Mitch

[size=1] I usually read, watch TV, go on the net, until I get tired. Then, I try to sleep. Most often, and recently, I have begun to listen to music on my headphones. That gets me to sleep..otherwise, sometimes I have trouble sleeping. I usually stay up late as well. I can sleep without noise, too. It's not too hard for me..but music is easier. All in all, I just don't sleep very soundly. And I never remember my dreams. Only small, tiny, nothings of them.[/size]

[size=1][b][u]over the hills and far away[/b][/u] come from thesands ofwater where the trees are green and the ocean seas my river isyour overlord i havelong wingsof fish on my wing i wing a wish i come from thesands ofwater in a swish and can't youcatch mywing and come my way will you wing a wish on the fish please tell them to stay tell them to stay sandsofwater and seas don't need a bay tell them to stay but overthehills and faraway i still tell them and all i can do with a wave like trees and a hand that wings is tell them what happens but by then they are far and wee they turn from my river of treesgreen and the ocean seas i am the seagull overlord and many wings i wing a wish many fish i wish but overthehills and faraway they turn away [b][u]Whale Bones[/b][/u] She's my fave Could tell you She's in A pet at my side Washed over the Sword-storm for a ride So far and gone But could tell you She's in I'll meet her Over there? Aft' the steel-strikes, O'er the green, Where, o'er sea Th' whalebone sings Could tell you Sure as the waves I'll meet 'er An' undress with her In the sea O alas, alas? I have many Steel-strikes To sting on Till the whalebone Sings O'er seas I write her letters Of th' many steel-strikes And stings Alas, alas? Washed over the Sword-storm for a ride After th' steel-strikes, And yes, o'er seas, I'll meet her An' the whalebones Shall sing [b][u]forhuman[/b][/u] there's a knife in his hand like a sword his mindstands as it is as it will things shall always be the same no matter what is killed or what is blamed take this knife in his hand like a sword swing it,bleed it likeman for human is what stands forhuman i kissyourmouth tongues,breaths, take your arm this stress tale this knife in his hand like a sword he doesn't want whathenever had anymore swing it,bleed it likeman head dromes humming marionettes gone mad forhuman ikissyourmouth tongues,breaths, this knife in hishand all ihave is the sign onthewall it has forhuman written,dripping, i can hear calls this stress this stress mentalimpress marionettes gone thewall has forhuman written,dripping, i can hear evenyou call take this knife take this hand kissyourmouth kissyoursteel i lovehate and lovehate thisfeel forhuman thisfeel ilovehate i can hear evenyou call kissingyourmouth kissingyoursteel lovehate i want to die kill take this knife in his hand marionette i love you,you moveon myhand lovehate thewall calls head drome forhuman the truthwill haunt you for long this hand this stress marionette take this knife from hishand forhuman forhuman bleediwant todie i feel feel head drome on ikissyourmouth ikissyourbreath bloodbleedbreathe lovehate this feel idon'twant what idon'twant when this feel feel lovehate i wantto die kissingyourmouth kissingyoursteel just hitmewith the knife i don't havereason forman kissingyourmouth kissingyoursteel lovehate i lovehate this feel tobe dead tonot feel take this knife takethis hand thewall, for human, my mind iswhatstands dripping,eschew this cold call i hear evenyou moanthefall the truthwill haunt for too long marionette take this knife from hishand marionette don'tbe don'tbe mad take this knife in hishand dripping,puddling, count thehourglass and lovehate thesand [b][u]et tu love[/b][/u] et tu et tu et tu? what's done is done (what was][said)? et tu love (like far and breathe) [mist is bleed] et tu et tu et tu et tu? i heard (voices) when he (i) was {[done]}? [what was (said)]? et tu good night (far and wee) 'there was "wind" [cold [like death hither (to) just (breathe) et tu [like death {es} is [i heard] done et tu love et tu love, what's done [is done];? deus [ex] machin(a) [like death what [blood]? is (blood)? et tu tu et tu et tu? et tu love [b][u]skeletons that sing to me[/b][/u] skeletons (that sing) to me narrow eyes (still skin that maggots) bleed slap! slap! (broke the wall) did he? [i believe (believe)] god i want to (believe) [i breathe (breathe)]?skeletons haunt (they see) slap! slap! (not as strong (you see]) how (much) does it hurt you (me){i want to believe} "i raised my son (me) to believe; in my (eyes) house he must (believe) believe" (skeletons) angels (that sing) [slap! slap! what a sting] have you (me) ever turned (wanted) to dust? (like still skin that maggots)? (i raised him [i want to--]believe) flaky (maggot skin) bleed; skeletons (help me skulls) [i breathe (breathe)} is it meant (slap! slap! the sting)? you (do [not]) perceive (me) [what maggot skin be] [believe (i don't) believe] slap! slap! (face the [broke the (wall)]? you (i) not the son (me) take the bleed [remember tom left (long ago) in his truck}in his truck away from the trees (like maggots that believe) is love [isn't] (i don't) to believe? he (awakes) in another place (head) [confirmed] turned away (no cross to [suffer] he]) i saw (blind) [all the way] skeletons (they sing) just little (me) (so carefree) [easy to [][believe] hit (remember?) the wall [broke it away) lie awake (but asleep) in another place [slap! slap! fall over and see] grown up (me) [not little] [not carefree] lighter this time [less slap!] (can you believe?) just (bleed) go on [less still maggots slap! slap! skins] to not [let me} let (me) believe [in what i say] god (they say) [those skeletons under ground [where the maggots skin} (they sing) just (bleed) go on (and [breathe])[/size]

