| Name | Misti Velvet Rainwater-Lites | |
| E-mail address | ebulliencepress@gmail.com | |
Comments |
lunch with atticus at eight
pussy fudge daisy bunch wait up in the tree pussy fudge Heat oven to 350 F. Melt butter. Mix flour, baking powder, salt, milk, sugar. Pour. Add cherry pie filling to the batter & spread. Bake for 69 minutes. Batter will form. | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.lulu.com/ebulliencepress | |
| DATE | Friday, 17 Nov 06 - 12:07:30 AM | |
| Name | Misti | |
| E-mail address | ebulliencepress@gmail.com | |
Comments |
Might be your dream, but it's my RULES!
Might be your dream, but it's my RULES! reliability than faculty. essays--something about how it can/cannot grade logic or thinking--just I'll get you, my pretty! And your little soul, too! Can you help me out? A guest speaker at our college mentioned that Kung fu THIS, bitch. essays--something about how it can/cannot grade logic or thinking--just essay that was given an "A." Sure would like to have xeroxed that. I I didn't need a glove to kill your bitch OF A MOTHER... and I don't need one now! need to get a rationale against such computer grading of grammar. Any ideas? grammar. Any ideas? I'll get you, my pretty! And your little soul, too! Kung fu THIS, bitch. Can you help me out? A guest speaker at our college mentioned that Might be your dream, but it's my RULES! I'll get you, my pretty! And your little soul, too! Krueger Anonymous | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.lulu.com/e | |
| DATE | Wednesday, 15 Nov 06 - 09:23:11 PM | |
| Name | Misti Rainwater-Lites | |
| E-mail address | ebulliencepress@gmail.com | |
Comments |
Thank you for creating a friendly poetic haven for my harried mind. I tried to create a poem using a recipe. It did not work. I'll try again. | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.lulu.com/ebulliencepress | |
| DATE | Wednesday, 15 Nov 06 - 09:10:53 PM | |
| Name | Mark Rabalais | |
| E-mail address | mrabal3@aol.com | |
Comments |
Nice! And that's not just the name of a rock. | |
| DATE | Monday, 16 Oct 06 - 01:01:33 PM | |
| Name | Ladyoracle | |
| E-mail address | ladyoracle1979@yahoo.com | |
Comments |
(Once I started doing this, I couldn't stop!!)
I’d still be here trying to traverse the distance a pile of homeless Roman statues One spaghetti day Amy Hardin whispered I listened to the other girls As though it is the object, not the idea and also write about it. (I would be a virgin for the next ten years) which wasn’t her fault how sex feels better without a condom, because I ought to be able to have a life periods just barely started. One spaghetti day Amy Hardin whispered A false-flattering sense of simple lines: but nonetheless impressed and anyway she didn’t like the other guy, The creative mind sees those marbles in visions; In our school cafeteria which wasn’t her fault As though it is the object, not the idea my body is unfinished work because she’d been drinking vodka and O.J., that makes a Grecian urn more than a pot, in search of some space where getting laid because I ought to be able to have a life my heavy thighs pressed together my body is unfinished work who’d rather hold the truth of shadows at a distance to look any guy in the eye racing toward mortality how a penis can be too small how a penis can be too small ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ plus he wasn’t good in bed. how a penis can be too small racing toward mortality to look any guy in the eye that takes its own shape beyond me-- periods just barely started. And you, buried in a corner, my heavy thighs pressed together and the bloopers of sleeping with a boy Forever straining toward some unknowable goal, One spaghetti day Amy Hardin whispered because she’d been drinking vodka and O.J., for fucking another guy the night before, beyond the questionable value of Elgin’s marbles, who’d rather hold the truth of shadows at a distance who’d rather hold the truth of shadows at a distance I listened to the other girls who’d rather hold the truth of shadows at a distance ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ signify nothing outside themselves evade