Me n my arrow.
Straight as an arrow... in multiple directions. Ever have those days that just propel you out of your usual haze, your sulky sooty gloom? The possibilities came leaping up at me and I leapt up out of my festering clothes and frolicked with them in the indigo in-between. Everyone looks good in indigo in-between, even blondes. And you know what they say about blondes.
As for furniture broken things and shards, I'm typing it I'm typing it. Not tonight, though I would like to very much I would, but tonight I can't type the keys seep keep seeming being in the wrong places when my fings go to hit them and I and up toyping like a show. See? I'm too jatter-jived. Want to play this instrument the right way at the right time and now is the time for a dumpster dive. Need some bread, need some juice, need a Walkman and some blank tapes and some new a new set of lungs, have you got a pair, would you grow a pair for me? For me? I'd do it for you, I'd do a lot for you and now I feel like listening to Sufjan, look what you've got me doing! Licorice whip lip lip liquorish whip.
The poem must needs be typed, and typed again, revised. Revised again. It must. But I must establish a reasonable sleep schedule if I have any hope of salvaging my employment. Oh, employment.
I made glorious and grandiose plans tonight, after a long solid talk with a writer-friend, I made plans to hit up Duluth and the dumpsters, to acquaint myself more intimately with trains and tents and things. One, two, soil my shoe, three, four, bang down the door.
I read the first thirty-seven pages of Ulysses and talked it over with Mum and biked along a trail with Peter and bought vegetables fruits beans and soyyogurts at the co-op and drank beer n coffee talking literature n life with Ryan and walked about town with Travis and Bobby and ate dark-chocolate almonds in the bathtub and painted Vonnegut pictures in the den and concocted an ideal scheme for my brand new colony I am setting up in the living room of my apartment and I didn't get to talk to Maggie but I hope I can soon I hope I think I can I think I think therefore I can I am I think I hope I am.
I need to not succumb yet to sleep when I am so full of this brazen whitelight I never felt much for a while, not yet not so. Let's see if I type enough and stuff then my dreams tonight will fail to be as juicy and colourful and weird and epic?
As for furniture broken things and shards, I'm typing it I'm typing it. Not tonight, though I would like to very much I would, but tonight I can't type the keys seep keep seeming being in the wrong places when my fings go to hit them and I and up toyping like a show. See? I'm too jatter-jived. Want to play this instrument the right way at the right time and now is the time for a dumpster dive. Need some bread, need some juice, need a Walkman and some blank tapes and some new a new set of lungs, have you got a pair, would you grow a pair for me? For me? I'd do it for you, I'd do a lot for you and now I feel like listening to Sufjan, look what you've got me doing! Licorice whip lip lip liquorish whip.
The poem must needs be typed, and typed again, revised. Revised again. It must. But I must establish a reasonable sleep schedule if I have any hope of salvaging my employment. Oh, employment.
I made glorious and grandiose plans tonight, after a long solid talk with a writer-friend, I made plans to hit up Duluth and the dumpsters, to acquaint myself more intimately with trains and tents and things. One, two, soil my shoe, three, four, bang down the door.
I read the first thirty-seven pages of Ulysses and talked it over with Mum and biked along a trail with Peter and bought vegetables fruits beans and soyyogurts at the co-op and drank beer n coffee talking literature n life with Ryan and walked about town with Travis and Bobby and ate dark-chocolate almonds in the bathtub and painted Vonnegut pictures in the den and concocted an ideal scheme for my brand new colony I am setting up in the living room of my apartment and I didn't get to talk to Maggie but I hope I can soon I hope I think I can I think I think therefore I can I am I think I hope I am.
I need to not succumb yet to sleep when I am so full of this brazen whitelight I never felt much for a while, not yet not so. Let's see if I type enough and stuff then my dreams tonight will fail to be as juicy and colourful and weird and epic?