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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.

    Tartarus written by endlessgame23
    Shut Up written by annie0888
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth (5) written by endlessgame23
    The World written by jjd
    Florida's Autumn Solstice written by closetpoet
    To the Devil and Candle written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Carry written by saartha
    The Old Mill written by Wolfwatching
    Delicious Stews written by elephantasia
    Records I written by Raphael
    Day 5 written by TheStillSilence
    Suffer The Children written by poetotoe
    Things They (Don't) Say written by TheStillSilence
    Across the bed written by expiring_touch
    Redemption written by poetotoe
    Vortex: The Imagination That Is written by KeeperOfLight
    phantom limbs written by expiring_touch
    My Four Seasons written by faideddarkness
    Dream written by closetpoet
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth written by endlessgame23
    Etiquette written by saartha
    Shi written by ShyOne
    Day 6 written by TheStillSilence
    Honeymoon written by TheStillSilence
    Love written by saartha
    Coversheets written by TheStillSilence
    winners circle written by ShyOne
    Lilitu written by endlessgame23
    The Poems Death written by Mepoduo
    Relativity written by poetotoe

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
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