the science of destiny? because I ought to be able to have a life intestinal tract, lungs invisible. until your juices how else could frail humans nest in the liver intestinal tract, lungs The only cure Cupid’s flukes burrow parasitic Who’s to say O’Hara would be better off signify nothing outside themselves If he’d gotten laid more? He’d still be dead. signify nothing outside themselves swimming in your shit-- out of the equation of self? The only cure ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The only cure nest in the liver could contain molecules The only cure All the variables intestinal tract, lungs swimming in your shit-- I wonder in my body they nest in emotional inards out of the equation of self? Who’s to say O’Hara would be better off nest in the liver and also write about it. which had been perhaps a sea shell before could contain molecules seeming at first a cure for emptiness ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ intestinal tract, lungs Matter is always changing, and many other things after. could contain molecules If he’d gotten laid more? He’d still be dead. until your juices which had been perhaps a sea shell before All the variables beyond a captivity therein. which had been perhaps a sea shell before until your juices where the past ends and the present begins, with leaving certain actions seeming at first a cure for emptiness ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The creative mind sees those marbles in visions; I stared awkwardly at my milk carton how sex feels better without a condom, that seemed to move, yet didn’t. to me that her boyfriend dumped her and offered sympathy--called him a bastard-- and offered sympathy--called him a bastard-- needs you to give it life, unlike the statues The creative mind sees those marbles in visions; I’d still be here trying to traverse the distance an unruly shadow lurching on the wall. and inhale beauty immediately. | |
| DATE | Friday, 28 Jul 06 - 01:56:18 PM | |
| Name | Ladyoracle | |
| E-mail address | ladyoracle1979@yahoo.com | |
Comments |
Guiness, and chocolate-covered strawberries
and note how solitude liquidates love: Return to feed on your butterfly fading and rising to purge my body of this wasted webbing. cosmopolitans, portobella panini, yellow tail sushi, Lipstick lined glasses, and lingering scent of the perfume Prince Charming Rose Red pretending not to notice but he would split himself in half from my fingertips, I contemplate a ball discretely, staring at the sun, then we float around and note how solitude liquidates love: Return to feed on your butterfly I am the “other” woman. | |
| DATE | Saturday, 8 Jul 06 - 02:29:45 PM | |
| Name | Ladyoracle | |
| E-mail address | ladyoracle1979@yahoo.com | |
Comments |
Prince Charming Rose Red
but get emotionally involved Linguine with sundried tomatoes, hot fudge sundaes, he can’t be everything we do not like to share. he can’t be everything we are in the bright colors to purge my body of this wasted webbing. at cheating, can’t help himself I’d like to carry your lips in a syringe to his friend, Dave, that can’t be liquefied-- Lipstick lined glasses, and lingering scent of the perfume and note how solitude liquidates love: for both women; “I’ll see you soon, sweetie.” Return to feed on your butterfly pretending not to notice Naturally honest, he’s so bad then left me consumed in my confusion, about my virtue engorged in your company stirring a pocketful of wistful poems | |
| DATE | Saturday, 8 Jul 06 - 02:27:43 PM | |
| Name | Ladyoracle | |
| E-mail address | ladyoracle1979@yahoo.com | |
Comments |
Picasso must have had a hard-on that wishes itself not to be true. canabalism. and the wanton corn is perked in full. How could the painter be such an ass? his pants down and give him a spanking Desire is a perversion of eros, Some cold clover bleeds yellow | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.louisiana.edu/Academic/LiberalArts/ENGL/Creative/Grad_Students/Childress.htm | |
| DATE | Saturday, 8 Jul 06 - 12:21:02 PM | |
| Name | Matt Miller | |
| E-mail address | scholarsinstitute@gmail.com | |
Comments |
So rich and filled with life...
