RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer

RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (Full Version)

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Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (11/28/2008 17:36:27)
Argument Words, Art, and Music sat down around the table. "You cannot deny my directness!" began Words. "I am also versatile! I can be the common man's tool, or the aristocrat's amusement!" "But my beauty far surpasses any of your 'many' uses," Art retaliated. "And you are often misused. I can be anything if viewed correctly." Meanwhile, Music quietly played in the background, setting the mood.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (11/30/2008 16:56:22)
If If I wanted, I'd cause despair. If I wanted, I'd fix healthcare. Don't give me that smirk, Don't act like a jerk, I could if I wanted, so there.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (12/12/2008 16:28:52)
F and A Children snigger, then quiet down. "Kids, F and A can be found in many places! Like in family! Or fabric! Or silent, conspiratorial look fart!" Children snigger. One drops a rock on Big Bird's foot. "F and A!" Children snigger.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (12/14/2008 18:30:44)
Reduced Morality Souls: Less Healthy For You! "Now, Reapers, I'm sure you know the pain of trying to digest a particularly idealistic soul! Well, no longer! Not with my new invention! It's called money, and it will reduce morality by 99% in just a few centuries!" Said the Grim Reaper, as he gave the sales pitch that made him the Reaper.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (12/31/2008 15:26:29)
Alarm Clock device that screams and whines to awaken us testament to man's most unnatural sleeping schedule

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (1/6/2009 18:40:26)
Observations Palindrome backwards is emordnilap. I must be spelling it wrong. Someday a blanket will become king and make humans lay on it to keep it warm. Messy child + Laughing mother = Bounty paper towel commercial Bad atheists go to church after they die. Money is dirty because piggy banks roll in the mud. Many a lonely young person has been poisoned from desperately kissing a wreath of mistletoe. If there's anything I've learned from HSM, it's that spontaneously breaking out into song solves everything. The makers of overnight acne cream are very clever. They can't be held accountable if you have acne in the daytime.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (1/14/2009 16:17:46)
Drugs A trike is ridden into the darkness, never to be seen again.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (2/9/2009 21:19:31)
Procrastination Five more minutes. EDIT: i'm back and, urgh, this is trying way too hard

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (2/24/2009 18:56:19)
Relevance Relevance irrelevant without irrevelance

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (8/14/2009 16:16:10)
grass grass beneath feet bent never straight never tall nothing else is there nothing else

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (8/21/2009 23:01:39)
Sticky Notes Remiders everywhere, stuck. On everything. My vision beneath them beyond them is obscured.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (8/23/2009 15:19:08)
The Game We've lost. The deficits are too large. No way to regain the lead or tie or make it close. Fear is making itself well known for we cannot lose. We can't. Or else. Or else. But the game's been solid. Some good plays. Some crap plays. Exciting. We've put on a good show. We step out for the last bit. Doesn't matter that we'll lose. It's done. Being a player has been nice.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (9/15/2009 17:00:23)
right? right? it's okay no problem when the sun comes up it won't matter we're here not there doesn't matter no one'll care forever it'll be a memory to look back on we'll only be here a while so why not? it's okay no problem right?

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (9/16/2009 17:06:24)
Because Skin cracked parchment paper rips on cloth scabbed soul-sucking dry. Covered in thin layer blood. Should not blood moisten hand? Why will it not? Why? Because.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (9/19/2009 20:56:43)
The Other One Five children start with one goal in mind. To help mankind. They grow very fast and now it's their time. Kill all the grime. Names for themselves forged in the fire. Made to insipire. Remembered now, then, and forever. Though however in the beginning greater than them there was a sixth kid. Bad thing they did.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (9/20/2009 20:50:12)
Headache Aching pounding behind my eyes steady rhythm hypnotized. In a trance so calm so relaxed conversation bathes me. Lean back close lids waiting darkness. Muscles slack. Almost peace.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Poetic Ramblings of an Incoherent Writer (9/22/2009 21:14:31)
Stalemate Two people alone in a room. One says a stupid thing. Two replies. They expound. Create a joke, a sketch, impromptu, on the spot. Both refuse to laugh. Would ruin the joke. No one else is around to appreciate it. What a waste.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (9/23/2009 17:54:27)
anyway what if when we die there's nothing what if we're just gone nowhere what if there's no more thought no more soul what if there's no heaven no nothing what if there's even no blackness what if in a thousand years no one remembers you what if in billions of years nothing's left of you what if there's no reason to live hm what if we just lived since hell we're here anyway might as well do something

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (10/5/2009 19:11:40)
What Do the Birds on the Powerlines Know? What do the birds on the powerlines know? They cock their heads most uncannily so. Strange and foul are the trees they perch upon. Their bodies are still; their manner withdrawn. Gleaming eyes that speak of knowledge unheard, Of happenings most vile not yet occurred. Beyond our small Earth and our small moments Are sights and sounds the birds sense that torment. A burden most heavy rests on their wings. Inescapable, yet makes them as kings.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (11/24/2009 21:38:05)
A Cautionary Tale Man looked to God and asked, "Why must I be? "Why must I be tethered to this ethereal existence while You, in Your great and holy glory, endure forever? "Why must I plod onward, ever onward, working and sweating and working, while You smile down on me in all Your excellence? "Why must I watch my beloved as their souls depart them to be snatched up by You and Your vast wisdom? "Why must I watch crime and war and disease strike down the good while You control the universe, You in Your benevolence? "Why can I never choose my own path, make my own decisions, do something beside what You desire with Your omnipotence? "Why must I always be held far below You and Your all-powerful betterness? And God answered, "Because it is My plan." And Man accepted and was content.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (11/28/2009 22:54:46)
i only want the cashews why'd you get the mixed nuts? i only want the cashews. all the other stuff is crap. no almonds no pecans no peanuts no hazelnuts for me. they don't taste good. i only like the cashews. throw the rest of it away.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (11/30/2009 19:30:48)
Thought Thoughts are cyclic in nature. Each has previously been conceived, already examined, perhaps tossed out by someone else. Each someday again will be mulled over, considered lazily, maybe let float away from a stranger's mind. For a thought's release, a thought's escape, a thought's liberation to paradise past a mundanely recurring existence, action must be taken. The thought must be clutched to oneself tightly, then shaken out, then pared down, sometimes shattered and mended. It must be given a body. Life must be breathed in. Only then shall the thought move into a different reality.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (12/7/2009 19:49:43)
The Most Beautiful Thing I Ever Saw Once I cut a leaf. I cut through its pristine body. It bled. Silver and gold and colors and things and its heart spewed out. It screamed quietly, writhing and crying and dying. I stared at death and life splayed out on the ground.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (12/27/2009 19:14:26)
Sick It's cold. So, so cold inside my fetal-position-shaped blanket-suffocated mattress depression. Shivers. All along the body. In a moment I will rise and swallow my medicine. Just give me a moment. For now, allow me to clutch myself and rest my chin on my knees while I taste darkness.

Anon Y. Mous -> RE: Disbelief (1/7/2010 16:59:22)
Floating On By One day, I was standing out on the dock and a dead body happened to pass by. I waved. "Hello!" No answer, though. I guess I got kinda angry. But I didn't want to start anything. He looked so peaceful, floating on down the river, a cheerful streak of pink radiant behind him.

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