[size=1]Heh, I wish I could include some poems of mine in here; and I shall, no matter what anyone says. Heh. [center]Depressed [b]Tool-Aenema[/b] Some say the end is near. Some say we'll see armageddon soon. I certainly hope we will. I sure could use a vacation from this bull-**** three ring cirrrrcus siiiideshow of Freaks here in this, hopeless ****ing, hole we call LA. The only way to fix it is to flush it all away. Any ****ing time. Any ****ing day. Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona bay. Fret for your figure and Fret for your latte and Fret for your lawsuit and Fret for your hairpiece and Fret for your prozac and Fret for your pilot and Fret for your contract and Fret for your car. It's a bull-**** three ring cirrrrrcuus siiideshow of freaks here in this hopeless ****ing hole we call LA. The only way to fix it is to flush it all away. Any ****ing time. Any ****ing day. Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona bay. Some say a comet will fall from the sky. Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves. Followed by faultlines that cannot sit still. Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits. Some say the end is near. Some say we'll see armageddon soon. I certainly hope we will I sure could use a vacation from this stupid ****, silly ****, stupid ****... One great big festering neon distraction, I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied. (Learn to swim. 3x) Mom's gonna fix it all soon. Mom's comin' round to put it back the way it ought to beeeeeeeee. (Learn to swim. 8x){continues in background} **** L Ron Hubbard and **** all his clones. **** all these gun-toting Hip gangster wannabes. (Learn to swim. 8x){continues in background} **** retro anything. **** your tattoos. **** all you junkies and **** your short memory. (Learn to swim. 8x){continues in background} **** smiley glad-hands with hidden agendas. **** these dysfunctional, insecure actresses. (Learn to swim. 8x) Cuz I'm praying for rain and I'm praying for tidal waves I wanna see the ground give way. I wanna watch it all go down. Mom please flush it all away. I wanna see it go right in and down. I wanna watch it go right in. Watch you flush it all awaaaaaaaaay. Time to bring it down again. Don't just call me pessimist. Try and read between the lines. I can't imagine why you wouldn't Welcome any change, my friend. I wanna see it come down. (Suck it down. 2x) Flush it down. [b]The Cars-Drive[/b] Who's gonna tell you when It's too late Who's gonna tell you things Aren't so great You can't go on Thinking nothing's wrong Who's gonna drive you home tonight Who's gonna pick you up When you fall Who's gonna hang it up When you call Who's gonna pay attention To your dreams Who's gonna plug their ears When you scream You can't go on Thinking nothing's wrong Who's gonna drive you home tonight Who's gonna hold you down When you shake Who's gonna come around When you break You can't go on Thinking nothing's wrong Who's gonna drive you home tonight [b]Led Zeppelin-No Quarter[/b] Close the door, put out the light. You know they won't be home tonight. The snow falls hard and don't you know? The winds of Thor are blowing cold. They're wearing steel that's bright and true They carry news that must get through. They choose the path where no-one goes. They hold no quarter. Walking side by side with death, The devil mocks their every step The snow drives back the foot that's slow, The dogs of doom are howling more They carry news that must get through, To build a dream for me and you They choose the path where no-one goes. They hold no quarter. They ask no quarter. The pain, the pain without quarter. They ask no quarter. The dogs of doom are howling more! [b]Led Zeppelin-Ten Years Gone[/b] Then as it was, then again it will be An' though the course may change sometimes Rivers always reach the sea Blind stars of fortune, each have several rays On the wings of maybe, down in birds of prey Kind of makes me feel sometimes, didn't have to grow But as the eagle leaves the nest, it's got so far to go Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be Did you ever really need somebody, And really need 'em bad Did you ever really want somebody, The best love you ever had Do you ever remember me, baby, did it feel so good 'Cause it was just the first time, And you knew you would Through the eyes an' I sparkle, Senses growing keen Taste your love along the way, See your feathers preen Kind of makes makes me feel sometimes, Didn't have to grow We are eagles of one nest, The nest is in our soul Vixen in my dreams, with great surprise to me Never thought I'd see your face the way it used to be Oh darlin', oh darlin' I'm never gonna leave you. I never gonna leave Holdin' on, ten years gone Ten years gone, holdin' on, ten years gone [b]Led Zeppelin-Achilles Last Stand[/b] It was an April morning when they told us we should go As I turn to you, you smiled at me How could we say no? With all the fun to have, to live the dreams we always had Oh, the songs to sing, when we at last return again Sending off a glancing kiss, to those who claim they know Below the streets that steam and hiss, The devil's in his hole Oh to sail away, To sandy lands and other days Oh to touch the dream, Hides inside and never seen. Into the sun the south the north, at last the birds have flown The shackles of commitment fell, In pieces on the ground Oh to ride the wind, To tread the air above the din Oh to laugh aloud, Dancing as we fought the crowd To seek the man whose pointing hand, The giant step unfolds With guidance from the curving path, That churns up into stone If one bell should ring, in celebration for a king So fast the heart should beat, As proud the head with heavy feet. Days went by when you and I, bathed in eternal summers glow As far away and distant, Our mutual child did grow Oh the sweet refrain, Soothes the soul and calms the pain Oh Albion remains, sleeping now to rise again Wandering & wandering, What place to rest the search The mighty arms of Atlas, Hold the heavens from the earth The mighty arms of Atlas, Hold the heavens from the earth From the earth... I know the way, know the way, know the way, know the way (X2) Oh the mighty arms of Atlas, Hold the heavens from the earth [b]Led Zeppelin-That's The Way[/b] I don't know how I'm gonna tell you I can't play with you no more, I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me, My friend, the boy next door. I can't believe what people saying You're gonna let your hair hang down, I'm satisfied to sit here working all day long, You're in the darker side of town. And when I'm out I see you walking, Why don't your eyes see me, Could it be you've found another game to play, What did mama say to me. *That's The Way, Oh, That's The Way it ought to be, Yeah, yeah, mama say That's The Way it ought to stay. And yesterday I saw you standing by the river, And weren't those tears that filled your eyes, And all the fish that lay in dirty water dying, Had they got you hypnotized? And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers, But all that lives is born to die. And so I say to you that nothing really matters, And all you do is stand and cry. I don't know what to say about it, When all you ears have turned away, But now's the time to look and look again at what you see, Is that the way it ought to stay? That's the way That's the way it oughtta be Oh don't you know now Mama said.. that's the way it's gonna stay, yeah.[/center] And, a poem... [center][b]XXXXXI[/b] Was a dreary night As I rapped on the door The manager stepped out Let me in to implore Was a dreary place As I walked in Dark except for a few lamps Dreary place indeed "I would like a room," I said, my lips cold and soon I shuffled out my wallet The crisps touching my hand The manager tucked them away His face was snippy I didn't know what to say "You say you need a room To stay?" Indeed I did And so I nodded I took my wallet Once again "You won't be needing that To get in," Said the manager Indeed I wouldn't And so I nodded Put away my wallet Once again "This's on the house My dear Sir Wain Here's your key And please, do stay," Said the manager Handing my key Smiling through His decayed teeth Number fifty-one Read the key's glove "Thank you Indeed I shall be staying For I need sleep," Said I "Right up the stairs To the left You shall find your room," Said he I nodded and so went Fifty-one read the key's glove Left up the stairs and there it was Through the oil lamps Dismal and lit I did see the door Upon it did sit Number fifty-one Dimmering there in the light I did see the door Upon it did sit Number fifty-one Just as the key's glove I opened the door The key's clang Evermore I opened the door To number fifty-one Something coagulated Touch to my feet On the floor All my thoughts All I am Touch my feet On the floor I opened that door? The key's clang Evermore Fallen angel sat corner-tied Blood was all over-side Touch my feet On the floor The angel they named? As I set the door? He they call Velinor His skull was in tore Wings flimsy-sore Blood his fore He they call Velinor Eschewed on his skull I do squint as I stood: XXXXXI it did read For my eyes do not deceive Condemnation his was perceived Heaven through hell The chiming of the bell Through seas and dogs For what is fog Doom is to God Condemnation his was fifty-one Just as that of the key's glove From that it is of He they call Velinor When shock became Left my veins My mind was not The same I, Sir Wain Had entered Hell's bane[/center] That's enough for now. I might add other moods, but that took long enough as it is lol.[/size]

