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 After Tantalus stopped reaching, his shoulders ached and he no
longer felt pain elsewhere. He curled inward within 
the small island he could create by lowering himself. 
He meditated on hunger and yearning. He brought
his forehead to the ground and bent over his knees. 
The cool, moist soil a tongue's dart from his lips made him thirstier. 
It smelled clean, although he knew it was made of rot and silt, fish 
excrement and broken vegetation. He considered apples: gnawed 
mealy pulp, gulped into a stomach full of venom. The journey 
through the miles of tripe below his belly; its nauseating 
conclusion. He still wanted apples. He still wanted 
to vomit them before they were too degraded and become
empty and pure, although thirstier. He still wanted 
the water to cover his head and stop his nose and mouth. 
After Tantalus stopped reaching everyone called 
his hunched shoulders and concave stomach and chapped lips beautiful. 
Cain walked past and asked what he'd sacrificed, and Tantalus replied, 
Flesh.
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because i haven't been updating at all. videos that don't look like they were made by 13-year-old albanian teenagers forthcoming. hopefully.

the FML song

there can never be too many acronyms
that contain the letter f
not all of them have to stand for fuck
DIAF, right, warren jeffs?

sometimes life is just so confusing
that only WTF will do
but really there is only one abbreviation
that i need when i'm with you

fuck my life! fuck my life!
so much drama, so much strife!
eff em ell, eff em ell,
too much emo! i'm in hell!

i woke up in the middle of the night
after a dream about making out with my wife
but there was just a pillow in my mouth
with a dead spider on it...fuck my life

i got a copy of my birth certificate and found out with tears...
that my parents have celebrated my birthday the wrong day all these years....
my teacher reached into my sweat pants intent on correction....
she thought she was grabbing my cell phone, but it was my erection...
i heard my sister masturbating, it was gross, but the worst part was....
when she was done i saw her putting back my electric toothbrush...
i have to take a business trip to virginia with my boss, and i'm a cute young guy...
when he typed a search for directions, autocomplete said virgin boy assholes! fuck my life!

sometimes my life is more ironic than that
dipshit alanis morrissette song
push the button that says "you deserved that one"
and then let's all sing along...


***

(this one is missing some verses and i didn't write all of it...durrr...)


I'm Not Gay but I'd Fuck Dr. House


i don't care how many times you're wrong about what's wrong with me, our love is meant to be.

i don't care if you give me chemotherapy, spinal taps, or unnecessary surgery..

oh house you're sexy, grouchy, beautiful

and I aint gay but you're so doable.


Chorus:

I'm not gay but I'd fuck Dr. House.

It's a flame that I can't seem to douse.

I know he's not sterile til he puts on his glove.

Differential diagnosis is let's make sweet sweet love.



********

Someone Famous Died

When I went into work today
I knew something was wrong
Something somber in the atmosphere`
Like listening to a sad song
Everyone was quiet, everyone said, "Hey...
Did you hear the news? Someone famous died today!"

I never met you, but I feel creepily close.
What's the last drug you took, and what was the exact dose?
How long did they try to revive you? What time were you pronounced dead?
Your death is the most important thing that's happened in my head.

"I never expected," everybody said.
"So young! So talented! So cool!"
We all shared that weird excitement
Seeing your corpse face-down in the pool.
Everyone made jokes, when the time was okay,
"Did you hear the one about someone famous who died yesterday?"

Anna Nicole, you'll always be my Trimspa baby
Michael Jackson, you were a creepy pedophile, maybe
JFK, at least you got to do Marilyn Monroe
who herself was famous and died on pills alone.
Elvis, if only you'd died as young as James Dean...
Princess Di, if only you'd been heard and not seen.




***

Pride My Prejudice

Oh Mr. Darcy! You sneer so smartly! I just can't get enough of your brush-offs, delivered so perfectly tartly, oh Mr. Darcy, I realize it's partly that your rejection makes me question whether I'm hardly worthy of Darcy...

(chorus) Oh Mr. Darcy, I'll be your Lizzie, we'll insult each other, then get busy!

