bookworm alert

haiku

2011-11-16T22:14:00.001-08:00

A book might not be enough

to hold the sky,

but the words are.

Cussing goes politically correct

2011-11-15T21:41:00.001-08:00

Really quite random – what happens whencurses and cusses lose their passion?

Let my evil laugh... make people wonder what thematter is!

Take that you... horrible person who doesn’tagree with me!

Why you’re going to get... a hand in roundshape coming towards you at high speed!

Why don’t you just go and... do somethingpolitically wrong alone and with no company?

Why the... person whose father is unavailablefor comment!

I will find your wife and children and... make sure they don’t like me very much!

More to come later...

The Feminine Mystique

2011-10-25T00:50:00.000-07:00

We're looking for a game in which women fight like hell to save the world and men. It goes like this:

Men have trouble believing that theremight be others who think, just like them, others who believe, just like them,others who feel, just like them. They think they rule the world. They thinkthat the decisions they take shape the world. They’re not concerned whether adecision is wise or not before they take it. They do not look at theconsequences.

Five hundred years ago, man tried toconquer a planet that they thought would serve as a useful place to go to afterthey had brought destruction upon the planet they lived on. They didn’tsucceed.

And a hundred years ago, the creatures ofthat planet, bitter and thirsty for revenge, paid back their due by destroyingall of mankind.

But the creatures overlooked something.Not being human, they did not think it necessary to harm any other than thosecreatures that had harmed them: they eliminated all men, but overlooked thewomen.

So now, it falls upon us to do what we’vealways done; survive. Survive in this burning wreck that the aliens have leftbehind. Survive, and revive hope for mankind. Survive, and protect the men thatthe aliens have forgotten, in the hope for a better tomorrow.

Sluggish

2011-09-27T05:08:00.000-07:00

I know what I must do

I know what must happen

I know what’s at stake

I know what we’ll lose

But what difference does it make?

Knowing all this much

Like the sage on the mountain

I just sit in a place

And do nothing

And hope everything will turn out ok

Knowing it won’t.

I try to convince myself

That I’m waiting for the right moment.

But I know that’s not it.

I’m just too complacent

To do what it takes.

I’m just too scared

Of what it’ll mean for me.

Like the turtle on the mountain

Hiding under my shell

I wait for the world to end

And hope my eyes will close before then.

Modern Revolution

2011-09-23T01:11:00.000-07:00

He got them all a menu card

Which was funny.

He got them all a menu card,

Risking his life,dignity, honour.
He got them a menu card
Which made him an absolute hero

Going to the waiter,

Demanding from him

Gimme all your dishes!
Defend all mine!

Gimme, gimme, gimme!

Draw blades
Fight to the death

Knight in shining T-shirt,

Fighting to feed the hungry damsel

Sweat drips,

Bite Lip,

Flash Sword,

Soldier down.

Many more swishing blades-

The enemy's got back-up!
Soldiers in white-and-black

Sweating behind trays

Lone knight

Sole chance

Grab the prize

Run and order

He got them all the menu card

So dearly won

They cheered him greatly

And decided to eat elsewhere.

Divide

2011-09-14T00:20:00.000-07:00

I judge, and I criticise and I scorn

At decisions that were made ages ago

Decisions that changed our lives—

Maybe for the better, maybe worse

Who am I to say?

I judge and I criticise and I scorn

But sometimes

I wonder what I would have done

If I had been there

If I would have chosen to kill

Or chosen to die for what I believed—

Right or wrong, who am I to say…

If I would have gone along with the crowd

Just to keep the little circle of peacearound me,

Fought for a larger peace, desperately hopingI was right

Or if I would have been baking cookies

Away from the madding crowd

Or if I would have got caught betweenwarring factions

Neither here nor there, unable to decidefor myself

Unwilling to fight, so my circle of peace wouldbe intact

And died an uncertain death.

I judge and I criticise and I scorn

But who am I to judge?

When I don’t know what I would have done

In their place

At that time

Who am I to criticise

When I might have been just like them

In their place

At that time

Who am I to scorn

I can’t judge what I think today

What would I have thought

In their place

At that time?

Who am I, when I might be

Worse than them?

the teaser

2011-09-07T04:34:00.001-07:00

He comes in the dead of night, when you most expect him.

