I don't know who this lady was, but there is a monument to her in The Annex, where you'll find me more often than not. I don't mind paying someone tribute, but now I have read three of her poems and I still don't like her very much.

If they ever give me a monument in The Annex after I die, I hope it says I BET YOU FUCK LIKE JAZZ PIANO PATTERNS HOPPED UP ON A MIDNIGHT KICK so kids can turn to their soccer moms and ask them for some insightful literary criticism of that wonderful line.

"...nothing ends until we want it to..." eh? Try telling that to Jennifer Aniston.

The Meek

We take you by long dirty piano hands
and take their thirteen nails
and scrape skin gently.
-ever elementary
you consider ringspun verse
i could have done worse
than leave love letters in your purse
and baby darling, cherry cheeks
if i'm the strong then who's the meek?

I can tell i was never the correct fellow
to lie beside you on your pillow
and touch your gently
-ever evidently
i'm not the only one to
suffer from such a strong condition
wanting to galvanise your divisions,
oh what a competition...


I wrote your eulogy on the back of a flier I picked up off a bench.
I don't know what possessed me to take it
But I've been carrying around
"absolute.glamour. Jing Guang Hotel 7-11 PM 150 RMB"
For the past three days.
I guess I needed to put it to (delayed) good use.

I can't read anything else on it
I guess I need to learn Mandarin
But well I know enough to get me around
I figure that's all I need to know
And the rest? Well
It'll be an interesting adventure anyways.

Almost as peculiar as the pages on the wall
That spell out "LINE DEAD List Responsibilities"
Or the amusing way 'It looks cool but it's pretty useless'
Scrawls itself out beside the names beneath the speaker-hole.

Hi. My name is Cal. I'm old enough to be young but not old enough to actually take responsibility for what I do.

Old enough to drive/have a car, but not old enough to vote.

I'm not that spectacular really but I'm hoping that I can fit in well enough here.
heh. you wonder...

(no subject)

hi. i'm new here. but i'll just pretend i'm not.

it looks kind of dead aroud here anyway...

this poem is vaguely about a friend of mine who i swear jerks off to ginsberg poems.

"latenite beat"

head still full of stereotype illusions
of the artists life
you search enthusiastically for some kind of demons,
some insanity in yourself
some connection to those
poets you hold in semi-erotic reverence
poets you made love to in the icy night
by flashlight and panting insecurity
static jazz on midnight radio,
and longed to be in new york, san fran
artist's loft at dawn
with halfsmoked cigarettes and a lukewarm drink
you see such romance in the gritty restlessness
of the way you think poets' lives
should be:
running ragged with no destination.
  • Current Music
    lovefools (the cardigans)

(no subject)

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse
But the town has no need to be nervous

The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits
To Jezebel the nun she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
At the head of the chamber of commerce

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans, "I've just been made"
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
Says, "My advice is to not let the boys in"

Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride
"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
You will not die, it's not poison"

Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"

The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saving, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken"

The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save
Puts jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves
Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves
Then sends them out to the jungle

Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps
With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of stamps
To win friends and influence his uncle

The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown
At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter

Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college

Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge

Mama's in the factory
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for food
I'm in the kitchen
With the tombstone blues.

in the quiet morning, janis joplin

In the quiet morning
There was much despair
And in the hours that followed
No one could repair
That poor girl
Tossed by the tides of misfortune
Barely here to tell her tale
Rolled in on a sea of disaster
Rolled out on a mainline rail
She once walked tight at my side
I'm sure she walked by you
Her striding steps could not deny
Torment from a child who knew
That in the quiet morning
There would be despair
And in the hours that followed
No one could repair
That poor girl
She cried out her song so loud
It was heard the whole world round
A symphony of violence
The great southwest unbound

(no subject)

Fire, Fire - M. I. A.

Growin' up, brewin' up
Guerilla gettin' trained up
Look out, look out from over the rooftop
Growin' up, brewin' up
Guerilla gettin' trained up
Look out, look out from over the rooftop

Competition comin' up now,
Load up
Fire Fire

Row da boat - straight to da ocean
give him a run - a run at his own game
Signal the plane - and I landed on the runway
A survivor, independant foreigner

First your beats had me running to the running
Then your chat had me wanna do the bogle man
Click suits and booted in the timberland
Freakin out to Missy on a Timbaland

You shoulda been good to be
Then I wouldn't get so rowdy rowdy
You shoulda kept ya eye on me
Then I wouldn't get so baddy baddy

Wether you are...
Swing out to swing beat
laying low and jacking up to Lou Reed
Chasin' out to Pixies and the Beasties
Doin' acid with hair-coloured geek freaks
Forward onto the 04
Got my own flow, get you to the dance floor
Little mama doin the booty rolls
Crump clowns got me rootin for the linos

Growin' up, brewin' up
Guerilla gettin' trained up
Look out, look out from over the rooftop
Growin' up, brewin' up
Guerilla gettin' trained up
Look out, look out from over the rooftop

Competition comin' up now,
Load up
Fire Fire

JOIN MIA COMMUNITY - you fucking need to


standing over the sink
((razor. pressed. down.))
scarlet tears leave sickly stains
((razor. pressed. down))
she never meant to do those things
((razor. pressed. down))
never meant to hurt them
((razor. pressed. down))
and now, shes drifting
((razor. pressed. down))
unconscious from the pain
((razor. pressed. down))
now shes drifting