Forbidden Love by Poison

for those of us with unfortunate obsessions: Forbidden Love by Poison

Forbidden Love

I love him,
the soft touch… of his 90% cotton sweatshirt.
The sheer tangibility... of his half-priced leather shoes.

I love my mannequin concubine,
he who resides in aisle nine
of the local thrift store.

I shouldn’t,
but I do.

Running by bowers

kay so, I decided to put up the piece Running by bowers, largely because, although I am not a runner, I've always wanted to be in a vague, wistful sort of way. I've always been jealous of that ability to 'leave it on the track' as the cross country boys say, something I never managed to do while swimming, though our team's mantra tenth grade year was 'leave it in the pool'. So here's to the part of me that wishes I knew how to run.

Running

My feet pound heavily on the ground as I tear down the road; the only sound is the slow rhythmic breathing, my lungs and heart exploding in my chest with every stride.

I guess it’s my way of dealing with things. Whenever I’m scared, angry, frustrated, desperate, lonely, confused, I run.

It’s only when I’m out there, wind in my face feet ripping up the road, lungs begging for more, is when things become clear. Somehow I'm able to think by not thinking at all, concentrate on the road, the track, the mud, round the corner, over the hill, under the bridge, and sure enough everything else falls into place.

And when I’m finished, doubled over with exhaustion and pain, sweat dripping from every pore, muscles screaming for relief, my reward is a cold shower.

And whatever the problem was, the frustration, the desperation, confusion has dissolved as it where the road beneath my feet.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been for a run.
I could sure go for one right now.

Neo Day

I love libraries. I hang out in them a lot. That's vaguely why I chose this. Also, because I like the piece, and because it's about time someone featured our fearless leader. Or did B_S do that already? Nevermind...

Anyway, this reminds me a bit of Farenheit 451. It also seems a bit like what Poison would do if he tried prose. The best thing though, is that everyone tries to find deeper meaning in a piece like this, when in fact all it means is that nep felt like playing silly buggers. Or perhaps I'm totally wrong. Thoughts? Anyway, this is Library Spies by Neoeno.

Essential reading to understand: Democrats, Republicans unite against "library provision"

I was left in that cell for 3 hours. It remained just as dark and damp as when I was thrown in there. Footsteps patrolled the corridor adjoining to the one outside the door of mine, but even that was a dull monotony.

It was 2AM, I'd just been asleep around half an hour. Without any warning the door to my bedroom was bashed open. There was so much shouting and bright piercing lights, I was in shock. I expect that was the idea. It was lucky I wear bedclothes, I doubt they'd have given me time to change. They cuffed me and shoved me in their van. I felt a combination of fear and humiliation; they didn't take their eyes off of me, and I had no idea where or why they were taking me. At some point in this van they blindfolded me also.

Eventually we stopped. I was half escorted, half dragged into a building, and then into this cell. I counted at least 5 gates on the way. I couldn't see, but I could still hear.

Nothing happened for a long time. Until just as suddenly as before, I was blindfolded and taken to a new destination.

I found myself sitting in a chair across the table from a man who obviously wasn't here to be nice. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, his forehead was creased and his eyes were squinted. We looked at each-other for a moment, he was obviously waiting for the full menace of his appearance to penetrate me.

Suddenly he smashed down a book in front of me, and − with his face inches away from mine − he shouted:

"Do you like green eggs and ham?"

Debauchery by sold

A quiet favorite by sold. kinda silly, kinda wistful and i likes it. wondering is good for you.

Debauchery

Sometimes I think, but sometimes I'm just staring.

When I'm alone, sometimes I dream, but you can't do that in public.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a Christian, or a Buddhist.

Sometimes I wish I were God.

Sometimes my thoughts come in angry spasmadic jolts of emotion, sometimes I even slip up a bit.

Sometimes I pretend I'm a statue and wonder what I feel like, smooth and stony, or covered in clothes that have texture.

Some people think dreaming is silly, you aren't allowed to do it in public, you have to do it secretly where they can't see.

Input, by Poison

'Sbeen a while kids, I'm sad to say, but I'll make an effort to update this at least once a week, hopefully this'll encourage others to post too.
Anyway, Input, by Poison. Allegedly written under the influence of some kind of drug, it seems rather self-depreciating to me, and self-depreciation is always good:

Guess what?
I am intoxicating.

I typed "s."
But it didn't type.

My fingers
I can barely feel


and

When comedy
meets tragedy
this incoherent
slur of words
gives you some sort of insight

into the

deeper meaning of it all.


with that being said,

I am the happiness.

Dandelion Wine by designerlove

Today, a piece by designerlove with sentiments I'm in a mood for feeling right now; a sort of fey mood mixed with the regret of that generation looking at this. Arthurian romance and pop culture, a better blend cannot be found.

Dandelion Wine

Fickle minds they have at fifteen
When even Lancelot du Lake
Can but trot swiftly in one ear
And out the proverbial other
Leaving nothing but a golden nugget
In his wake.

Swordplay holds little value
In the M-16 generation
How, indeed, can the graceful
Swish-clink of metal crossing metal
Compare to the supersonic rat-a-tat-tat
Of a semi-automatic?

Passionate lips’ embraces
Hold no intrigue for the girl
Whose third base was stolen last night,
Only narrowly avoiding her boyfriend’s
Imminent slide into home
With a teasingly chastising no.

Mighty chain-mail warriors
Mean nothing to the
Flesh-hungered Die Hard fans
Muscle-meaty men define
Heroism in adolescent minds.
Does chivalry mean nothing?

It is frustrating fighting fire
With sonnets that squelch
The erudite light in their eyes
Which they voice with the
Lethargic yawn and roll of eyes
At words I would trace with my tongue

They are too ensconced
In the banalities of life
To dip into the inkwell before them
Preferring to concern themselves
With the who and where and when
Than the more meaningful, why.

Yet, despite their complaints
Of too hot, too cold,
I find myself giddily drunk
From their dandelion wine,
Though they do not care
For it in the slightest.