When you’re sitting awake, eyes wide, holding as much hope as you have closest to you, that’s when he comes.

And when he does, all hope is extinguished. Because there is no chance of escape, no ant can run fast enough, no needle is long enough to keep away

DRACULANT!

the beginning

2011-08-25T00:10:00.001-07:00

She walked slowly down the lane, not knowing what to expect. Every shadow felt like someone waiting to leap out at her, every grain of sand felt hostile.

The darkness around her was slowly creeping into her soul, ready to claim her for its own.

She gulped.

‘There’s nothing,’ she whispered to herself, ‘there’s nothing. The shadows are just shadows, the darkness is just absence of light, I’m going to be fine. Mum needs me tonight – I really cannot allow fear to overcome me.”

But deep, numbing fear of what might be waiting for her at just the next shadow made it hard for her to carry on, not stumble and cower in a corner of the alley.

And then she heard it. It wasn’t more than a grain of – something, dropping somewhere nearby, but she heard it.

Every sense alert, the blood rushing through her body, she still froze, finding herself unable to move.

The feeling of being watched grew upon her, her back muscles became stiff from the expectation of being attacked from behind.

She felt something move above her, and knew Death had come for her before he leapt, before he bit through her neck, and sucked the lifeblood out of her.

Her last thought was of her mum, and of the food she’d been taking back for her, which would never reach now.

The last thing she heard was, “Are those two ants fighting? Go, little anty, go!”

And this grain of sugar had been particularly tasty too….

This was just the beginning. No ant could be safe from what soon came to be called…

DRACULANT!

Genesis - We who are born, don't want to die

2011-08-23T04:39:00.000-07:00

And God created Adam to be His likeness…

Adam started off looking like chewed-up gum, and God, He was worried.

But then Adam took shape, and God Heaved a Sigh of Relief.

And when Adam was Birthed through God’s Labours,

God Parted his umbilical cord from his belly, and

Mightily Smote him to make him cry,

And Washed him and So Forth

Until Adam, he was pure and smelled nice.

But Adam, crying he wouldst not stop,

Even when the Angels Rocked him,

And walked hurriedly around heaven,

In efforts to Bring Peace Upon him.

But Adam, crying he wouldst not stop,

Until God realised with Heavenly Truth,

That until Adam realised true misery,

He wouldst not value Heaven.

And so he created Eve even,

And made her slightly shapelier than Adam, God Knows,

And Lucifer Saw her and Wanted to Impress her

Which was why He Pretended

To be Too Cool to Bow.

And God Created Hell

Which is a Warm Place

For all the Cool People.

i haven't really been living up to my name.

2010-10-28T23:28:00.000-07:00

bookworm alert? really? when was the last time i posted a book review on this page? when ever? or just anything book-related, like a title?
never.
so i think i'm just going to take this time to say - harry potter's a really nice book! for all of you out there who haven't read it yet, please do. there. that should give some peace to the soul of this blog.
some. like, a little bit?

Why're women still asking?

2010-09-18T20:52:00.001-07:00

The women’s liberation movement started, formally, in 1848, with the Seneca Falls Convention.

Writer such as Virginia Woolf expounded on the subject – they didn’t ask why women weren’t being given freedom, they said, very definitely, that women weren’t being given freedom.

The question might have come down to ‘why’ at some point during the movement, but the main point that was being contested was not why: it was ‘please give us the freedom to think’.

That phrase has gone through changes in a hundred and fifty years. Today, it has become ‘please give us equal status with men’.

Does anyone see anything wrong with that statement, apart from the ‘please’, which admittedly and thank God, women don’t use when asking?

Asking. There’s the point, isn’t it? Why’re they – why’re we still asking? What do we have to ask for? Freedom?

And who’re we asking? Who’s going to give it to us? This isn’t like when the countries fought for freedom. We don’t want anything tangible that the men are refusing to give us. So where does the question of asking arise?

Freedom is not something that you grab from someone; freedom is definitely not something someone can give you. Freedom is how you feel. On the inside. People like Kalpana Chawla and Saina Nehwal didn’t ask for freedom. They wanted to do something, and then they went ahead and did it. Of course there were barriers – but who doesn’t face barriers these days? If a man wants to be a receptionist, he will seriously have to contend with the natural beauty and probably grace of a female receptionist. Same goes with an air hostess. Men are not the natural choice for secretaries, teachers, even modelling is mostly woman-centred.

