Post by Steve on Oct 23, 2005 0:30:48 GMT -5
i am tired of young 14-17 punk emo kids wearing female jeans, taking more time on their hair than any of the females i have ever had an affiliation with; dying it; blow drying it; and throwing it back as though in a fucking herbal essence commercial, using the word "gay" as a derogatory remark. it seems that political correctness is a thing that is lost amongst the up coming youth. i know, i'm only twenty, but by this time it is pretty evident that i won't be involved with America's future, at least not on the level that my elders said i could/would have. what disturbs me the most is that with all of the political correctness, people are afraid of saying things, weary of letting their opinions be aired...which is depressing as anything truthfully. i mean, if we were to keep everything we thought inside, how would we be corrected and have the opportunity to be exposed to different things that we might not have been a part prior to opening our mouths? true, we shouldn't call females bitches and we should never say the phrase "tap that ass" in any serious circumstance, but their are just somethings that people take offense to that even i don't comprehend why. and that isn't saying that i am a great philosopher (merely a drunk philosophizing court jester) or psychoanalyst that knows the human mind inside and out (though i am pretty good at profiling and observing human habbits), just that i believe to be a pretty open person that respects the majority's feelings. do i test people...damn straight. wait, may be a heterosexual will take offense to that. may be i do and don't know it yet. do i sit back and watch people to see what bothers them, and then use what i discover to get a reaction from them...indeed i do more than i should i think. my life is only to explain everything in such detail, to link the unthinkable to something everyday.
to say things like "god anal fucked me last night...no he didn't use lubricant...he just spat...rubbed...then shoved..."
to think about breaking into a house, and finding a pet (kitten/cat/bird/other small mammals and animals) and placing them in the person's freezer. to watch from the window their face distort and shrivel like a pen cap held above a flame. to see their reaction to their partially frozen cat leaping from the freezer. i don't want to kill the animal, i just want the person/family to come home to this situation..."how the fuck did the cat get in the freezer?" or "what the hell is that scratching coming from the fridge...Melissa, did you close the cat in the fridge?"
to boil a cockatail and cut it up and put it into the leftovers in their fridge.
to make promises of filling lilies with merlot and lowering it to a pair of lips for drip sips of raindrop size, to kiss every square inch of their body with earth eyes leaving kisses more wet than if i laid my dry wine salted slug lips against their knee cap.
to construct shrines of wine bottles, glass globe steps through heaven and into the stars so that i could extinguish the only things more beautiful than laughing love eyes of young girl. to carry cloth up to the moon, shroud it in muslim thickness...haul an ocean in my arms to sizzle the sun into steam that will seem like another galaxy of strewn grey white light.
to write in these unorganized rant chant rambles formed into ram sham shackles of literature. its a community of shacks in the center of myth spreading fog upper manhattan.
i will write about toes etching sand into the most beautiful recorded language that has ever been. how the toes will dig below my feet and force kalves to become entwined beneath the great opiate moon.
this is me:
now
forever
until death.
and what does death smell like?
not decaying...not the last movement of the body...
what does that last second of life smell like?
remembrance of young child days in kitchen rubbing face against mothers sweater after coming in from the snow, the scent of artifical reproduced fresh mountain air fabric softener.
attic musk dust spiraling around face while searching through old photos and letters...that universal 'closed' aroma of things hidden, forgotten abandoned in the walk of life.
first lips kissed, the dried saliva and dead cells attatching themselves to yours, every inhale you gasp a breath of herhim piece of them sliding into your lungs.
nothingness of oxygen tank, pure ever nothing fading into slow black forever rest.
burning walnuts shells cracking charred splitting at seam filling room with grey cotton smoke meandering into nostrils caking piling thickening on the walls
favorite crayons used so often that the odor made eyes water dry and burn as though sleep deprived
what does that last second smell like?
is it your choice? is it at all?
i am an error, a walking mistake of false genious shadow of past great minds, don't fix me. they weren't fixed, no repairman for poor mr cory, none for anna bell lee...
i am different dare not say anything surrounding mentally ill...mental disorders are as much a fad as dying your hair, as much a craze as calling yourself crazy...
