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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    smoking is bad.

    ...Created 2010-01-30 04:07:44

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    I am less a poet or artist than an ill-formed pariah and dilettante; my disposition and eccentricities so eliminating as to cast me into a life of inescapable social malfunction and romantic destitution.

    As powerful or heartfelt as some of my poems may seem to some, they are not borne of talent or effort but rather of a simple, effortless description of the existence to which I am tethered.

    Do not pity me; pity the women whose love was blind and hopeful upon meeting me.

    ...Created 2010-01-24 00:57:51

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    been writin 'gain

    ...Created 2009-11-23 17:24:03

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    not getting divorced it turns out. some people seem to want to love me no matter how much of a douche I can be. dusting the humble happy heart off again. and getting better sleep.

    ...Created 2009-05-03 21:52:02

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    to be a minor genius is to rarely be understood, appreciated, or accepted as such. we fall between the crack formed by the masses and the massive geniuses. we are difficult to recognize, even to each other. i am unlikely to believe you if you tell me that you are one too. our rarity is astounding, our genius hard to pin. the few with whom we divulge our "secret" on late nights or trying times will usually make us regret the moment's indiscretion. we are the targets of discredit, not envied but ridiculed. we are lonelier than the moon that circles the earth alone for eons in the times that we are played down as eccentric, weird, lacking common sense, or too sure of ourselves.

    in this way we may come to disregard ourselves just as everyone else has. we may waste our talents on conformtiy so as to escape the crack in which we lie; we may hate ourselves for not being able to take that step onto the plateau of the einsteins, von neumanns, or comparably fantastic ilk. every error is magnified by ourselves and others into proof against the suggestion of genius.

    our experience and perspective morphs our heartbeat and breath and the world around us into an invisible forcefield against which we beat our heads and hearts and loved ones until the absurdity of it all breaks us down to acquiescence, to suicide.

    it is fortunate that our instincts make triggers so hard to pull when barrels our pointed to our temples. in spite of it all, our genius is no less powerful or capable of the creation of beauty or a fulfilling depth of joy. our station in the crack is a gift that is difficult to harness, a greased pig running wild and far.

    we cannot giveup the chase: everything knwon to humanity tastes better when wrapped in bacon and cooked on a hot grill.

    ...Created 2009-04-08 03:05:20

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    I am a disease that I hate.
    So stay the fuck away.

    ...Created 2009-03-27 14:09:01

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    so often it seems that i am just spewing bull shit and being "funny" or eccentric or acidically cynical, depraved, removed into opposition. but really, my insights just get lost in translation. and the occasional bull shit.

    if i could stop i would. it'd be easier if everyone else just changed instead.

    oh wait, i sound clichéd and contrite. my god, even that sounds cli.....

    fucking mirrors.

    dammit i love a good laugh and original ideas.

    ...Created 2009-03-27 02:28:24

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    Well we saw how that went. There was a time when free time existed. More people starved back then, I bet.

    The first time a bird flew, I bet he was like, dude, I am a badass.

    ...Created 2009-02-14 05:16:41

    dotsJournal: See Below...dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    The Only Title I Will Except:
    Souls Clash, Particles Depart, Humanity Wins

    This has been an unusual winter.
    It is seen by even the very fruit upon which we feed.
    The stretching of the roots; the bending of wandering branches. Today, I have scene the leaves swim and frolick in a sudden breeze, brown. Yet the trees stand, feasting on what remains. Today...was a good day.

    ...Created 2009-01-04 06:12:56

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    i think we should call satan "ricky", and then see if we still think he's such a bad guy.

    ...Created 2008-06-29 16:20:04

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    untitled written by Chelebel
    One Thing written by Wolfwatching
    Wavelength written by saartha
    What happens written by Wolfwatching
    It's Night Now written by RisingSon
    Bond written by saartha
    Deaf Dumb and Blind is no excuse written by poetotoe
    4th of July written by layDsayD
    Our Cinder Crisis written by SavedDragon
    Summer Nights written by ollie_wicked
    Still Fighting See? written by ForgottenGraves
    Song written by Daniel Barlow
    Whiteout written by layDsayD
    Skin of Fables written by ShadowParadox
    Love Can Be... written by HAVENSMITH92
    Be Free written by hybridsongwrite
    Summer written by layDsayD
    Break Up written by WriteSomething
    Munyonyo written by expiring_touch
    Date night written by expiring_touch
    This written by Chelebel
    Life changes in a moment written by Ramneet
    Treasure Chest written by PieceOfCake
    new moon written by CrypticBard
    Sunset written by rev.jpfadeproof
    Giving written by jjd
    Transparent written by Daniel Barlow
    Push written by JanePlane
    Wish written by Daniel Barlow
    Trails written by Daniel Barlow

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
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