Some might say women are chosen for those jobs only for their beauty and not their brains, but face it – men aren’t preferred in the army for their superior intelligence, are they? Or as plumbers, or swimming-pool diggers or, well, the list is very limited. Most of the ‘intelligent’ jobs are open to both men and women. Gender bias there is a personal problem, like racism.

As for what was traditionally called gender bias – there will always be an inherent difference between men and women. Women are different, and that is not in any way a demeaning statement. It’s the truth.

I’m not saying women are lesser than men – they’re different. They think differently, they react differently. It’s quite a lot more demeaning to womanhood, as it is, to try to behave like a man in the hope that you will be accepted in what you, and no one else, calls a ‘man’s world’.

It’s a relief to see women who have moved out of the ‘feminist’ rut and are starting to accept their femininity rather than fight it. It also is quite a relief to see men accept women as intelligent counterparts, rather than sex objects that cook well.

Which is why the women’s reservation bill took me by surprise. Which is why the debate over the women’s reservation bill took me by surprise. Which is why, every time I read about horrible hate crimes against women – this definitely includes taking dowry – I get surprised, to put it mildly.

Which is why I still wonder what it is that’s keeping scores of women from breaking out of their underdog psyche and actually look at themselves as human beings. And why there are scores of other women who demand ‘equal’ rights.

Stop demanding, please. Stop pleading with the men to give you something that is, frankly, not theirs to give. Teach other women to accept themselves, if you really want to make a change.

The world has changed since it was said of women that ‘they must be seen and not heard’. Today, it is a lot harder to ignore or belittle women, and anyone who tries it is widely accepted to seriously need psychiatric analysis. We’re being heard today. So why’re we still shouting?

Just go out there and grab your freedom by the horns. And then you can put pink ribbons on it, if you want.

The world is your oyster. Go ahead and decorate it.

happily drunk

2010-05-26T05:49:00.000-07:00

look beyond yourself and you'll see them;
laughing, playing, waiting for you to join them.
and your feet will tap in rhythm with their music
and a smile will form all by itself
slowly growing and spreading,
filling your head with the deepest intoxication -
one that can't be slept away...

Disappointment

2010-05-26T05:47:00.000-07:00

Given to you all my life
i've given up for you all i had
all i ever wanted
everything i could get

but i gave it all up for you
this you made me do
and now that all i had is gone
you took away the least i'd expected of you

tragic

2010-02-05T02:23:00.000-08:00

The Visitor

2010-02-03T02:09:00.001-08:00

He didn’t know why he came – he just felt the pull, every year. Every year, and he just had to come. To see this grave, that he’d seen a hundred times before. To see this grave again.

He’d wanted to, ever since he was a child. The first time they’d passed this cemetery, he’d been twelve years old, and he’d wanted to come in here.

His parents had refused, like parents all over the world, and had promised to take him to a better cemetery some time else. They also brought him ice cream to see if that stopped him crying. But it hadn’t helped – he’d wanted to come back, and that was that. So they’d brought him back, cursing their luck in getting such a weird son.

And he’d come back again, the week after that, secretly, hiding from his parents because he’d known they didn’t want him to come here. He’d come, and stood near this grave, and he’d stared at it – just the way he was staring at it right now – and he’d suspended all thinking.

He’d found out, later, that this was the grave of P.B. Shelley, a poet from the past. The name had meant nothing to him.

He’d done a poem of his later in school, and had liked it a lot. So much, in fact, that he’d bought the book and had read every poem this man had ever written. With some poems, bits of - something – had come to him – like he should be remembering something but couldn’t figure out what it was. He’d tried re-reading those poems, again and again, to see if he could actually remember what he felt he should be remembering.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t remember anything more than those fragments of – something – that made him try to remember WHAT it was that he should be remembering.

He’d come again, that once, a week after he’d first stepped in when he was twelve, and then he’d forgotten about this grave.

Until the day of his birthday – and P.B. Shelley’s birthday, both of which, by a curious coincidence, fell on the same day. It was his thirteenth birthday. He’d been cutting his cake happily when his lungs had started hurting, and he hadn’t been able to breathe. He’d fainted.