We'll have awkward conversations, neither have the patience to be anything but outrageous..fuck convention! Did I mention that I want to get my hand in your Regency unmentionables? This is so tension-filled!

There are bound to be resounding proposals! I'll say no! And then I'll change my mind just when it's evident what a rich bitch you are Mr. Darcy, and then you'll heart me, and we'll live happily ever after in Pemberley!

(bridge) All the dramatic moments will be epistolary...we won't even kiss, but don't worry, it'll be very...At our first meeting you might claim to despise me but we both know you won't get past my fine eyes that see...

Darcy! And Lizzie! Most reread romance in history! And then Colin Firth, shirtless and dripping, will convert everyone who wasn't already gripping Pride and Prejudice like a literary amulet, ooh, and then there'll be Facebook groups for every girl like me who loves me some Darcy...
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baby i think i'm addicted to your lovin'
how else would i put up with the dutch oven?
(that's when you hold my head under the sheets and fart)
oooh, ooh, baby, stop rickrolling my heart

when you're on you're on, but when you're off you're off,
it's like that police song, the perv who shakes and coughs
i'd say nabokov but you're not that smart
oooh, ooh, baby, stop rickrolling my heart

what ever happened to sincerity,
and sweet sentiment?
everyone's doing it these days
even our president...

you're so hot and cold, will it ever end?
one day you buy me roses....right after i catch you fucking my best friend!
like tommy wiseau says, you're tearing me apart!
oooh, ooh, baby, stop rickrolling...my....heart!
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You busy?
You there?
What's Up?
Where are you?
Text messaging during exams is wrong.
Leave me alone
Hell yeah
Hell no
That's lame
That's hot
XOXOXOX
Sweeeet
Cool
Can't talk now
I'll get back to you
Zzzzzz...
You rock!
You suck!
This sucks
Later

(Brought to you by auto-text on Virgin mobile.  All spelling and punctuation is theirs. This is the complete, unedited list.)
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I think this might be the first time I've cut a poem for content.

based on a true story? )

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I feel like a dead thing of some kind (cockroach, headless chicken, halved worm, etc.) that's still vaguely twitching but almost gone. There's something sweet and pitiable about the feeling you get when you've barely slept; it reminds me of eggshells, or coffee grounds, or orange zest. Something that you can compost until it's rich and viable again. Something that was so much better when it was a part of something, but now is only broken, exposed, and disintegrated. The odd thing is that I look in the mirror and I don't seem any different, any more tired or vulnerable than is ordinary, though I feel as obvious as the inner workings of a jellyfish. I don't care about words anymore
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"insomnia"

all the birds at dawn
say i am wrong
i am wrong

my reddening eyes
stay unsurprised
unsurprised

pillow's hot like hell
bed's infernal
infernal

air is cold as you
oh, help me do
help me do

once upon a time
life didn't rhyme
did not rhyme

you say to count sheep
it'll help you sleep
help you sleep

i only counted one
i call you hon
call you hon

in how many languages can i say no?
apparently, zero
zero noes

all the birds at dawn
say i am wrong
i am wrong
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Posted a new poem, "War Paint." I thought of it on the bus, then frantically scribbled it on the last page of The Tempest.
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Instead of studying for my Latin test, I've been writing up a storm. Today, a tasty little flash fic. Last night, a dark dark story linked to my last full length effort. Also, on the bus, this haiku:

It was like licking
an ice cream cone dropped on a
meatpacking plant floor.

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Haikus for the Rodent in My Yard

Tiny hand snuck under
the door and was creepy; it
snatched up stray dog food.

It lived in a hole
my dog couldn't penetrate
much to her sadness.

I really hope it
wasn't carrying any
contagious disease.