[size=1]It's okay. Not exactly my taste in poetry, but it is sweet and endearing I admit. It has no rhyme, rhythm, or anything of that sort. That's why I don't like it. Poems don't have to have that, I agree, but it's something that I always put in my poems nearly all the time. I don't know why, but that's the way it is. Otherwise I become too bored with the poem to really actually want to read it or know it. It's sort of shortchanged, hidden, the way this poem works. It isn't blatant, but it's subtle. I love that, that's a great feeling to be left with. So what do I say? I like it, actually, even though it's not exactly my type of taste in poetry. I like morbid stuff, what the hell can I say.[/size]

[size=1][b][u]The Claims[/b][/u] The voices and the moans Expletive loves and expletive drones Exasperation in the veins Like haunting mud of never ever change To yammer is to chisel with a skin Gravel turns your hand in salty pools of rain Ever to stay and ever to say That is what voices change In this head in this blood This hand says leave it be And there's a whisper? Whisper in the leaves Drenched skin that prints this hand The leaves say the wilt will come Gone and long and never ever The wilt shall come To these words to these memoirs To have angel and to have wing Yammer and yammer and to be speaking On these hands and in this far To have reason that is what voices change And to take this hand Like haunting mud of never ever change Is to have what when there is say In the garden of what is and what is same There these words shall speak a tomb For what and not and what's too soon Under dirt they shall find the moan? The voices will bleed their home That is when conception will brush it all Away to any kind and any way And then to their voice they will wave Speaking silently and close with wide skulls in eyes Speaking ever to stay and ever to say To finally learn that words are stone in stakes And the words shall bleed from them like nevermore Incessant and smiley glad-hands that whisper in the leaves This hand says leave it be For it shall be When the last hand is placed on mouth Death-numb without even a cat's eye to doubt The dogs shall have their meat They will utter their single word of singled tang Defeat will claim like never there was a claim Like haunting mud of never ever change In the garden? The garden of what is and what is the same[/size]

"Untitledness" (it's also rough) [also not finished] [size=1]It had been love at first sight for Floyd Rolin; or perhaps at first site. He'd been eating at his favorite restaurant; some stir-fry joint just like all the rest except for one thing. It was all you can eat. Buffet; the full gut-buster and a half. A place of heaven for Elvis Presley, Homer Simpson, and any other Fat Bastard? the one from Austin Powers the mafia god of all the other Fat Bastards. Floyd Rolin was not one of these Fat Bastards?and sure as hell wasn't their mafia god, thank you very much?but he was a Skinny Bastard. He had a skinny, bald head. He had the skeletal little pigskin that is a skinny white boy. Yeah, he was a skinny bastard. His stomach wasn't a chrome and steel chuggin' wagon, but his stomach was a furnace of pure personal love. That's being selfish for you. Or to the chicks out there, that's sexy, or so Floyd would say with a wink of his eyebrow like some premadonna. And he knew he was sexy. Call it a Skinny Bastard thing, or anything you want, but to himself he was. He was built strong like all Skinny Bastard Americans should be. He was classic. Vintage. Vintage like Macaroni and Cheese, or a BLT (without the bacon, though, that was for the Fat Bastards). He was 100 percent tasting of whatever it was Skinny American Bastards like himself tasted like. And to Floyd it was sexy. He could almost taste himself. He'd often even, taking his thin wry hand, lick his arm in front of any passing girl, saying that it "tasted like sex." He was overly confident. Full of himself, you might think. Love to him was like what beer was. It was purely lust. And, he didn't know it then, but that wasn't love. At all. Seated next to Floyd was a Fat Bastard. But this wasn't just any Fat Bastard. This was Floyd's best friend, Robert Vigle. Floyd and his group of friends simply call him Plant for his love of Led Zeppelin's Robert Plant. Floyd himself absolutely loved Zeppelin. He though of them forever as what could have been, had John Bonham, their drummer, not died, and never as what more could've been if they band hadn't broken up. To him, they were gods. And whatever had caused such Gods to break apart, in Floyd's mind, should be heftily destroyed and brought to hell. Plant leaned forward from his food, chewing up the stray Fat Bastard Stir-Fry, his gut squashing the admirable face of Jimmy Page on his Zep t-shirt. "****," he said, "this's 'ome goo' store-fry." He let out a straight laugh and smiled. "Don't ya think'o, Floyd?" He smiled at the way Plant had said stir-fry. Store-fry. Sounds like something Plant would say, he thought with a little chuckle. "Yes. This sure is some damn good store-fry." His smile broadened even more, almost a half-laugh escaping his lips. "So what do you say, Plant? Can I feed you some right on the lips? Can I give you All My Love?" Floyd said the All My Love part like some wacky impersonation of Elvis, coining on the obvious Zeppelin song reference. "I mean, we are friends, aren't we Plant?" The random throwing out of song titles was a game they often played. It was like playing Chess or Checkers, or, Plant would often say with a smug grin, it was like playing Who Can **** the Chick First. It was like that because they'd play it strategically. Each and every new song reference brought up lessened their gun of bullets, and each time they'd try to get a more crafty way of putting down the song reference. Late in the game, it got pretty damn hard, since they'd usually only stick to Led Zeppelin song titles; but that didn't exclude other bands all of the time. But that lessened the fun of it, putting in other bands. Because then it wasn't like Who Can **** the Chick First, it wasn't staying on one level ground. There was no strategic element in it, it was like putting an assortment of guns, say magnums, small pistols, rockets, and other clattered crap together. The results were always hazy, and most of the time it wasn't like ****ing a chick for the first time. It was like playing the game as a full-fledged, ****ed-until-forever vet of nothing but jack ****. To them it was a serious thing. As serious as a whore doing her job, or a kid being what a kid does; mainly annoying the **** out of people, or being all innocent-like. And that's what they liked to do to one another in this game. They liked there to be mind ****ery involved; they wanted, like a kid's intuitional right to bother the **** out of their brothers, parents, and anything they touched, to screw a curve ball and totally throw each other. That's what they wanted to do, Floyd and Plant. They wanted to be the Skinny Bastard and Fat Bastard's Midas' touch of one another. That was what this game was about. It was like making love, and trying to be on the top of each other. Trying to keep going until someone ****ed over. Plant knew he had to go quick as he looked around the stir-fry joint. Knew he was running out of time. And he needed something good, something fancy-assed and queer like Prince and his damned symbol. He wanted something irregular, asymmetrical. The thing was, he didn't know what the hell it was going to be as he peered around. Then he saw it. It wasn't exactly what he'd wanted, but it would surely do something to **** with Floyd's mind like Prince ****ed with numerous people's minds with his symbol. "Yeap, 'ure as hell're friends, Floyd. " Plant said it like a true conversationalist buying clams of time He needed to think of a song title, and fast. He kept looking at her with the corner of his eye, then finally came to Floyd's confident face. I got it, he thought as he stared at Floyd. "Damn, Babe I'm Gonna Leave You. I mean ****." He paused, and finally pointed. It was time to kill two birds with one stone. "**** Floyd, look ove' there. If you Bring It On Home, I'll go 'or the feedin'." And Plant could just not help it any longer, he let out a loud, bellowing, Fat Bastard's laugh. Plant wasn't in the official Fat Bastard Mafia, but boy, sometimes he really thought he could. Floyd could tell the laugh was only to faze him as he finally looked over to the table on the left where Plant had pointed. And suddenly, everything faded. Like that, like a snap of a finger. The incessant clatter in the store-fry joint faded like a wet dream, Plant's laugh faded like Britney Spear's horrible, bitter-**** wail. And just like that, all he could see or hear or feel was the girl. [/size]

