Poll: Winner Of Round 1C
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View poll results: Winner Of Round 1C
1 25%
Untitled VIII
0 0%
Dan And Laurie In The Gunga Diner
3 75%
Voters: 4.
Poll ends on Monday, August 7. Please vote.


Redundant scrawls envelope small letters
They?re lowercase
Marking a briefcase
Life is a briefcase
Pack it in your head
With the memories of better days
Memories of simple days
Haze inside a haze
UV of rays and weeds and
Getting sick of your friends
Slip inside a phone booth and rearrange yourself
Re-estrange yourself from your material wealth
Touch base with yourself and sell based on location
We?re based on creation
We?re based on a race that doesn?t understand the concept of race
The concept of a better day
The concept of a world that waits
The wait that ends with your face in the grave
Your fate is the grave
Accept and be brave
Every half-second we age
With every passing train
We lose the cells in our brain
The seretonin generation
Expelling through prozzac receives a standing ovation
Yet no moral issues arise from this miracle drug
Information and technology are the replacements for love
Information and technology flow like rain from above
Rain fills the rug
As we're living out on the street
Our generation won't have soul but we'll always have the beat
Like Immortal technique
We'll always be a fleet of innovators losing sleep.


Untitled VIII

the tremulant heard that this was maladaptive in structure
as the colossal statue clandestinely crumbles in fear
the apathetic heavens settle in laughter
"that deviant has had this coming for years."

but we'll dance, we'll dance as nature intended,
and even though the hills are blind, the trees have eyes.
and we despise them for evoking such subtle silence.
"have patience, dispel the daybreak", the wind whispers,
"they shall never see the sun rise."

oh, we'll catch them off guard.
so let us rejoice because they'll never hear us coming.
they'll never hear us.

glory be the day the heavens fail and the earth is shun by a deviants veil.


Dan And Laurie In The Gunga Diner

I met her in El Alamein
She looked awkward,
Flinching and scraping her nails,
Next too true beauties

A friend said she had a crush
So I tried to be nice
But showed no interest,

She was an attractive girl
Her body misshapen, but
Correctly curvy.
Her breasts hung loose
Not ample like most.
Her nose and lips
Stained red like
Losts mittens
Drifts of snow
Her legs, chicken wire
Without a home to wrap themselves around

She talked to me twice
In scorching literary heat
Both times
Her sarcast stained monotone
An oasis

I read her poetry, clutched
In spite and every other ingredient
A strange unique girl
Is suppose to possess

I left the desert
With her barren sex
Pinned heavy on the bud of my nipple

Two years later,
I felt a pinch in my chest
I took off my shirt and folded it
In Vienna?s boisterous streets
And in linear fashion
I heard scattered voices
And followed their vowels to her fingertips

Her fingers tips,
Above them her chest swayed
Like scarecrow limbs

I dreamt of how many times I had made love
And out of my mouth poured an ounce of sand

El Alamein
Last edited by Something_Vague at Aug 4, 2006,