It's not some kind of
metaphor; it really
existed. But now

it might be gone, or
just much better at being
inconspicuous.
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Two Cs in a K


i burned your

cookies and made

your cake

                fall

after I scrubbed

myself with a

Brillo pad and

                Comet

i licked your

toilet bowl until

it seemed perfectly

                new

on hands and

knees like

a nude maid, i await your

                bread
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Let me tell you a story. It's the kind of story you folks like so much
you had to import it.
But it's in your language, and it'll make you feel good about
these troubling times in Rome.
Wars, and a long-suffering but ultimately triumphant hero.
My hero was driven by fate and the gods.
first coming to Italy from the coasts of Troy. He came
to Lavinia's shores after being tossed throughout land and sea,
buffeted by one goddess in particular.
Maybe this story's more about Juno, angry
angry Juno, who never forgets a grudge.
Well, our hero suffered many other things in war, then finally
he built a city, he brought his Trojan gods, snatched back from the
greedy Greeks, to Latium, and from this small beginning,
he built the Latin race, its Alban fathers, and the still-
towering walls of still-lofty Rome. Oh, fine, it's not
my story. I'm asking a muse to tell me -
just like Homer asked a muse to tell him! Blame the muses
for plagiarism already! -
the cause of Juno's anger,
her grief, why a queen of the gods would make such a heroic man
endure such calamities, undergo so many hardships?
Oh, let me explain to you the great wrath that ensnares heavenly minds.
It'll take me a while. But don't worry, there's lots of sex and violence.
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I'm not sure if this is a good idea
i never done this b4!
cougars where are you?!
big ugly its your lucky day
be my BANGAROO
If I lick your asshole can I fuck it afterwards
everything that's sweet is in puttiness
Can you handle my fire?

[And finally, this is in chronological order.]

Looking for my soulmate
LOOKING TO HAVE FUN
wanna fuck somebody
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So, lots of good stuff...
I have an interview with Buffalo Exchange on Thursday.
The new apartment is working out just fine. It's in walking distance of everything (Pippi and I have walked like seven miles in the last two days...we'll see if that kind of exercise happens once the weather stops being freakishly wonderful, though), and my neighbor has seriously had yet to be home in the past five days. So basically, even though it's a duplex, I have plenty of privacy, and Pippi's incessant yapping isn't bothering anyone but me.
There are a bunch of cool pictures of me and Summer and our South side fun the other day (did I blog about that? oh well, thrift store, condemned house, yadda yadda) up on Summer's photo stream (http://www.flickr.com/photos/26380715@N06/). I feel a little bit guilty linking to it, since she's deathly ill and I'm supposed to be bringing her British comedy box sets right now (I will, once I um, take a shower, and eat for the first time in 24 hours...), but oh well.
I did my first Sunday NY Times crossword all by myself yesterday! I think that not having the internet at home is kind of a great thing, because I wasn't able to cheat, no matter how tempted I was, plus I'm living by myself, so I couldn't beg for help every five minutes.
In other "no internet at home" news, I read "Foe" by J.M. Coetzee - holy shit! Amazing! I had to reread "Robinson Crusoe" recently for a class, so all the differences between the original and the reimagining (Friday's tongue? Cut out! Gah!) were apparent and fascinating. I also read "Girls of Riyadh" by some scandalous Saudi girl - I forget her name, Riyaa something? It was pretty fun. A good beach read, if any of my readers are lucky enough to go to the beach this summer. (Haha, I think "Foe" would be a tad disturbing of a beach read.)
Also: I wrote a pretty amazing poem yesterday that I was going to post, but I didn't bring my notebook with me. So I'm going to try recreating it from memory, and maybe if this ends up being really different, I'll post the "real" version later.

"Lucy"

i shot a man today
just to find out what his blood smelled like
nothing like mine after all
my corrupt, decaying core
spilling my seed on kotex

i shot a man today
actually my life is nothing like a johnny cash song
i was walking my dog too late
a man fell upon us and-
my flashlight-
her teeth-
it was too dark and messy
i don't know exactly what happened
and i can't explain this to anyone
because my life is nothing like a le tigre song
this is not about girl fucking power
more animism
or opium dream

i shot a man today
but he shot me first
our blood mingled on the pavement
bacteria networking cheerfully
then gasping gasping gone

i hope they put my real
name on the
tombstone

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