[size=1] [color=red][b]PERSONAL[/b][/color] [b]Member Name:[/b] Mitch [b]Former Member Names:[/b] [strike]AnimeLover[/strike] (I loathe that name now heh) [b]Member Since:[/b] I cried at the moon. [b]Current Status:[/b] Moderator of Poetry/ Fan Fic [b]Nicknames:[/b] Smitzky (grandpa calls me it, gives me a kick, what can I say?); [strike] AnimeLover[/strike]; Mitchwoo; Mitchboo; Meh; Smitch; Smootchell; Smitchell; Smootch; Mootch; Mooitch; Sir Meh; Mitch Hell; Mitch Bell; *****; Itch; Ditch; Pitch; Fitch; Clitch; Rich Mitch; M.G. Smith (if I ever get a book that's what it'll be); Smitchy; Smeetch; Smeetchell; I could go on, but...that's the end of this Smootch. [b]Favorite Forums:[/b] Poetry/ Fan Fic (yeah yeah, I mod there..), Otaku Lounge, Music, Art. [b]Favorite RPG:[/b] I gave up on those a long time ago...I just forget about them. Shall I say Project Gamer, lol? [b]Favorite Threads:[/b] Don't really have one..*shrug*. I like my poem thread if that's self-righteous enough for you..I like those [i]civil[/i] discussion threads we have in OL every once and a while. [b]Favorite Smiley:[/b] :p...can't beat irony I guess. [b]Most Memorable Moment:[/b] Don't have one, there's too many. Meeting everyone I have here. perhaps? [b]Quotable Quote:[/b] No. [b]Words of Wisdom:[/b] I'm not wise, I'm not what you think Iam, and cough syrup cannot stabilize my hand. [b]Wish to be remembered for:[/b] Who I am, and perhaps my poetry. [b]Desired Epitaph:[/b] Epootooph? [b]Favorites:[/b] What? Did I hear you say poetry? Poetry, why, yes, I.. [color=red][b]MOST AND BEST[/b][/color] [b]Most likely to succeed: [/b] No one. [b]Most likely to secede: [/b] You. [b]Worst spelling: [/b] *shrug* [b]Best poster: [/b] Is this biased here, or what? I'd say..Sara, Charles, Shy, Asphy, Mac.. (there's more..can't think) [b]Cutest couple: [/b] Shy and Mitch of course. [b]Best writer: [/b]Shy, Sara, Mac, Heavenly Cloud From The Stars (aka Heaven's Cloudy friend), Raiha, Harly, that's enough. And Charles. Yes. [b]Best artist: [/b] GinnyLyn. [b]Best...spar-er?: [/b] I like my pen. [b]Craziest: [/b] Hahah. Ajeh or Weh. Weh, definitely, though. [b]Funniest / wittiest: [/b] Sara, Shy, Charlesly, the list goes on and I stop.. [b]Interesting-er-ist: [/b] Ginny. [b]Random award: [/b] I give Charles an award for being such a nice little child; mayhap he is cunning, and mayhap he's a dog. And I give the Otaku Award to the cat in the corner. [b]Nerd-tastic Power Rangers Award:[/b] Why, Sara, of course. [b]Digimon...something....award.: [/b]Dig i mon? Who's that? [b]Most Incredibly Patient Person-ness Award: [/b] James and Charles. [b]Teh Silly Bucket Award[/b]: Ajeh. [b]Other Disappeared Cool People:[/b] Don't know. [color=red][b]SIGNATURES[/b][/color] [b]Lady Ashpy-[/b] Don't know you too well as of yet, but we're going places, I guess. You doubt yourself way too much as a writer; it's not being the best that counts in the end, Kat. It's the most imaginative and the most best at digging up good stories..or something like that..eh. To write with a hand Is to write with a hand; But to write with wit Isn't what and when and not to forget But to write the right the kind that's cordial and bright The kind that loves and holds the sun in the night To write the right the kind that's best is to be yourself And flow it out and let the rock roll from the shelf -[i]M.G. Smith[/i] [b]Ginny-[/b] Are you still gone, an apparition here on the boards? Perhaps, perhaps not. I cannot say how much you mean to me...it's too hard, and I'll only make it sound corny, or something. I love you, is that enough? Ginny Ginny words are weapons Sharp as knives; But one has to realize They don't cut a bone or an eye All they mean is pride; something that Is not worth it to die To love is to say Like a flower that blooms And in the wind, sways Sometimes we forget who we are And there goes and comes the world Right in the eye All we can say is what we can And that sometimes it is right to Do what is wrong and wrong to do what Is right Sometimes we learn why it is not worth it to die -[i]Meh[/i] [b]Josh-[/b] Your life seems to be beginning to go the way you want it wholly and surely. Since I met you, I've met a great person. What can I say? You're a great friend, and we need to get to know each other more. I saw you over there On Disneyworld the Earth's side And then to DisneyLand like you couldn't decide So you just went on a jet ride Like you like to know And just know the tide You'll always be Shy-- And by golly, Bosko your mind -[i]Mitchwoo[/i] [b]Sara--[/b] Ever since you first posted in my poetry thread way back when I've wanted to know you. And the more I've come to know you, the more I realize how much you are like me. You're depressed sometimes, you're cynical, witty, sarcastic, ironical. When I look at you it's kind of like a far away reflection of me, in a way. You seem bewildered that I care about you for some reason, and I guess you have a right to. But it's as simple as saying because I want to, that's why. I may not believe in God, or Jesus, or anything in the Bible, but I know that being Jesus is just who I am, as off as that might sound for me to say. Giving to those when they need, and saying to those who need it is what I do when I can. Plus you're a lot like me, so I can [i]sort of[/i] understand where you're coming from..in a vague sense. Ever since Ginny said I'm a lot like you, that was when I first noticed it really. Ah, yeah. Enough said. There's a girl that has a Tree In the November air and Springtime jam She comes round and she stands And the farmhouses are what they are And shadows in the bushes are sand in her eyes But still that Tree is hers to have -[i]Mitch[/i] [b]Charles[/b] What can I say, man? You're my bestest friend here next to Ginny, Shy, Sara, Sej, and a few others. Man, you've always been there, and I've told you so many things about myself. Sometimes I've thought you weren't even listening when I really started to pour some feelings out at you, but I know you did. I really miss talking like we used to before you were Admin. Charles Charles and Darwin's the Man When we first were united we were just like ham We were tasty and meaty and we knew where to cut the lamb And man, I miss you sometimes like a Writer's block Writer's block has always never been my sheep in the flock I mean it like candy to my stock And I say that and I mean it like skittles tasting a rainbow The hammers need to come back and the gavels need blows Frying Pans are still as steel, you know -[i]Your Hammer Bro., Mitch[/i] [b]Lady Mac--[/b] Not much to be said here. Yet. You said you wanted to get to know me...and I'm still waiting on AIM. Or you don't do that thing, eh? *shrug* I don't know you too well...well, [i]at all[/i] would be a better word. But I understand where you're coming with with the baby and all... My parents divorced when I was about three...my Dad used to beat my Mom, as I've heard. Kind of the situation you're in in a way I'd say. I remember my Dad used to call me when I was ten, and ask me how stuff was going; then he'd ask me if I'd get my blood taken to see if I was his son (because he doesn't want to pay childsupport). And there's not a doubt I'm not his son, I have many resemblences to him. That also answers where "The Phone Call" came from. It came from when I was talking to Ginny, and we hit the exact subject I just brought up. Hit two birds with one stroke, eh? My middle name, I'd like to mention, is also from my real Dad's middle name. I want to change it, maybe. Because I've never known my real Dad at all...I do remember staying the night at him, in Casper, where I was born, I remember I watched [i]The Lawnmower Man[/i] and slept on the couch, or something near that. We just recently started finally getting our child support after long years of not getting it, and it's going to college. Most of this is beside the point, but I've been meaning to send a PM like this to you anyway, heh. Lady Mac I hate I Macs They taste like hands that blanket the night And I-Hate I Macs But sometimes exceptions are broken in coin And Lady Mac is one to have Even if I Macs aren't standard Mitch pack -[i]Mitchell Grant Smith[/i] [b]Tony/Sej-[/b] I am really happy that I IMed you (or I think it was me, I could be wrong Oo). As I said, you're one of my best friends now. You love music, and that's really the main first thing we touched on. I cannot thank you enough for giving me the AOL thing, heh. That was just too nice, or something. If you need something, I'm in your debt, I'd say. You're a great person, and I'm sure you'll do some great things other than those you've already done. And I...you're [i]just Tony[/i], I think that sums it up well. Two of hands of calls of shades Tony in Chicago in a haze When and there and the Bulls sang like zip-zip and hey Jordan's gone anyways; and Tony, that doesn't matter anyway You've got blonde hair Or so they say, or maybe it's actually gray All I know that two of hands of calls of shades An art brush a guitar riff's play Tony is Tony and that's the way That's the way -[i]Your pal, Mitch[/i] [b]Zeh-[/b] You're the person that lives closest to me, you Canadian. I love talking to you, you're simple, and funny, and random. And you're just Andy. That's about all there's to be said. And anyone who likes Final Fantasy and for a fact is a mod there is someone in my book. You're a lot older than you are, you know. Andeh and Sir Zeh went out to the park one day It was cold and freezing like Canada's cutting line (a crave) Immigrants are just like a hush (in the night) At the park you found a bench It was covered in snow like all else in spent But still you and your Sir Zeh sat Growing Santa in the wet And to be older than young and cold is right You're older than I remembered that cold, cold night On the bench, all up and light -[i]Sir Meh[/i] [/size]

