Casting down beneath the hooves of beasts so plain and filthy
hurling to wind all the bile that you could hold
givng of all you ever had to those already wealthy
so sitting freshly festered opened new the old

of gossomer strand enlightened thread
of words you say to me
and thoughts that I pour in my head
and still I am not free

in respit sent or slumber earned
your eyes still closed the same
but now in sleep have yet you turned
to call me out by name

what words do you have to impart
what knowledge would you pass
and though it may now break my heart
I could not help but ask

so ask I shall and ask I do
yet words I do not hear
though words could break a man with truth
it's silence that I fear

I'm a happy little coat hanger
bearing a piece of cloth
I hope that you will try it on
and then you'll take it off.

heres my little piece of pasion
here is all my pain
and though my thoughs are out of fashion
I'll say them once again.
Once the was a happy man who knew his simple lot
and many thing he went through (blah,blah,blah..and then some plot)
as merrily he went about how often he would sing
How happy is this simple man whos life is so boring
and so once there was a friendly child who'd snuggle up at night
dreaming thoughts of sunshine as he hugged the blankets tight
untill his parents hung there heads and wondered till the dawn
were there baby boy was and how he'd gone so wrong
yet he some how smiled throughout his daze as happy people do
meeting with the masses and encountering the few
with broken heart he laid his head as low as could be done
curled up on the concreate like he was when he was one
once there was, and once there was, and once there was again
it's the rhythm of our lives and the pattern of our friends

black and white
dark as night
white as clouds on summer days
sour and sweet
good to eat
tastes of fine culinaries
small and tall
one and all
grandest gales of blowing breeze
search and find
left behind
figment of infinity

I feel like an animal
on instinct alone
a stranger in my body and inside my own home
well maybe I am
if so, thats just great
but I have to be a human if I hold all this hate
I think that I'm happy
but I know that I'm wrong
It's not about if. It's about how long
used to be a virgin
always good growing up
used to be! till that bitch life got me fucked
ya see it on the TV
families crying and crying
while you sit at home and wonder why their children are dying
damn you all say
then relax, have a beer
while your thanking some God that those problems aren't here
but the problems are there
shouldn't that be enough
why shouldn't it hurt when others have it so rough
maybe I'm prying
looking too far in
living life for yourself isn't living in sin
when I think of it all
sometimes I can't even breath
when I want to be right in all that I believe

All in a Golden Afternoon
Lewis Carroll, Alice In Wonderland


All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?

Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict to begin it
In gentler tone Secunda hopes
"There will be nonsense in it!"
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.

Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast --
And half believe it true.

And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
;The rest next time' -- 'It is next time!'
The happy voices cry.

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.

Alice! a childish story take,
And with a gentle hand
Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
In Memory's mystic band,
Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
Pluck'd in a far-off land.

It's kinda funny to think that my problems bother me so much when they are no different than anyone elses. The nuance is different but not much else. It's true....(fill in blank) hates their job and gets no respect. (They) go home everyday and are misserable. (They) have nothing one would call a real hobby, at least not one (they) enjoy. and at the end of everyday (they) realize that (they) might as well have not woken up that morning. Is it a problem when I feel like I'm stealing air that could be better used by drowning victims. I've drowned before. It's amazing how all the knowledge of your life can't seem to stop your stupid body from pulling and heaving in hopes of air in water... you can only hold your breath so long and then...nature takes over and fucks you hard in the process. You can think about it all you like but you can't stop breathing in water. It's like grabing something hot....why would your hand close around it? It is the exact opposite of a good idea....so why is it second nature. I think all I'm really saying is that none of my problems are going away because solving them is not in my nature. And when has this world ever helped anyone anyway?

Dually stiding(siding,sliding,abideing) forth and round
Smiling caeser by his side
To grey in sky and green of ground

I think that I fucked up....in fact I know it. oops...It's ok I guess because forgivness is a joke and hate is inevitable. We don't ever fix things we just live with problems....and why would anyone believe in scrupulous honesty? I haven't done anything wrong persay it's just that no one would understand. And don't expect an explination.