don't she purr
children, i have done it. i have purchased my car, and it is wonderful. i went through the DQ drive-thru tonight in the middle of rehearsal with a full carload and full wicked witch makeup (i have triumphed! i am the witch of the west gothic drag style!! will post pics in costume next week), new car. you gotta try that sometime... the looks you get... whoo.
i miss greg. i wish i didn't.
and hey, i'm missing my copy of The Vagina Monologues... did i loan it to someone from chicago, maybe? did i even take it to chi with me? i'm baffled.
~~~
priority gotta take a stand sometime
in this decade of
corporate coffee in glass bottles
a so-called poet drinks against his constitution
somethin's gonna make him sulk
sometime
and the words won't work
and he hates himself
sometimes
pickin the loose hangin skin offa his
fingers
tearin hisself up over fair trade
while his fingers throb
so he does his part to conserve water
by not doing the dishes
it's just as well
cuz his cuticles are dripping blood
little by little
and we all have unknown bloodborne pathogens
lying dormant
sometimes
especially those outsider types
you never know what they'll be carryin
to enlighten, infect, or get you off
with screams more pornographic
than you've ever heard before from your own
vocal cords
we all have the power to
surprise ourselves
sometimes
but somethin still ain't sittin right
in the ciliated stomach of the so-called poet
someone else is dead
and he can feel it,
some personalized saviour he woulda been
set up with by destiny
to change something for the better in him
but now she's dead,
and of course it's for the best
somehow
~~~
i think i really like this one.
but now i have an allnighter to pull, so feel free to give an im if you like. goodnight, loves.
i miss greg. i wish i didn't.
and hey, i'm missing my copy of The Vagina Monologues... did i loan it to someone from chicago, maybe? did i even take it to chi with me? i'm baffled.
~~~
priority gotta take a stand sometime
in this decade of
corporate coffee in glass bottles
a so-called poet drinks against his constitution
somethin's gonna make him sulk
sometime
and the words won't work
and he hates himself
sometimes
pickin the loose hangin skin offa his
fingers
tearin hisself up over fair trade
while his fingers throb
so he does his part to conserve water
by not doing the dishes
it's just as well
cuz his cuticles are dripping blood
little by little
and we all have unknown bloodborne pathogens
lying dormant
sometimes
especially those outsider types
you never know what they'll be carryin
to enlighten, infect, or get you off
with screams more pornographic
than you've ever heard before from your own
vocal cords
we all have the power to
surprise ourselves
sometimes
but somethin still ain't sittin right
in the ciliated stomach of the so-called poet
someone else is dead
and he can feel it,
some personalized saviour he woulda been
set up with by destiny
to change something for the better in him
but now she's dead,
and of course it's for the best
somehow
~~~
i think i really like this one.
but now i have an allnighter to pull, so feel free to give an im if you like. goodnight, loves.