[size=1] Just a simple poem... [b][u]rainoftrees[/b][/u] i was just at a walk when puddles dripped and i puddled at thought standing on pavement and slippery rainoftrees learned it's hard to forgettheleaves hard to forgetheleaves dear granpda,gravel gets wet from standing on pavement and slippery rainoftrees and when thelightning sings on that gravel it's hard to forgettheleaves i hope youhave just a walk and it puddles and drips as your lips i hope youhave just a walk that fathers love and haveto talk dear grandpa,stand on thatpavement wet from rainoftrees be thefather the one you'll alwaysbe[/size]

[center][img]http://www.undercover.com.au/pics/cdledzeppelinhowthewestwaswon.jpg[/img][/center] [size=1]The CD was released May 27th here I believe, and is three CDs long. Each CD is about 50 minutes in length. If you haven't heard about this CD, it's a proper live album for the band. And if you haven't even heard of Led Zeppelin, then I don't know you. I would like to properly review each track, but I don't have time; and I might not be able to review them and post it up on here, either (going to my cabin today), but I'd like it if some of you'd post what you think. Overall I'd say this is must-own for anyone who likes Zeppelin at all, or for anyone who has a taste in classic rock. The first CD starts out great. From [i]Immigrant Song[/i], to [i]Black Dog[/i], to the entirely awe-inspiring [i]Stairway To Heaven[/i], to [i]Going To California[/i], [i]That's The Way[/i],and ending with the wonderful and beat-thumping [i]Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp [/i],I'd say this is my favorite CD of the three. The second CD is a lot more jumpy. It starts out with a 25+ minute [i]Dazed And Confused[/i]. At first, this song is fine, but later on I'm mixed. About ten minutes of it is pretty much a guitar solo made with chicken scratch in parts; perhaps I just need to listen to it more, but otherwise, it's kind of trippy, for me at least. Considering what was on the first CD. The CD then gets better with [i]What Is And What Should Never Be[/i] as perhaps its high point, but then later goes on with [i]Moby Dick[/i]. [i]Moby Dick[/i] is a 19-something minute drums and percussion solo by John Bonham (he's their drummer that o'ded, if I'm thinking right). At first, this thing is great, but the sounds of the drums doesn't have much change or anything, so this is also trippy. It's not that bad I'd say, but it does get old fast. But, it does change eventually, and also near the end, some guitar riffs are played, but seriously, it's kind of long for what it's trying to say, at least to me. But considering John Bonham, this is still okay. Just a little over-bearing at first. I'd say I least like the second CD. The third CD starts out with a 20+ minute [i]Whole Lotta Love[/i], which is great. I've only listened to it once, but it's very well done, and makes the beginning of this CD wonderful. And I can't remember what else was on the third CD (it's early lol), and I'm out of time anyways. I'll try to do a proper review of each CD and each song when I get the chance.[/size]

