Let's Slip on Vomit and Rupture Some Vertebrae!
Some spam had what looks to be snippets from a 'list of cliches to avoid while writing' used as the device to keep two trillion of the same fucking mail from bouncing off filters to prevent same...and I created the following poem out of them.
Oddly enough it speaks volumes about my feelings at the moment.
I had a very eventful Memorial Day.
Ironically, I wish to forget this day for the rest of my life.
Try having a near-death experience, or what was apparently one, then come home and a few hours later, while you are thinking everything's hunky dory, proceed to have your future's rug pulled straight out from under you.
Two falls on the ass in one day.
The one that nearly killed me was less painful.
The story?
Fuck the story. It's been told a thousand thousand times. It's a wonder it isn't so old no one bothers telling it any more, yet it gets told over and over again.
I am not going to tell it again. I don't do this kind of drama. It does not suit me one bit. I will NOT live a cliche and I sure as hell won't die one. Until some sort of new Rug of the Future can be woven and placed beneath my feet, I'm going to be still, and patient, and quiet. Because I ain't about to even attempt to lift myself up high enough to fall yet one more time.
I'm pretty sure my spinal cord broke, or was pinched today, when I slipped on some vomit in the BART station and fell on it. No one came to help me for about 12 minutes.
No one human, that is.
Glory to CHORONZON, who did, and did something to me when I'd lost the feeling in my legs and brought it back. If this was my mind playing tricks and it was all imagination, well, imagination can do some downright amazing things.
Glory to CHORONZON who has done enough in one day for me. I am not about to hassle this divine creature to try to fix a broken goddamn heart, and that's all I have to say about that.
Add "live and learn" to the list below.
That cliche did not come through spam.
___
Through the grapevine.
Under the weather.
Too little, too late.
Sturdy as an oak.
Stubborn as a mule.
Sitting on the fence.
Throwing filth on the living and flowers on the dead.
Pin a rose on your nose.
Spring forward, fall back.
A place in the sun.
Rise and shine.
Thick as a brick.
You're in hot water.
Run to seed.
Still waters run dirty and deep.
Shit end of the stick.
That's a real stem winder.
Oddly enough it speaks volumes about my feelings at the moment.
I had a very eventful Memorial Day.
Ironically, I wish to forget this day for the rest of my life.
Try having a near-death experience, or what was apparently one, then come home and a few hours later, while you are thinking everything's hunky dory, proceed to have your future's rug pulled straight out from under you.
Two falls on the ass in one day.
The one that nearly killed me was less painful.
The story?
Fuck the story. It's been told a thousand thousand times. It's a wonder it isn't so old no one bothers telling it any more, yet it gets told over and over again.
I am not going to tell it again. I don't do this kind of drama. It does not suit me one bit. I will NOT live a cliche and I sure as hell won't die one. Until some sort of new Rug of the Future can be woven and placed beneath my feet, I'm going to be still, and patient, and quiet. Because I ain't about to even attempt to lift myself up high enough to fall yet one more time.
I'm pretty sure my spinal cord broke, or was pinched today, when I slipped on some vomit in the BART station and fell on it. No one came to help me for about 12 minutes.
No one human, that is.
Glory to CHORONZON, who did, and did something to me when I'd lost the feeling in my legs and brought it back. If this was my mind playing tricks and it was all imagination, well, imagination can do some downright amazing things.
Glory to CHORONZON who has done enough in one day for me. I am not about to hassle this divine creature to try to fix a broken goddamn heart, and that's all I have to say about that.
Add "live and learn" to the list below.
That cliche did not come through spam.
___
Through the grapevine.
Under the weather.
Too little, too late.
Sturdy as an oak.
Stubborn as a mule.
Sitting on the fence.
Throwing filth on the living and flowers on the dead.
Pin a rose on your nose.
Spring forward, fall back.
A place in the sun.
Rise and shine.
Thick as a brick.
You're in hot water.
Run to seed.
Still waters run dirty and deep.
Shit end of the stick.
That's a real stem winder.