
"Meeting Satan on the Street Corner"
One moment I was spinning in a chair, and the next thing I know I'm writing words like shitmouth and pukenose. "She's writing words like shitmouth and pukenose in her journal," I heard Kathy say across the room.
Dinner with myself. Cold butter, bread, amber railroad, F. Scott Fitzgerald. Looking for a rebound. Ripe sex dreams every night.
You make sex noises in your sleep, Joliet, "it's hard to be holy when I feel so horny," says She-Joliet, once a child nun now spends her twenties searching for a mouth to pray into.
'if it is your will god that i should continue to dream so fashionably.'
And a man falls into the loving arms of a transvestite. I lost my watch i can't tell time.

11 Jan 09

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 — themolly

assid grass

: )
 — fractalcore

you must have some well-adjusted acquaintances, who will accept the goofy chick who keeps pullin out some little book in the middle of fun and scribblin. "want another pull off this" "yep, just let me get this down"
certainly there's some shit that just occurs, and you figure you don't want to miss out on it, but the real gems are the ones that you repeat to yourself a couple times, after they've occurred, and you remember them when you get up in the morning, or even when you get home that night.
i found line 8 to be most telling in this.

fat girl blocks my image from the view

i, ii, and now iii seem to just be a recounting, however interestingly delivered, but there's sure some poetry wriggling round in all that muck

george is gettin upset!
 — unknown

: )( : pretty nice to read. a sort of brilliant blog,  nice energy pushing the words over so you see their brighter side.
 — geckodrome

This isn't intellectual, it's emo goth turned sour, odd and middle aged.
 — unknown

it's a poem, isn't it? intellectual is 'talking about poetry', not the poetry itself. wittgenstein would have killed to have been a poet instead of a critic.
 — geckodrome

it's peculiar and it smells bad.
 — unknown

i am a middle aged goth, i enjoy the emo lifestyle, and i've got sour sweat.
 — OKcomputer