As soon as he’d woken up, he’d asked to be taken to this cemetery. His parents had stared at him weirdly, but had brought him here, because they would rather not argue with their crazy son when he was in such a weak condition.

He’d been brought here, he’d placed some flowers on P.B. Shelley’s grave, and then he’d felt much better.

Who was this? Who was P.B. Shelley and why did he have such an effect on his life? He knew the answer to the first question – but when would he find the answer to the second? Why did he have to come here every birthday? What crazy coincidence, if that was what it was, had made both of their birthdays fall on the same day? Why did he almost remember – something – every time he read Adonais?

He couldn’t understand it. But sixty-two now, fifty years since the first time he’d come in, he decided not to try to understand why, or what, but just accept things as they were. He bent down, laid flowers on P.B. Shelley’s grave, nodded at the coroner, who remembered him from the time he was twelve, and walked out of the graveyard.

Death of a King

2010-02-02T04:48:00.000-08:00

He’d taken his shower. He walked out, smiled at her, and started towelling himself dry. Most people of his stature wouldn’t do it by themselves. Most people of his stature got other people to clean their ears for them, even. But he wasn’t like them.

He did his own bathing, and his own drying, and it didn’t matter if really expensive help was sitting a few feet away from him. He wouldn’t like to ask, and she wasn’t going to offer. They were both ok with this arrangement. It wasn’t just her. People tended to treat him like this.

He towelled himself dry, wore a pair of boxers and walked up to the bed where she was sitting, standing near the foot. She watched him. She wasn’t sitting in a sensuous pose, like she would be doing for other clients. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like for his girls to be overtly sexy. He didn’t like them to flutter eyelashes at him, he didn’t like them to give him come-hither looks, he didn’t like ‘all the faf’, as he said it. He liked them to act uninterested, in fact. He liked to turn them on. With his dancing, of all things.

For God’s sake. Others may like his dance, but she, personally, didn’t. In fact, she couldn’t understand what made the others swoon when he danced for them. Half the people she knew didn’t even have to act, which was a lot to say for a prostitute.

But it wasn’t sexy, even if it was good. It was crazy cockroach-in-my-pants dancing which looked good only on the stage. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when he started dancing. She just continued to stare at him, a direct, expressionless stare.

He continued to dance as he slithered towards her, expectation building, reaching the climax where he would slither into bed with her and make sweet love.

She thought of all the controversies that had happened over his sexual preferences. She almost laughed to think of the little kid that had once sued this man for – what? – molesting him? This guy had been in love with that kid, he would never have hurt him. That guy – or rather his parents had just wanted a piece of the huge cake this man ate on a daily basis.

And who didn’t? Everyone wanted a piece of it – they had a right to. She’d wanted also. There was nothing wrong with it. It was almost his social responsibility to help strugglers. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t given him anything in return. In return, she’d almost fallen in love with him in an effort to make him happy. She had a right. He should have helped her. He should have given some of what she’d given him, back to her. And what had she asked of him? That he make her big too. Wouldn’t that be profitable to him too? Having a successful singer at his side, as opposed to a nobody?

But it hadn’t happened. She blurred the rest of the memory in her mind and pointed a mental finger at the man dancing in front of her. He was responsible. He should have helped her. He should have. He should have done something. Something. The rage threatened to take hold of her again as she stared calmly at him. Something. But no. He’d left her, and in such a miserable condition, she had become a prostitute.

Yes. He was responsible, and today, he was going to pay for what he’d done.

He slithered closer to her, looking at her with that expression. Oh, she knew this expression so well.

He was a good lover. Not great, good. But the profession she was in didn’t see that many good lovers and she knew many people who would give a lot to be in her place right now. He was one of the rare good ones, and one of a kind in that he was considerate, gentle and loving. He wouldn’t dream of letting her go without making sure she enjoyed herself too.

Knowing this made the dance easier to bear. She was intensely turned on, not only because she knew what he could do to her, but because she knew what she was going to do to him.