[size=1][font=centurygothic][color=gray] How many deutchwhateverthehells are worth an american dollar in the great depression? This is general knowledge lol? Some of you people are just too smart. :)[/size][/font][/color]

[size=1]eight times six is forty six but dear six dear forty i seem to forget numbers hitmypencil andfall five times five doesn't matter (twenty-five wishes i wish to wish) lead is graphitesteel fornumbers ihatetokiss i multiply but dear six dear forty i seem toforget[/size]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] Tony, I am quite sad of heart now. I mean, you're like my best friend ever, and I just like wanted to meet you...*dramatic cry* I'd go just to meet you, though, seriously. Meeting people that you are never having met is fun. I still don't know why you wouldn't go; I mean it's our chance to truly capitalize on our growing and augmenting Shy club. I mean, we could even be part of the economical side of the government, running our club and all. We'd be Gods... In Animerica, that is, lol. I would sure as hell petition for a new name..[/color][/size][/font]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] This is definitely your best poem I've seen from you so far; it's a little iffy in some places, and it doesn't have as much flow [i]for my taste[/i], but it's great. I think the ending is kind of uncertain, though. You could've went on! Ah, anyways, I told you anyone can write poetry; all it takes is time and will and want.[/size][/font][/color]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] To be true, there's nothing such as "minorities." It's only people that are small-minded, feeble, and weak that think that way. Dear God, we're all human, no matter what the hell's in our damned blood. We all have relations to each other. I mean, there had to have been a pretty closed linked chain when either God created humans (if that is your belief), or, in what I believe, when we evolved into homo sapiens. You're only as small as you think you are, and you're only as big as you think you are. Does that make sense? We are all humans after all. Me? I'm just caucasian. I have some indian blood in me, some other stuff..but what does it matter? I'm still not better or smaller than anyone else, discounting egos. Egos are another thing altogether. Another thing, that like minorties, is only a mental thing.[/size][/font][/color]

[size=1][b][u]the sands of day[/b][/u] when i was but on (the sands of day) skies were (andthat'sallihavetosay) when i was conceived (on the sands ofday) i didn't seegod but i was given baptism (to my father's dismay) jehovah's witness he was (and i maysay is today) so whereis this god (for theyall see him theysay) i shallgo tohell when even i was but on (thesands ofday) breaths conceited (my handbleeds,nay) my hand bleeds (touch the vein) whereis god what is it hegave (love forflowers isnot thesame) taste is bitter onthesesands (of clay) i wasbut cellsandzygotes (but love forflowers isnot thesame) repeat isashuman as godandhisname (for ifheis then god and i are ofthesame) i was but here (on these sands ofday) somehowand way (i havegone astray) my breath;myway ,theseflowers andbreath andearth (that hegave) my loveforflowers isnot thesame (andthatisall ihavetosay) loveme lady ihave somuch togive for when i was but on (the sandsof day) somehow,someway ilovedyouthen (on the sandsofday) andthatis allihavetosay[/size]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] That's preposterous! [i]*ahem*[/i] I go with what Sej said; this country'd be mass chaos for all. The capital would be Crazy White Boy city, and the other capital would be Jamesashington O.B.. I can't dream; but I'd go to it just to meet some of the people I've met here..[/color][/size][/font]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] I drive slow when I'm in certain moods; and when I'm mad, or bitter, or anything else, I drive fast. Very fast. I still really hate driving, and am very uncomfortable with it. I've only driven on freeways once or twice, too. I have enough trouble driving already; I'm a very timid person to things like this that put many things in danger and need upmost attention. I guess sometimes I'm a good driver, and sometimes I'm not. I've missed like two dozen wrecks by luck already, so I guess I have some grace.[/size][/font][/color]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] Dan is exactly right. Although I've only taken a required Physics class, and I still didn't understand most of the things I learned (math is just not my thing), I know these equations do actually work; I mean, they've been proven. And although I don't completely understand the equations that you showed us, Dan, I simply am certain they are right. There isn't a doubt. It makes sense to me; as matter is made to go faster and faster, it will grow more stretched out or bigger. That's not exactly right, I'm certain, but that's how it works in my mind; if I'm wrong in anyway, or if you can explain it easier for me Dan, I'd love that. So it's impossible to reach the speed of light without dying. And only pure energy products such as light could go that fast. But let me tell you this, Dan; let me tell you there has to be a way to go farther than our physical and purely law-found ways. I believe for certain that someday, far away perhaps, scientests will become something of Gods. They will be able to mimic the very essence of everything; Physics included. So thus, someday, everything or near to everything will be as possible as they can be; time travel included. The thing is, I cannot assume how far that will go. But I do think it's possible--that there's some way--to go faster than light without dying due to the circumstances. There's a way to get around it, or even mimic the laws of physics themselves. As for the energy needed, I know it is quite a lot, but we have such crude ways of making energy now; someday it will be a lot better, trust me there. We will have to develop ways to get energy easier because eventually we'll drain all the resources from every planet we find--that's assuming we make it off here before the sun goes, or whatever the hell else happens. As for time itself, I go with what Ajeh said. If you were to change something in the past, it would not change what had happened on that timeline, but it would create an entire new instance and world: a new dimension of time and space if you will, in some ways. So thus there really isn't any contradictions or paradoxes. That would explain that. Time as a word is a figment of our imagination, but there is such a thing. If there isn't time, then what causes us to age? Our cells, true, but what causes these cells to age? It can only be time.[/size][/font][/color]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] I'm certain you all realize on thing about eternal life and mortality. Perhaps I'll reiterate? To be mortal is what [b]makes[/b] us human. Eternal life would turn everything around; it would do so especially in our society's function today. We wouldn't be able to have childern. We'd probably have suicides, an entire different look at them. We wouldn't be able to enjoy life as a passing, momentary thing. Life would just not be life. It just wouldn't. I wouldn't take eternal life for the hell of me.[/size][/font][/color]

with thebreath of newlife toknow is tohave howright ababy fetusastheycall is in wonderofawe tonight and tolook is toknow and whichisright alife as itis has delight like breathing lungs airtoincite to have a baby likeyourkisses and yourendless denies to learn tolove yourson will be sure astime let whatwill be bewhat it will be iseeit as it should lie to learntolove yourson will be sureastime remember that whatyou leavewhen youdie to yourson and what he breathes is whatever yougive and what herecieves forget the regret thatisee youbleed yourchoices made this happen as itshall be donotfail for what you believe [color=gray][size=1][font=century gothic]There, that's better than a present, I hope. I do not know what kind of feelings you have at all, or what kind of hope you have for your son. But I know and I hope you'll love him, and do all you can for him. You seem to be a well person, and I hope you know and do what's best. Best of luck..I don't know what you're feeling at all. This is a life you're making. It's not going to be easy to raise him, I know that, but it's what you have that should mean more than what you deserve.[/size][/font][/color]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray] I love it, heh. It's great. At first, when I looked at it, I wasn't sure what was going on..but I looked closer, and saw it. Then I laughed. I don't know exactly why it's funny, but it is. Heh. Love it, like I said. Would love to see more stuff like this from you.[/color][/size][/font]

