Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
HOLY FUCKING SHIT
there are people in this world doing fucking exciting amazing things. lets get off our asses and live some dreams!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
thats right
the tv just played billy madison and kidegarten cop is on right now, birthday wish granted!!!!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
momma marilyn ringer poetry
i just found this poem my mom wrote
ix hermit
eyes closed on the world,
ears full of heart-blood thrum,
belly breathing to ease
the dry wishes in sorrow's well.
in a labyrinth of walking stars
held by night's black bowl
heaven's gate unlocks.
the dimensional god flows through.
wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
ix hermit
eyes closed on the world,
ears full of heart-blood thrum,
belly breathing to ease
the dry wishes in sorrow's well.
in a labyrinth of walking stars
held by night's black bowl
heaven's gate unlocks.
the dimensional god flows through.
wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
oh thats the shit that gets me high!
if there is reincarnation and i dont come back as a cat in this garden i will be pissed. PISSED!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
oh im sorry
for keeping you up to date with the funniest shit on the internet. get out of my face.
CINE MASSSSSSSSHHHHH
just kiddin
CINE MASSSSSSSSHHHHH
just kiddin
my friend james
can connect steven speilberger to steven spielberg in like 3 degrees on the reg.
he definitely macks broads on the reg:
contemplates life and death at mcdonalds on the reg
"styxosaurus may break my bones but kronosaurs will never hurt me"-jim denim:
he is a twisted juggalo on the reg:
my friend james.
he definitely macks broads on the reg:
contemplates life and death at mcdonalds on the reg
"styxosaurus may break my bones but kronosaurs will never hurt me"-jim denim:
he is a twisted juggalo on the reg:
my friend james.
what i want for my birthday
i want all my buds to come to chico and go camping with me and take a fat ass buddy pic portrait. when this portrait is taken i will consider every person in the picture a golden tiger in my soul, prowling for retarded ass stuff to do.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
sharon olds, woah.
Summer Solstice, New York City
By the end of the longest day of the year he could not stand it,
he went up the iron stairs through the roof of the building
and over the soft, tarry surface
to the edge, put one leg over the complex green tin cornice
and said if they came a step closer that was it.
Then the huge machinery of the earth began to work for his life,
the cops came in their suits blue-grey as the sky on a cloudy evening,
and one put on a bullet-proof vest, a
black shell around his own life,
life of his children's father, in case
the man was armed, and one, slung with a
rope like the sign of his bounden duty,
came up out of a hole in the top of the neighboring building
like the gold hole they say is in the top of the head,
and began to lurk toward the man who wanted to die.
The tallest cop approached him directly,
softly, slowly, talking to him, talking, talking,
while the man's leg hung over the lip of the next world
and the crowd gathered in the street, silent, and the
hairy net with its implacable grid was
unfolded near the curb and spread out and
stretched as the sheet is prepared to receive at a birth.
Then they all came a little closer
where he squatted nest to his death, his shirt
glowing its milky glow like something
growing in a dish at night in the dark in a lab and then
everything stopped
as his body jerked and he
stepped down from the parapet and went toward them
and they closed on him, I thought they were going to
beat him up, as a mother whose child has been
lost will scream at the child when it's found, they
took him by the arms and held him up and
leaned him against the wall of the chimney and the
tall cop lit a cigarette
in his own mouth, and gave it to him, and
then they all lit cigarettes, and the
red, glowing ends burned like the
tiny campfires we lit at night
back at the beginning of the world.
By the end of the longest day of the year he could not stand it,
he went up the iron stairs through the roof of the building
and over the soft, tarry surface
to the edge, put one leg over the complex green tin cornice
and said if they came a step closer that was it.
Then the huge machinery of the earth began to work for his life,
the cops came in their suits blue-grey as the sky on a cloudy evening,
and one put on a bullet-proof vest, a
black shell around his own life,
life of his children's father, in case
the man was armed, and one, slung with a
rope like the sign of his bounden duty,
came up out of a hole in the top of the neighboring building
like the gold hole they say is in the top of the head,
and began to lurk toward the man who wanted to die.
The tallest cop approached him directly,
softly, slowly, talking to him, talking, talking,
while the man's leg hung over the lip of the next world
and the crowd gathered in the street, silent, and the
hairy net with its implacable grid was
unfolded near the curb and spread out and
stretched as the sheet is prepared to receive at a birth.
Then they all came a little closer
where he squatted nest to his death, his shirt
glowing its milky glow like something
growing in a dish at night in the dark in a lab and then
everything stopped
as his body jerked and he
stepped down from the parapet and went toward them
and they closed on him, I thought they were going to
beat him up, as a mother whose child has been
lost will scream at the child when it's found, they
took him by the arms and held him up and
leaned him against the wall of the chimney and the
tall cop lit a cigarette
in his own mouth, and gave it to him, and
then they all lit cigarettes, and the
red, glowing ends burned like the
tiny campfires we lit at night
back at the beginning of the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