A pang of regret hit her for a fleeting moment, at the same time that a thrill ran up her spine and she shivered. This man – he was almost God, the way he played with his music, the way he enjoyed his life and art, even though to the people on the outside it looked like his life was demented and weird. He was a nice enough man – no, cancel that – he was a really nice man, true to his heart and believing, deep within, with such a conviction that the other person would believe it too, that each and every one was good inside. And that was why he found it so easy to forgive when someone wronged him.

Which meant his spirit wouldn’t haunt her, she mused as he slid into bed with her as he’d planned, and she stuck the injection straight into his heart. His spirit would find it within itself to forgive her. It was, after all, always at peace.

He gasped at the pain, looked down with horror at what she’d done, and rolled off her, falling with a thud onto the ground.

She watched him struggling, and writhing, and couldn’t believe it. It belied the state of his soul, which, she was sure, was at peace; it always was.

There was no vengeance, still, in the way he looked at her, childishly, mutely asking her for help. She watched him calmly, waiting for him to relax.

When he did, she grimaced at the grotesque expression on his face. She couldn’t leave him looking like this. That would be an insult to a great man. She reached down and adjusted his features so they would look calm and dignified whenever he was found.

He was found half an hour later. No one knew what happened to him, and they all thought he’d had a heart failure, until the coroner’s report came out and they found out he’d died of an overdose of Propofol.

poem

2010-01-25T02:03:00.001-08:00

Why should love be blind?

Why shouldn’t love know?

Because knowing blows away the magic

Knowing lifts the curtain behind the truth

And burns away passion

As sure as ice ever could

Why should we not know what we love?

Because knowing destroys feeling

And you can either know,

Or feel,

But not both.

2009-12-18T02:23:00.000-08:00

Climbing the corporate ladder can be difficult...

Love

2009-12-18T02:21:00.000-08:00

Virginity?

2009-12-17T22:57:00.001-08:00

There was preserved
in her
The fresh miracle
of
surprise

Killing Innocence

2009-12-17T22:54:00.003-08:00

Men who go out on ships
To escape sin & the mire of cities
watch the placenta of evening stars
from the deck, on their backs
& cross the equator
& perform rituals to exhume the dead
dangerous initiation
To mark passage to new levels

To feel on the verge of an exorcism
a rite of passage
To wait, or seek manhood
enlightenment in a gun

To kill childhood, innocence
in an instant

Even more Jim Morrison. i'm definitely obsessed. love'll come later.

More Jim Morrison

2009-12-17T22:52:00.000-08:00

A man rakes leaves into
a heap in his pard, a plie,
& leans on his rake &
burns them utterly.
The fragrance fills the forest
children pause & heed the
smell, which will become
nostalgia in several years

That is such amazing... imagery?

Society

2009-12-17T22:49:00.001-08:00

The grand highway
is
crowded
w/
lovers
&
searchers
&
leavers
so
eager
to
please
&
forget.

Jim Morrison. I don't know.

musings on superstition...

2009-12-15T03:47:00.000-08:00

its weird, how people create their own facts out of nothing at all.
we were peaceful, happy people, walking around in our chaddis, on the world that was so obviously flat, and then suddenly someone had to wonder if we shouldn't be more appropriately dressed - for what? - and then we were. why didn't that person just bury his head under the earth like a normal ostrich?
and then someone had to change the shape of the world.
and then someone had to make laws so that we wouldn't fall off the earth that was suddenly balls.
we create our own facts.
like we create our own superstitions.
and then we give them names.
and then, suddenly, they exist.
Because if it doesn’t exist, why does it have a name and characteristics? what doesn’t exist? A vampire, also called vampyre in france, pale, sucks blood, has super-human strength, and fangs? That doesn’t exist? Really? How many of them don’t exist? And what about their kids? Do they also not exist? Do they have sex? Are they stone-cold? Yes? what else about them is not real?
is it safe to go out at night?
best stay indoors, eh?
to be safe.
from nothing, of course.
that has fangs, drips blood, attacks the jugular.
oh yes.
i'll wear a scarf too.
just in case a superstition attacks me.

Sterile – buy our products online!