[size=1][b][u]of course dear sleep[/b][/u] of course dear sleep i love you and keep when tears don't touch when breatheingin is hardtolove of course dear sleep i love you and keep hush nowhush soft pillow pillow i love you and keep o baby when tears don't touch and roses aren't daffodils hush nowhush tears don't haveto touch; on thisbed i lie if you want to i can sleep on thisbed i lie of course dear sleep i love you and keep softpillow you brush myhair hush nowhush on thisbed i lie of course dear sleep i love you and keep if you want to i can sleep hush nowhush tears don't haveto touch o lady i love you softpillow you brush i wanted to cry nowhush i love you softpillow you brush nowhush[/size]

[size=1][center]"Cigs"[/center] Come over here, to the bathroom. If you look close enough you can see him right now. On the stall on the far left, the one that's been broken since who knows when. This is Ben Coper. He's worked in this building for thirty-five years of his wasted life. And everyday he comes here. Comes to this stall on the far left, the one that's broken. What does he do here? Well, if you'd ask him, he'd smile his fake smile and tell you he's simply doing his job. That he's just cleaning the bathrooms. But that is a lie. In the stall, his stall, he usually lights up a cig. A Marlboro Light. Nothing too bad. He sometimes even smokes another two or three. Or even four. The cigs really clear his head. They allow him to think. And his thoughts are usually clouded. But with the help of the cigarettes it's like he can finally breathe in his dead head. First it all gets fuzzy. Everything. The way his hands feel as he sits on the toilet gets fuzzy and farther away. His vision gets farther away and al fuzzy too. All of it gets fuzzy. If you were to walk into the bathroom right when he was smoking in his stall, you'd see smoke almost all over the bathroom. A large and billowing monument of it. Ben doesn't take chances though. He locks the door each and every time. This time is no different. But soon it is different. Soon things don't go like they have for thirty-five daring years. As he's smoking his mind and everything gets fuzzy. Everything starts to dance with an asphyxiation that falls right into Ben's eyes. Right into his soul. It goes like this for a long time. He smokes slow, uncertainly. Then his first cig is smoked to a small ashy stump. From his denim jacket smelling profusely of smoke he reaches into the front pocket. He takes out his package of cigarettes. It's a fresh pack. Only is missing the first cig that Ben just smoked. That's when it happens. His throat begins to feel like it hasn't ever felt before. His mind begins to think and flutter. His hands begin to shake like there's some earthquake all over the ground. He falls over. When he opens his eyes he can hear someone banging on the door. Shouting. Their voice is too muffled though, he can't understand a single word they say. He is about to stand up, about to go and unlock the door when his eyes fall on them. The cigarettes are still all over the ground. Without a single afterthought or a single second feeling he reaches out for them. That is when he is tapped on the shoulder. As he looks up, his entire body shakes as he is shocked in a sudden fear. He almost lets out a scream, but he holds it inward, not wanting to look too much like a coward. That's always been Ben's way. Just stay it cool. Not just staying cool, but he's always been one of those people that wanted to be cool, that wanted to be accepted. Wanted to be known. So he keeps his cool as much as he can?holds everything inward as he looks at it. At first the thing looks like what Ben had always feared. He'd always feared clowns. Not just any clowns, but ones that were scary. With big teeth, sharp teeth. And a snarl to match. That's what he sees at first. He's quite certain it can't be real as he stares it down, looks at it. But, as he rubs his eyes and touches the thing's feet he realizes that it is real. He almost screams. Almost. But the clown first puts his hand over Ben's mouth, blocking out what would have been a scream. All that comes out is dead air that falls to nothing in the stall that's always been broken, the one on the far left. Ben just stares at the clown. It's all he can do. He also tries to grab his cigs on the ground, but somehow and someway, he isn't able to?his hands fall right through them. Just like a ghost. As Ben stares at the clown in bewilderment and makes his wild grab for his cigs, the thing's face begins to change. It isn't an instant change. It's more like a slow change, a very slow change. The thing looks like a maggot as its face melds into nothing . It sits like this for awhile like it's thinking of what to change to. To what, though, doesn't matter to Ben at all. All that is going through Ben's mind is to get the hell out of the bathroom. And, secondly, to have a cig. Just one more, he wants just one more. Wants and needs it bad right then. He needs it like he'd always desired to have sex. Like he'd always desired to be cool. He needs it bad. But his wild grabs are doing nothing. His fingers, his arm, his entire body won't feel anything. It won't touch the cigs. They just go through them hopelessly. They just go through them without any feeling. The maggot-like face of what had been the clown now rebegins drastically changing. Not just its face anymore, either. Its entire body is changing, melding, molding. To what, Ben has no clue. And what it's changing into is the last thing on Ben's mind. Ben finally gives up on his cigs, and he begins to climb onto the broken toilet. But in his stupor and panic, he'd forgotten to close the lid. He falls right down as he clambers up. Right down onto the tile and hits his head. Hits his head hard. So hard that, as he later learns, he fractures his entire skull. For now, though, all he is left with is an extremely large open cut on his head. It's over almost his entire head. All of it except for maybe a quarter. A quarter and even less. The blood begins to flow. It flows all over the small stall, seeps under the crack of the door. The blood's also clouding Ben's eyes. He can barely see, and he feels like he's going to pass out. His entire body feels like one big nothing. All he can feel is the endless and numbing pain of the wound that's on his head. His breathing becomes loud and hard. It's like he's breathing through a mask that's hooked up to some loud and hissing bottle of oxygen. Every breath to Ben's lungs burns and makes his body ache. He's about to pass out. Then he looks up with the last of his strength. And, to his surprise, there stands the principal. His name is Mr. Hanning. He'd always been nice to Ben. Especially nice. Through the blood and blurred vision Ben barely makes out that it is Mr. Hanning. He squints more, and he can see that Hanning's holding something out to him. Something white. It's a cigarette. Ben soon realizes this, and he lets out a large wail. It's a lusty wail. A wail of extreme want and need. Through the pain all over his body, he manages to outpour his hand. His entire hand shakes in this attempt, but he manages to reach out just enough so that he can reach the cig. His hand touches it?or tries. Not surprisingly to Ben at all his hand falls right through the cigarette. And he cannot hold onto anything any longer. He passes out. Again. Ben doesn't know where he's at anymore. For a long time there's blackness. A blackness like his lungs probably look like. Then he starts seeing things again, starts dreaming again. Or whatever you call what he'd seen?the clown and all. This time it's more of a memory than anything. He remembers it very well, this memory. It's something that he