...MY STORY... BLOODY OR FLUFFY...
Pondering situations. Why are the words so dry lately? Putting it into another perspective outside the arena here helps. It hit me on the way home from work.
When you say, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, thou art more lovely and more temperate...” no one has any idea what you’re talking about. If you were to talk about that bitch and how she wanted to wash her hands clean- You guessed it, “Oh, yah, I know that one. Bitch, keep your fucking hands bloody.”
It’s a wonder that man was able to cough up what? 154 of those damn fluffy pieces. People do not care much for the fluttery sonnets. They want the horror of the tragedy, blood are gore, mistakes and heartaches, whores and vengeance.
Ever hear that one about the guy who spent 10 years getting back to his faithful wife? And how she fended off a more than a hundred men vying for her bed in hopes of his return- how they worked out? Probably not. But I can bet you heard of that cheating cunt who killed her husband when he came back from ‘away.’ He may have been a huge hero, but just look what that bastard did to his own daughter. That kid of theirs was a mess, wasn’t he? And her.. Oh my... Shackin’ it up with homeboy over there... Slut.
Miss Prudence, Lysistrata, only gets attention because they were all burning by the end. Guess sex always sold.
So why isn’t this catching on?
Contemporary writers like Rice are also well known- However, I do not call them vampires, and come up with elaborate schemes for their return. I call them boyfriends. But they are the same damn thing. Hey, my characters come back from the dead, too, you know. King- tho I am told at times he is redundant and verbose- is well known for his graphic and horrendous depictions of the most heinous people out there... Tell me now where the difference is.
Alright alright, didn’t get into the ‘great street lamp’ I am told of, or the lone head that went rolling down the sidewalk. Same shit happens here tho.
Someday soon it’ll get figured out- or not anymore- which will bring it all back. Stressing isn’t working, thinking only gets but a sentence or two. Reading does something, working there too. Hearing about the ex’s folly- that is grand. That to come later. At any- and always- slow like molasses rate, this is how it is. And this is my explanation why. 01272005
When you say, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, thou art more lovely and more temperate...” no one has any idea what you’re talking about. If you were to talk about that bitch and how she wanted to wash her hands clean- You guessed it, “Oh, yah, I know that one. Bitch, keep your fucking hands bloody.”
It’s a wonder that man was able to cough up what? 154 of those damn fluffy pieces. People do not care much for the fluttery sonnets. They want the horror of the tragedy, blood are gore, mistakes and heartaches, whores and vengeance.
Ever hear that one about the guy who spent 10 years getting back to his faithful wife? And how she fended off a more than a hundred men vying for her bed in hopes of his return- how they worked out? Probably not. But I can bet you heard of that cheating cunt who killed her husband when he came back from ‘away.’ He may have been a huge hero, but just look what that bastard did to his own daughter. That kid of theirs was a mess, wasn’t he? And her.. Oh my... Shackin’ it up with homeboy over there... Slut.
Miss Prudence, Lysistrata, only gets attention because they were all burning by the end. Guess sex always sold.
So why isn’t this catching on?
Contemporary writers like Rice are also well known- However, I do not call them vampires, and come up with elaborate schemes for their return. I call them boyfriends. But they are the same damn thing. Hey, my characters come back from the dead, too, you know. King- tho I am told at times he is redundant and verbose- is well known for his graphic and horrendous depictions of the most heinous people out there... Tell me now where the difference is.
Alright alright, didn’t get into the ‘great street lamp’ I am told of, or the lone head that went rolling down the sidewalk. Same shit happens here tho.
Someday soon it’ll get figured out- or not anymore- which will bring it all back. Stressing isn’t working, thinking only gets but a sentence or two. Reading does something, working there too. Hearing about the ex’s folly- that is grand. That to come later. At any- and always- slow like molasses rate, this is how it is. And this is my explanation why. 01272005