In the next stall over, Diggly diggly doo, Her panty, she did soil it, Would make me feel alive... mi cama los duras peñas, But no one hears my call. The pains of hunger eat at me. So rich and filled with life... I need to go poopoo; My immortal soul revived. Tinted with a tinge of red, hay lugar donde avadar; It's essence permeating me, mi cama los duras peñas, Diggly diggly dee, The perfect drink - so warm and lush - hay lugar donde avadar; My teeth piercing your silky flesh A lone, blood-thirsty beast. Her name was Clover, mi descanso el pelear, The tear stops at my lips. I feel the stinging in my eyes Her name was Clover, las manidas son oscuras I awaken in my icy tomb, My teeth piercing your silky flesh Imprisoned by its walls. Until then, I must still remain Your light has been eclipsed. las manidas son oscuras But no one hears my call. Her panty, she did soil it, hay lugar donde avadar; I need to go peepee; mi cama los duras peñas, A lone, blood-thirsty beast. I cry for you to set me free, I pray someday it will come true, As if they were a knife. I awaken in my icy tomb, Would make me feel alive... Her panty, she did soil it, And crapped all over her shoe. Diggly diggly doo, I find comfort in the darkness But no one hears my call. Which shields me from my hell. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 21 Feb 06 - 02:15:16 PM | |
| Name | Lord Sir Nigel Higginbotham Picklesworth III, Esq. | |
| E-mail address | scholarsinstitute@gmail.com | |
Comments |
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
I willed my keepsakes, signed away There interposed a fly, A clover, any time, to him What portion of me I A clover, any time, to him For that last onset, when the king I love you M. With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, For that last onset, when the king What portion of me I The eyes beside had wrung them dry, And breaths were gathering sure I shall find that restful place There interposed a fly, There interposed a fly, For that last onset, when the king What portion of me I Was like the stillness in the air Does not concern the bee; Be witnessed in his power. And then the windows failed, and then The stillness round my form There interposed a fly, The pedigree of honey A clover, any time, to him I heard a fly buzz when I died; And then the windows failed, and then Nevermore There interposed a fly, I love you S. Does not concern the bee; Are flitting sparrows With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, And then the windows failed, and then I willed my keepsakes, signed away Be witnessed in his power. I shall find that restful place What portion of me I I willed my keepsakes, signed away Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. Nevermore I love you M. The stillness round my form I love you M. Be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away | |
| DATE | Friday, 27 Jan 06 - 02:23:06 PM | |
| Name | admin | |
| E-mail address | josh@algabrosticspastigraphy.com | |
Comments |
your eyelids' flutter which says
my blood approves, lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry The Missing Chums Let the music play, And death i think is no parenthesis wholly to be a fool Down at Fraggle Rock. Worries for another day. --------------------------------------------- The House on the Cliff will never wholly kiss you; Work you cares away, we are for each other; then since feeling is first The House on the Cliff Dance your cares away, e. Henson Henson ----------------------------------------------- The Secret of the Caves We're Gobo, Mokey, Wembley, Boober, Red. for life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis Let the Fraggles play, While the Clocks Ticked Let the music play, your eyelids' flutter which says to the syntax of things we are for each other; then we are for each other; then Worries for another day. for life's not a paragraph cummings henson --------------------------------------------------------- While the Clocks Ticked And death i think is no parenthesis Hunting for Hidden Gold The House on the Cliff Down at Fraggle Rock Ma: "Ahhhhhhh!" Dance your cares away, "Ooooh a Fwaggle! Look Ma! I caught a Fwaggle" we are for each other; then than wisdom The Tower Treasure Worries for another day. Dancing's for another day. Down at Fraggle Rock. e. Hardy --------------------------------------- - the best gesture of my brain is less than Henson Jim cummings ----------------------------------------------- Dance your cares away, While the Clocks Ticked What Happened at Midnight Henson Hardy ------------------------------------------ Down at Fraggle Rock. Sinister Sign Post Jim e. | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.algabrosticspastigraphy.com | |
| DATE | Thursday, 19 Jan 06 - 09:24:26 AM | |
| Name | Chaz Babylon | |
Comments |
It drips like a faucet
please blow your nose. and sprays like a hose. With a soft velvet rotor Walk upon England's mountains green? On England's pleasant pastures seen? And was the holy Lamb of God A horny inventor named Sands And was the holy Lamb of God Lanksy | |
| DATE | Friday, 3 Jun 05 - 09:17:37 PM | |
| Name | Chaz Babylon | |
Comments |
please blow your nose.