constantly went through all those years he'd sat in the broken stall in his lonely school. He sees himself in a restaurant. This isn't just any restaurant, it's quite special to him. He had only gone there about three times in his life, but it's still quite special to Ben. The restaurant's name is Chile's Bar And Grill. It's a simple and homely restaurant. It smells like barbeque sauce. Pretty much breathes it. There's also peanut shells all over the ground like hair that dots a barber shop's floor. And just like the hair on a barber's floor, these shells are just there. Most people don't even see them, they're just there. To Ben, though, it just makes this memory even more surreal and lively. He walks into this wonderful part of his memory out of the blackness that he'd so recently had. He enters and finds himself sitting down right there smack in the front, finds himself waiting for a table. This version of him is much younger. He doesn't have the rough and white beard. He doesn't have the sandy and crude wrinkles all over his face. This Ben is younger. A lot younger. He watches the younger self with open eyes, sees how ignorant and stupid he looked. How hopeless and without a cause, a reason, or a place. The younger Ben is, of course, smoking a cig. It's what Ben has done since he was around ten and on. And the smoke from the cig is falling all over the place, all over this memory and tainting it for him. Every wheeze and trail of smoke that goes around shakes this memory, the restaurant's beautiful feeling itself, into a blankness. Into vagueness. He watches this asphyxiated: just like he's breathing in the smoke. And it feels like it to him, too. It feels like he can just taste that butt in his mouth, taste all of the smoke going in and through his lungs. It's a wonderful feeling to him, a bad one perhaps, but good all the same. He continues to stand there, everything blanking out, the smoke asphyxiating him, burning through him. Then the younger Ben puts out the butt in an ashtray right next to his seat, and stands up. He's going to sit down at his table along with the friends that Ben used to have. Used to have. Ben could care less about these friends. They had long ago left his life. They were not even friends to him at all, not a bit. Never were. He simply thought so. [center]"Love In Murder Has No Name"[/center] He sits in his chair, sits in it like he has for years and years. His eyes are tired, likely and palpable in sort to that of a dead cadaver's eyes. There's just something missing from these eyes of his, the ones he's also had for years and years. And once he settles in his nice chair, his chair, he stares blankly at his desk's flat bottom. Stares at all the material things about and decorating its wooden and downright flimsy and worn and unlusterous appearance. He then sighs, and it's his eyes again, they're tired; they look like two dead rocks just sitting obliviously on the bottom of some long-gone, old, emaciated river; and then he knows it, he just breathes it?through his mouth, and well through his eyes?he can't go on. He thinks this too, more of a long sigh, inundated as it stands, than anything else; but he thinks it. All over his desk's top, through the untidy piles of paper after paper after paper, there's many things just scribbled right directly on the wood; from his scribbled signature?M.G.S.?to other things, it's easy to tell that he's had this desk for a long while. For not just the worn-out look of it, and dustiness of it, nor the scribbled things, but more for just its entirety. It's just old-looking more or less. He now focuses on these many phrases and carved things on his desk, reads them over like he has so many times; and, moving the things out of the way, moving a piece of paper here and there, he comes to his phrase that's always been his. SSDD is scribbled right there, over and over again like a wheel spinning round. And here, he takes out his pointed pen, and scribbles even more; his eyes follow the pen in a certain way, almost mechanically. After he's been doing this for a long time, just scribbling his SSDDs and thinking, his phone abruptly rings that's on his desk. He stops and picks it up. "Ah, Mick," said his wife's voice, abruptly. Mick holds the phone closer. "Yeah honey?" he says. There's a click-clack silence as he hears his wife typing something up. It soon stops, and she finally speaks again. "So what's up?" she asks. "Not too much; same **** different day," Mick says. "Just filling out some job applications." A lie, of course. But that is what he had meant to be doing. "So why'd you call?" "Well," she starts, "I got this really neat story today at the paper?it's about a murder that just happened?I was just at the crime scene, in fact. Thought you might find it interesting to come to it with me, you know, since it's your kind of thing; murder and all, you know. If you want to see it, though, you'd better hurry?soon the scene's going to be crowded with the fuzz." Mick had always had a very interesting thing with murders; he'd always watched the shows on TV documenting them; even since he'd been just a kid he'd watched them. From time to time his wife would call just like this, as she got assigned the stories, of course, and he'd most often just go to check things out. It could be said that Mick himself wanted to become something of a police officer himself, but he'd never been able to. He was still just taking his second year of generals at college, and wasn't even sure himself if he'd take the route of a police officer for a job. He smiled now, a tight smile, a very short-lived smile. "I'd love to go," he said as the smile left his face, "would absolutely love it honey." Mick could also just see his wife smiling too, and he knew she was. You see, Mick had a very good link, just had this click with his wife; he just knew her, even before he had met her. It was, at times, a strange thing; but it was also something quite sensual and made their entire relationship that more powerful. And he was right, she was smiling. Her white teeth shone like some wonderful white pearl as she too felt that he was smiling, and she too felt that she'd just made his day, or something near it. "I knew you'd want to, Mick," she said through her smile. "I'll be there to pick you up then, in about ten minutes; first I have to finish the rough of my story, though." "Okay honey," he said, "la la love you." "Love ya too Mickey," she said back at him with a half-meaning and half-evil laugh that could only be hers. These are all rough, and these are all not even finished.[/size]

[size=1][b][u]senseof kisses[/b][/u] will i eversee a parabola? when you cessation; senseof kisses: 'sphyxiation i see the roses' elation: parabola;cold it says belated cold it says to me;sovery lovely if i eversee a parabola it willnot matter to me for when you cessation; senseof kisses: it willnot matter to me for since feelings comefirst; i won'tsee:won'tbreathe all i have: as your hands touch me; cessation these eyes; these senseof kisses willnot even matter to me:deep down in my brainthatbreathes; i want i will see breathing in i cessation; senseof kisses: 'sphyxiation to love you in my arms so lives are gone i want i will see thesesenses of kisses: my brainthatbreathes when flowers parabola:they leave greenblood is sensation;bleed[/size]

[size=1][font=century gothic][color=gray][b]My Blogs:[/b] [url=www.deathisaword.blogspot.com]Death Is A Word[/url] [url=www.livejournal.com/~lover_of_anime]Just Whateverness[/url] [b]Name of Blog:[/b] Already stated above. [b]Reason For Creating:[/b] Mainly, on the death is a word one, to get down some of my thoughts. The other one...no reason really.[/color][/size][/font]