2009-10-29T01:44:00.001-07:00

We’ve decided to join the online shopping bandwagon. That’s why we also have one of those crappy messages for our ‘register’ page – bits of lines that you know anyway, and are therefore not going to read. But we have them because we had space and how are you supposed to fill it up? Dick Henry was all for pictures of clowns but we decided it just had to be really stupid or it was not worth it. I mean, if you go to a ‘register’ portal and see clowns, you’re bound to look at it, right? We didn’t really want you to look at it. Or maybe we should have had clowns. At least that way we’d have to write a couple of lines explaining what the clowns were doing there, and we’d be able to fill the space too… hmm… this place is closed for maintenance.

weird deep musings

2009-10-23T05:42:00.000-07:00

Looks like i've finally given in to random philoso-religious musings. oh well. here's the result.
"So you have the reincarnation thing that I believe in right now. It fills in a lot of gaps that Islam leaves out. And I’m still proud of Islam because it makes me feel so good. But the guilt feeling that I used to have is gone. I think people spend all their lives trying to answer this question. Some people never know, some may find out, some give up their lives and pursue the answers to this question. If the prophets were born again, wouldn’t they have the same power? Or maybe they do. Maybe we’re all one and all that. Ok. But much better enlightened versions. How can – one bit teaching another bit based on… but how does everything end? With universal realization or how? Will it be supernatural phenomenons that suddenly plague the world, or everyone calmly walking into bliss. And if someone’s lesson is not complete, then doesn’t it stand to reason that they will have to be born again – will they be born again on another world? Is that eternal hell? Eternal until you learn your lesson? Wow. Weird deep musings.
So what’s the answer? And spirits? Where do they fit into the picture? Where’s the organization? And who’s going to create it? Who will take us out of what looks like eternal hell? And possessed people? And demons, and myths and serpents and beliefs and dragons and gods and goddesses and beliefs and beliefs and beliefs.
Is the universe smart enough to make sense out of everyone’s beliefs? How? Smelly hanuman disappearing in broad moonlight? Crazy. Everything comes true? Everyone’s beliefs are shown to be – beliefs fuelled by further belief and therefore it gathers its own strength and makes it come true for you. In between everything you believe, you will get what was written for you coinciding with what was written for everyone else, and when something happens, it should have happened, therefore its good that it happened. So don’t be afraid to take decisions – because stuff keeps happening all the time, and if you don’t decide then you get left out. Take active part in every kind of decision.
And will the end supply the answer? The answer to beliefs and the answer to existence. And when that answer comes, we will merge and become one."

funny door signs

2009-10-23T02:53:00.000-07:00

i was surfing the net and came across some really funny door sings. here're the best, according to me:

Pull: you could have it your own way and push, but this door is pretty stubborn. outside Burger King.

Sign from a Dentist's Office
Pain Free
Any other Services, we charge

Sign in a Laundromat: Automatic washing machines:
Please remove all your clothes when the light goes out!

In an office:
Would the person who took the step ladder yesterday please bring it back or further steps will be taken

In an office:
After tea break staff should empty the teapot and stand upside down on the draining

Board on a church door:
This is the gate of heaven. Enter ye all by this door.
(This door is kept locked because of the draft.
Please use side door.)

Outside a second-hand shop:
We exchange anything - bicycles, washing machines etc.
Why not bring your wife along and get a wonderful bargain?

Sign outside a new town hall which was to be opened by the prince of Wales:
The town hall is closed until opening.
It will remain closed after being opened.
Open tomorrow.

Outside a photographer's studio:
Out to lunch:
If not back by five, out for dinner also

At an computer store:
Just went out to grab a byte

Outside a disco:
Smarts is the most exclusive disco in town.
Everyone welcome

Sign warning of quicksand:
Quicksand.
Any person passing this point will be drowned.
By order of the district council

Notice in a dry cleaner's window:
Anyone leaving their garments here for more than 30 days will be disposed of

Spotted in a safari park:
Elephants please stay in your car

Spotted in a toilet in a London office block:

Toilet out of order.
Please use floor below

Sign in Egyptian hotel:
If you require room service,
please open door and shout, "Room service!"

Seen on an electrical appliance store in Spokane, WA
"Go modern! Go gas! Go BOOM!"

On a dock in Juneau, Alaska:
"Safety ladder, climb at own risk."

