Life is so fucking depressing.
meniscus:
In general, or is there a specific cause?
illrevue:
yes, it can be...what's up?
Hello.
I've done a fine job of staying just busy enough to not have time to swing by the site, and yet matain a level of stasis that precludes any really interesting journal entries.
I feel disconnected from 52% of the population, and, really, probably most of the other 48 as well.
"...suckers and fuckers and stupid retards..."
mmmm. the sweetness of the moldy peaches...
Read More
I've done a fine job of staying just busy enough to not have time to swing by the site, and yet matain a level of stasis that precludes any really interesting journal entries.
I feel disconnected from 52% of the population, and, really, probably most of the other 48 as well.
"...suckers and fuckers and stupid retards..."
mmmm. the sweetness of the moldy peaches...
Read More
esme:
Wow. Where's home? I had sort of assumed it was Dixon since, well, why else would you be in Dixon?
I agree. It's so confusing and makes you realize that you really do make choices about the company you keep, even if it is subconscious or unintentional. I mean...it's not like 52% of my friends are psycho...so where do all the psychos come from? Not Cook County, I'll tell ya that.
I agree. It's so confusing and makes you realize that you really do make choices about the company you keep, even if it is subconscious or unintentional. I mean...it's not like 52% of my friends are psycho...so where do all the psychos come from? Not Cook County, I'll tell ya that.
illrevue:
middle america....and church...
Gray Room
Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver
Of the straw-paper,
And pick
At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads
Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan
Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl
The...
Read More
Although you sit in a room that is gray,
Except for the silver
Of the straw-paper,
And pick
At your pale white gown;
Or lift one of the green beads
Of your necklace,
To let it fall;
Or gaze at your green fan
Printed with the red branches of a red willow;
Or, with one finger,
Move the leaf in the bowl
The...
Read More
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
erica:
Are you retarded?
illrevue:
i wrote a song 12 years ago called grey room...
The Same Troubles with Beauty You've Always Had
I still get the occasional snapshot in letters
crowded with bad news and rage and futile self-
aggrandizement, pictures of you in London or Belgium
or Corfu, depending on what man you're with taking you where,
or small-town modeling for hair salons or Florida
clothes stores, and I can see you're still someone whose
beauty is exercised...
Read More
I still get the occasional snapshot in letters
crowded with bad news and rage and futile self-
aggrandizement, pictures of you in London or Belgium
or Corfu, depending on what man you're with taking you where,
or small-town modeling for hair salons or Florida
clothes stores, and I can see you're still someone whose
beauty is exercised...
Read More
esme:
Here you go...
It's so frickin hard to pick /one/...I feel like any poem I write, on its own, falls short. Anyway, as they used to yell in my high school writing club "No disclaimers!!!!"
A love poem for friends and strangers
Every day the neighbors three-year-old calls the dog in.
The dog is called Peter. The boy
has a clipped voice, like he has been raised
in another country.
My daughter is a wiseman
in our pageant.
She is seven. Her eyes
are too big for her face. The boy
plays an angel. He sits high
on two bales of hay and smiles like an angel
is supposed to smile.
My daughter holds a red box
that stands for myrrh. Over Marys shoulder
she sees the angel boy fall asleep
just before the presentation of the gifts.
She remembers the day he was born. She
remembers his thin pink eyelids.
The night before she had watched
Snow White. Prince Charming knew
he would marry Snow
even when she was tiny, curled
in her bassinet under soft blankets.
My daughter says she will be Prince Charming.
She is old and wise and can see
lifetimes from now, standing
on their porch somewhere beautiful
and distantCanada
or Californiathey call the dog in.
He soars around the corner
toward their voice.
It's so frickin hard to pick /one/...I feel like any poem I write, on its own, falls short. Anyway, as they used to yell in my high school writing club "No disclaimers!!!!"
A love poem for friends and strangers
Every day the neighbors three-year-old calls the dog in.
The dog is called Peter. The boy
has a clipped voice, like he has been raised
in another country.
My daughter is a wiseman
in our pageant.
She is seven. Her eyes
are too big for her face. The boy
plays an angel. He sits high
on two bales of hay and smiles like an angel
is supposed to smile.
My daughter holds a red box
that stands for myrrh. Over Marys shoulder
she sees the angel boy fall asleep
just before the presentation of the gifts.
She remembers the day he was born. She
remembers his thin pink eyelids.
The night before she had watched
Snow White. Prince Charming knew
he would marry Snow
even when she was tiny, curled
in her bassinet under soft blankets.
My daughter says she will be Prince Charming.
She is old and wise and can see
lifetimes from now, standing
on their porch somewhere beautiful
and distantCanada
or Californiathey call the dog in.
He soars around the corner
toward their voice.
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are...
Read More
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are...
Read More
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
esme:
I will send you a poem.