i am normal...i'll let the rest of you be diseased.
how far do we go to prevent the injury of other's feelings?
do we wear a profile of our beliefs sewn into our garments?
it is already enough that we use our clothing to display what 'click' we belong to. must we enhance this?
how much further do we complicate ourselves with the enigmatic process of becoming uniform, fully operatable, completely meeting america's requirements? how many more commercials will be fimed with the racial quota in mind when auditioning? what is wrong with having anything that doesn't include white people in it? with handicapped persons, latino/a individuals?
how many more female jeans will be bought by homosexual slandering teens?
damn i am angst ridden right now. and not just at society, but by my own over analzying of myself, the world, and its inhabitants.
goodbye
i might have gotten fucked...but he's the one that ended up with shit.
to say things like "god anal fucked me last night...no he didn't use lubricant...he just spat...rubbed...then shoved..."
to think about breaking into a house, and finding a pet (kitten/cat/bird/other small mammals and animals) and placing them in the person's freezer. to watch from the window their face distort and shrivel like a pen cap held above a flame. to see their reaction to their partially frozen cat leaping from the freezer. i don't want to kill the animal, i just want the person/family to come home to this situation..."how the fuck did the cat get in the freezer?" or "what the hell is that scratching coming from the fridge...Melissa, did you close the cat in the fridge?"
to boil a cockatail and cut it up and put it into the leftovers in their fridge.
to make promises of filling lilies with merlot and lowering it to a pair of lips for drip sips of raindrop size, to kiss every square inch of their body with earth eyes leaving kisses more wet than if i laid my dry wine salted slug lips against their knee cap.
to construct shrines of wine bottles, glass globe steps through heaven and into the stars so that i could extinguish the only things more beautiful than laughing love eyes of young girl. to carry cloth up to the moon, shroud it in muslim thickness...haul an ocean in my arms to sizzle the sun into steam that will seem like another galaxy of strewn grey white light.
to write in these unorganized rant chant rambles formed into ram sham shackles of literature. its a community of shacks in the center of myth spreading fog upper manhattan.
i will write about toes etching sand into the most beautiful recorded language that has ever been. how the toes will dig below my feet and force kalves to become entwined beneath the great opiate moon.
this is me:
now
forever
until death.
and what does death smell like?
not decaying...not the last movement of the body...
what does that last second of life smell like?
remembrance of young child days in kitchen rubbing face against mothers sweater after coming in from the snow, the scent of artifical reproduced fresh mountain air fabric softener.
attic musk dust spiraling around face while searching through old photos and letters...that universal 'closed' aroma of things hidden, forgotten abandoned in the walk of life.
first lips kissed, the dried saliva and dead cells attatching themselves to yours, every inhale you gasp a breath of herhim piece of them sliding into your lungs.
nothingness of oxygen tank, pure ever nothing fading into slow black forever rest.
burning walnuts shells cracking charred splitting at seam filling room with grey cotton smoke meandering into nostrils caking piling thickening on the walls
favorite crayons used so often that the odor made eyes water dry and burn as though sleep deprived
what does that last second smell like?
is it your choice? is it at all?
i am an error, a walking mistake of false genious shadow of past great minds, don't fix me. they weren't fixed, no repairman for poor mr cory, none for anna bell lee...
i am different dare not say anything surrounding mentally ill...mental disorders are as much a fad as dying your hair, as much a craze as calling yourself crazy...
i am normal...i'll let the rest of you be diseased.
how far do we go to prevent the injury of other's feelings?
do we wear a profile of our beliefs sewn into our garments?
it is already enough that we use our clothing to display what 'click' we belong to. must we enhance this?
how much further do we complicate ourselves with the enigmatic process of becoming uniform, fully operatable, completely meeting america's requirements? how many more commercials will be fimed with the racial quota in mind when auditioning? what is wrong with having anything that doesn't include white people in it? with handicapped persons, latino/a individuals?
how many more female jeans will be bought by homosexual slandering teens?
damn i am angst ridden right now. and not just at society, but by my own over analzying of myself, the world, and its inhabitants.
goodbye
i might have gotten fucked...but he's the one that ended up with shit.
