Poll: short or long?
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View poll results: short or long?
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3 100%
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0 0%
Voters: 3.
#1
Remember Those Games You Played as a Kid? Yea, Me Neither

I used to think she was so beautiful,
I would've given her anything,
but these days things are different.

She wants a game to play with,
I can't be that anymore,
She wants a man to lay with,
I can't fake that anymore.

If he makes her happy,
then God damn I'm happy too,
Maybe I'll shake his hand tomorrow,
and congratulate him on the fact that he
has just lost the greatest game ever played.

Her mind is finally made up,
and I thought I would feel bitter,
or hostile or would resent them both,
but all i feel is numb.
Why does that feel so wrong?
I guess the fact that I knew I would win in the end,
has something to do with it.

I still love her.




We are All

This evening we sit under an enchanted sky, the ever-cooling sun resting its rays over our desert garden. We breathe the milk of a soft moonlight, winding in to the pores of our young, supple skin. One hand whispers to another, and comes the kiss of this land from its bearer. Through the fog of warm Mexican hash and the rising spirit of the Sacred Fire, thick, dusty air settles as the night draws nearer.

We are all.

This evening we meet in assembly under the fabric roof of the dinner tent. Collect your meal with gracious hands, thank the cook in a language you can't speak, but understand. Sit. Eat fresh dhosa with patient fingers, the reward for nineteen hours of steady fast. Discuss the day with dancers from some shore on the other side of the equator. Finish an hour later, stand, embrace a welcome cheek and shake a single hand. Return your plate to the counter. Return to the waiting dancefloor.

We are all.

Turn on the speakers. Hear the drummers. Let the DJ play the soundtrack to our tribe of trancers. Meditate to music no musician could ever create. Every hand up high waving like some ancient monster. Every single mind, every single life combines. We are here. We are the dancers.

We are all.

Take the trek back to your tent clutching an empty bottle of vodka. Pass by the grinning faces of the students and the market sellers, "space cake, space cake, 1.50 euro, space cake! Spaţiu tort, spaţiu tort, 1.50 euro, spaţiu tort!". Wind through a jigsaw of a thousand VW campers, all prettied up in fancy colours. Slogans and quotes painted lovingly on their dashboards about all kinds of ways of life, all kinds of 'love, peace, no war'. Finally collapse in a plastic camping chair. Say goodnight to your neighbours.

We are all.

Feel a light breeze as the lake water laps against your hardened feet. It's well past midnight here in Portugal, and the cold slowly cracks your wasted bones as you trickle a transparent blue over dirty skin. Thumping music washes the past week away from your exhausted brain. You await the queue for leaving. A queue to escape freedom. A thousand mile drive back to the big big city, the big job at the big company. The rude laughter of the workmates, the peers, the equals, when you reveal where you've been. The longing to feel again the water lapping against your feet, but you stare down at them now. A lone man in a vast, icy lake. Stare up at the last rays of a setting sun that brings such sadness. The thump thump thump of the music thundering towards the next two years of wicked blackness.

We are one.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#4
ONE vote?? Oh, come on. You've gotta be able to do better than that!
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#6
Well done, sir. You had an arse-kicking piece
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!