Just as soon as it magically jumps from the poem computer to the internet computer.
Or I get my lazy ass in gear and save it to a floppy.
Not sure which is gonna happen first, but you're good incentive.
[Edited on Oct 19, 2004 4:12PM]
Just as soon as it magically jumps from the poem computer to the internet computer.
Or I get my lazy ass in gear and save it to a floppy.
Not sure which is gonna happen first, but you're good incentive.
[Edited on Oct 19, 2004 4:12PM]
redbstrd:
Do you read any Federico Garcia Lorca? He is one of my favorites.
Emily's Theme
My dear trees, I no longer recognize you
In that wintry light.
You brought me a reminder I can do without:
The world is old, it was always old,
There's nothing new in it this afternoon.
The garden could've been a padlocked window
Of a pawnshop I was studying
With every item in it dust-covered.
Each one of my thoughts was being ghostwritten...
Read More
My dear trees, I no longer recognize you
In that wintry light.
You brought me a reminder I can do without:
The world is old, it was always old,
There's nothing new in it this afternoon.
The garden could've been a padlocked window
Of a pawnshop I was studying
With every item in it dust-covered.
Each one of my thoughts was being ghostwritten...
Read More
Before
Before you were you
before your bicycle appeared under the street-lamp,
before you met me at the airport in a corduroy jacket,
before you agreed to hold my five ballpoint pens
while I ran to play touch football,
before your wet hair nearly touched the piano keys
and in advance of how your raincoat was tightly cinched
when you asked about nonviolent anti-war activity...
Read More
Before you were you
before your bicycle appeared under the street-lamp,
before you met me at the airport in a corduroy jacket,
before you agreed to hold my five ballpoint pens
while I ran to play touch football,
before your wet hair nearly touched the piano keys
and in advance of how your raincoat was tightly cinched
when you asked about nonviolent anti-war activity...
Read More
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
rorschach:
Finally I'm back! How are you??
esme:
Oh no, I totally forgot about that show tonight! I hope you have fun. I'll be down in Wicker Park makin' out with a cute girl (maybe. hopefully.) Enjoy Chicago. Give me a bell if you feel up to it.
Oh, and oddly enough, I've never been to Schuba's. But I think it's supposed to be pretty chill. This one chick singer that I really like a lot plays there occasioanlly but I've never managed to be in the right place at the right time.
Oh, and oddly enough, I've never been to Schuba's. But I think it's supposed to be pretty chill. This one chick singer that I really like a lot plays there occasioanlly but I've never managed to be in the right place at the right time.
Cut
What a thrill -
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is....
Read More
What a thrill -
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is....
Read More
esme:
not that I doubt you are a very talented boy...but I was somewhat relieved to see that you didn't write that. Otherwise I would have been extremely intimidated. I've had a big book of Plath's collected poetry on my bookshelf since...oh...fall of 02 and haven't cracked it. Bad girl.
signalnoise:
that poem really grossed me out - b/c blood really freaks me out. and i hate cutting things in the kitchen, so my wife does all the knife work usually b/c i'm sure i'll hurt myself.
i'm sure the poem has some deeper meaning, but i couldn't get past the blood (the blood! - now i'm like that guy on 'fantasy island' ... 'da plane! da plane!' - hehehe)
anyway. that was rambly. glad that my entry in the phil. group wasn't TOTALLY annoying. but did it seem intimidating? i hope not. there's not much here to intimidate really ... i mostly have no clue what i'm talking about
i'm sure the poem has some deeper meaning, but i couldn't get past the blood (the blood! - now i'm like that guy on 'fantasy island' ... 'da plane! da plane!' - hehehe)
anyway. that was rambly. glad that my entry in the phil. group wasn't TOTALLY annoying. but did it seem intimidating? i hope not. there's not much here to intimidate really ... i mostly have no clue what i'm talking about
wated:
Sorry for the long wait for a response, but I bought Good News For People Who Love Bad News (which is fantastic), and The Lonesome Crowded West (which I haven't actually listened to properly yet).
matrsk:
listen to ugly casanova "sharpen your teeth"
Lost Luggage
Perhaps I am to blame.
But there were good times, too,
before the tears and careful stitching.
Remember Chicago? Snowed in,
my hands searching your pockets,
your arms slung over my shoulder, keeping you close.
I've heard of this sort of thing
but never expected it to happen to me.
While I sit waiting, checking the door,
you're spread across a table
with...
Read More
Perhaps I am to blame.
But there were good times, too,
before the tears and careful stitching.
Remember Chicago? Snowed in,
my hands searching your pockets,
your arms slung over my shoulder, keeping you close.
I've heard of this sort of thing
but never expected it to happen to me.
While I sit waiting, checking the door,
you're spread across a table
with...
Read More
rorschach:
I lost luggage a couple times in real life...it sucked! Unlike your poem 