Emergency Evacuation Plan:
"Run like Hell!"

about a monkey called kapish

2009-10-21T02:26:00.000-07:00

you remember the tinkle monkey with the long tail? kapish, apparently, he was called. weird name, eh? it just struck me now. never thought of it before, when i was just too engrossed in the heroic heroism of the monkey with the long tail.
i thought it sounded like something that's suddenly disappered - like "kapish! and it was gone!" but you can't name a monkey kapish unless he was some thief of random suitcases. you know, you turned around and "kapish! it was gone!" so i typed 'kapish' on google search.
you'll never guess what i found - kapish means "ya smell me?" or "ya feel me?". kinky, no? if you were to name an animal "ya feel me?" just think about the long tail... brr.
finally, though, i found out it was named after lord hanuman. phew! that explains the long tail decently too!

That's funny! lol

2009-10-20T01:47:00.001-07:00

Funny Stuff|Funny Scraps

Griirdinezzzz

2009-10-20T01:30:00.001-07:00

Moniiiieeees
Gimme moniiieeessszzzzzzzz
Moniiieeeeeessszzzzz
MONIIIIEEEESSSSZZZZ
MonIIIIIEEEEESSSSSSZZZZZZ
EEESSSSZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZ!
MONIESZ
MONEYZ
CITIBANK IS GIVING YOU MONIIEEEESSSSZZZZZZZ!
ZZZ
Mooaannnniiiiieeeeeeesssssssszzzzzzzzzz. I want moannniiiiieeeeeessssssssszzzzzzzzzzz!
Ha ha ha

2009-09-25T22:53:00.000-07:00

The Well

Soothe me.

Tell me the well is not deep and full of fire.

Then push me in and walk away.

With love that broke my heart.

The coin

The coin does the circles, and finishes in your lap.

Cockroach

If I can make you die just one day earlier,

I'll be happy.

Missing you haiku

The car’s waiting in first gear

I’m looking at the empty seat beside me

And wishing you were here

Phone Call

2009-08-03T22:40:00.000-07:00

his isn't something i wrote - these're lyrics to a song, but i couldn't resist, its such a brilliant piece of writing. (mjk, i love you).

And the angel of the lord came unto me, snatching me up from my place of slumber. And took me on high, and higher still until we moved to the spaces betwixt the air itself. And he brought me into a vast farmlands of our own midwest. And as we descended, cries of impending doom rose from the soil. One thousand, nay a million voices full of fear. And terror possessed me then. And I begged, "Angel of the Lord, what are these tortured screams?" And the angel said unto me, "These are the cries of the carrots, the cries of the carrots! You see, Reverend Maynard, tomorrow is harvest day and to them it is the holocaust." And I sprang from my slumber drenched in sweat like the tears of one million terrified brothers and roared, "Hear me now, I have seen the light! They have a consciousness, they have a life, they have a soul! Damn you! Let the rabbits wear glasses! Save our brothers!" Can I get an amen? Can I get a hallelujah?

Life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on........

This is necessary.

It was daylight when you woke up in your ditch. You looked up at your sky then. That made blue be your color. You had your knife there with you too. When you stood up there was goo all over your clothes. Your hands were sticky. You wiped them on your grass, so now your color was green. Oh Lord, why did everything always have to keep changing like this. You were already getting nervous again. Your head hurt and it rang when you stood up. Your head was almost empty. It always hurt you when you woke up like this. You crawled up out of your ditch onto your gravel road and began to walk, waiting for the rest of your mind to come back to you. You can see the car parked far down the road and you walked toward it. You got to your car and tried all the doors. They were locked. It was a red car and it was new. There was an expensive leather camera case lying on the seat. Out across your field, you could see two tiny people walking by your woods. You began to walk towards them. Now red was your color and, of course, those little people out there were yours too.

When we can’t meet...

2009-07-30T06:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve a little place that I go to, every time I think of you and we can’t meet. It’s a little pink world lover’s inhabit and I want this world to be a part of you too, like it is a part of me. So close your eyes, and think of me and you’ll see it. And I’ll be waiting there, in the garden of our dreams. We will meet there, and go walking among the dewy grass. And there will just be you and me. Under the sky. Walking hand-in-hand, talking about absolutely anything under that beautiful golden sun that’s shining only for us. We will talk about aeons to spend together, hand-in-hand, in our own little pink world. And time will stop for us. And there will be magic. It will envelope us like a thousand stars coming together, spinning our relationship into gold. And we will never part. And that’s a promise.