Everything is so fucking funny to you.

You're pretty much the only friend I have right now.

You and your brushing aside, things to do elsewhere, going out and partying and having a good time.

I envy you and your ridiculously good life.

Good bye.

Heart Swollen

Marina says that this is my safe house.

This is where I will be welcome, no matter how shit I feel or what I've done.

I am very grateful, so grateful I was in tears.

TomTom

The Fateful Fortune Cookie

July 16, 2007 - I just checked my Facebook account and checked my fortune cookie application. When it changed, it read "The one you need to meet is looking for you." I was like WHOA, mang, wtf? And THEN I went and looked around all over the place, trying to find the one that was looking for me. Lo and behold, the one place that is most obvious is MSN (where I never sign off, or leave alone for more than eight hours). So I look on my "other contacts" list and there's this weird name, something about the souls of fallen men and I'm all dude no, who is this bitch? So I talk to them, and for the longest time I had no idea who they were or where I had met them. Turns out Thomas is a 6'7 seventeen year old gay stripper at a mens club.

Yeah, I know.

Something about wine and coffee cups,
Something about them roses bloomin',
Something about the boys mowin' lawns,
Makes me want to smile.

Premadonna,
Coked out in the fauna,
Thinkin' about where she gon' go.

Psychic rocker,
Tripped out at the doctor,
Wonderin' where he might be.

And we're all fallen, fallen, fallen,
Angels.

And we're all callin', callin', callin',
For retribution.

But there ain't no sun beneath the soil,
And that's where our flowers grow,
Can't see no light, be it day or night,
Who knows, who knows, who knows?

Where we go, if it's up or down,
We never quite figure out,
Livin' in the night, be it dark or light,
Who knows, you know, we know.

Little catepillar,
Feasting 'pon the tea pillars,
Waitin' for his life to change.

And them doves,
Know where their peace lies, love,
But don't understand how to go.

But we're still crawlin', crawlin', crawlin', 'pon the
Soil.

Still bawlin', bawlin', bawlin', and the grand worms
Coil.

And there ain't no way in hell,
No way in hell we're gonna get out,
No way we're gonna get outta this hole,
Not this way, not that way, who knows?

And I'm just the ant eater sitting 'pon the hill,
Waiting for them ants, for them guts to spill,
Never quite figurin' out where I be.

The Two

The old man who lives on the hill has gotten used to seeing the sight of two women running. They are running to find each other, but always seem to miss one another by a small bit. Everyday, the old man will go to his deck in his chair-on-wheels and wait for them to pass.

One woman, she is yellow clad. The other woman, she is blue. Some days they will change clothing, and the one woman will wear red, and the other green. The old man will stare into the street. His grey eyes will reflect the morning light and turn them pink and rusty as he waits.

Today, he is wearing a grey jump suit and is riding his blue chair-on-wheels. It has a large bird hanging from the fender, and the grip on his turny-knob that directs his propulsion is vivid pink. The man represents the connection the women refuse to make, in his mind he is the only connection they have. The outsider who can spy the potential.

"Ah," Comes a voice from inside him.

On the horizon, the old man is watching as the first rim of the sun peaks out from between the mountains. To his left, the South, comes the one woman in her yellow outfit. He turns his head and looks to the right, just to make sure. As promised, the other woman is jogging down his long, long street in her blue outfit.

Both women have their iPod connected in their ears, he can hear the faint buzzing from some Rock'n'Roll tunes as they approach his house. The one woman runs on the right. The other runs on the left.

Both of them, both of them have done this for one year and three days. The old man has been counting. His birthday was on the first of January, it is now the third.

He is apprehensive as they pass each other. The old man is hoping they will at least look at each other.

The blue woman, she is staring straight ahead.

The yellow woman, she is staring at the ground.

The two, they never connect.

"Ah," He says to himself, "Maybe tomorrow," and wheels his chair-on-wheels back inside his patriotic American temple that his family rents out during the year to unsuspecting tourists.

Smooch.

Monday - Buddhist temple/beach.
Tuesday - Drinking At the beach for six hours, then playing soccer.
Today - Totally went to the pool.
Tomorrow - Totally going to farm.
Friday - No plans. T_T

Pin.

So I am going to pretend to be sitting in a box,
I am pretending to be dressed in yellow rubber rain gear,
All I am knowing is that your mind is what I hear.


So far, my hair is but golden amber,
Wrought with white strands, here and there,
All of my thoughts surround me, up in the air.


My eye is a piano, playing in your cloudless sky,
I am playing for the angels, but I do not know why.

Pickle

When saying goodbye was really goodbye, when the soul was saying au revoir to it's other half.

You knew, you just knew it.

I should darn well think so!

it's useless to waste time trying to define love

love is love as love will be and there's nothing we can do to box it, change it, or make it suit our needs.

i know

it's a plague, it's a bar of candy, and it's the end of us all.