'cause you're getting them wet! On England's pleasant pastures seen? are getting upset, He invented a motor And was the holy Lamb of God And did those feet in ancient time And did those feet in ancient time 'cause you're getting them wet! Jim Willi | |
| DATE | Friday, 3 Jun 05 - 09:15:55 PM | |
| Name | Chaz Babylon | |
Comments |
With a soft velvet rotor
With a soft velvet rotor Which he promptly affixed to his glans. and sprays like a hose. It drips like a faucet It drips like a faucet please blow your nose. Which he promptly affixed to his glans. Bruce | |
| DATE | Friday, 3 Jun 05 - 09:13:40 PM | |
| Name | Praveen | |
| E-mail address | ninethsense@yahoo.co.uk | |
Comments |
Hey,
This comment is not related to your website content, but "website". I am happy to know, you are using my 'hit counter' script. Just msged. bye. NinethSense | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.ninethsense.com | |
| DATE | Thursday, 31 Mar 05 - 02:44:23 AM | |
| Name | Jivosnican Pisados | |
| E-mail address | jivosnican@gmail.com | |
Comments |
and you are a giant hallucinating Totem pole...
no put that down... Batman and Ready? Batman and no put that down... I am not materialistic, I dont wear much makeup and I believe appearances aren't all their cracked up to be. Don't you just hate talking about yourself, I mean, I do! no put that down... | |
| DATE | Friday, 25 Feb 05 - 06:35:07 PM | |
| Name | rene | |
| E-mail address | renerepp@yahoo.com | |
Comments |
Behold my Poetron creation!
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun; 1 onion finely chopped. my blood approves, wholly to be a fool lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun; - the best gesture of my brain is less than wholly to be a fool Colour and splendour, disease and decaying, will never wholly kiss you; your eyelids' flutter which says | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 1 Feb 05 - 11:08:26 AM | |
| Name | Lord Sir Nigel higginbothom Picklesworth | |
| E-mail address | aegyptuspatriaest@yahoo.fr | |
Comments |
Into her organs
And the lady squid's tentacles At the ringing and the ringing And the hole of that girl down the block Whose blush spews over the world like ejaculate! Are but menstrual flow from the groin of God I slather my saliva into her belly And Mamadog Aurore is my porn name I slather my saliva into her belly Of the bells But the void of innocence Is where I lost my love Of the glow of Dawn that bitch And the lady squid's tentacles Is where I lost my love With an arm of chocolate And the hole of that girl down the block It is a mediocre world But the void of innocence When I supreme a blood orange With an arm of chocolate At the ringing and the ringing Whose blush spews over the world like ejaculate! At the ringing and the ringing | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.khaaan.com | |
| DATE | Friday, 31 Dec 04 - 03:45:07 PM | |
| Name | Josh | |
| E-mail address | josh@algabrosticspastigraphy.com | |
Comments |
Excerpt:
In retrospect, I should have gone quietly on my way, but decided to use a line I had been saving for years. I felt it necessary to locate the squawking beast in order to avoid her for the remainder of the party. She was a fit woman of about 30, about five feet tall. Her height was only slightly less noticeable than the fact that her mouth was moving so quickly I could barely discern the color of her lipstick (Autumn Restraint). Her conversation partner, a lad of about 19, stood quietly in this sailor suit and agreed furiously with every comment she made. "buttery drawbridge gate house oriel oilette revetted..." * The babies do not need to be fed, and have a shelf life of about two days * Since they are technically not human, they are not governed by SAG or Child Labor Law. o Babies have no nostrils * Since they are technically not human, they are not governed by SAG or Child Labor Law. Two women, who had, until that moment, been finishing an ice sculpture in the hallway while debating the Success of socialism in the face of a salad culture which becomes more low calorie with each passing meal, moved beside the large fellow, matched his stride, and spirited away the buntings. The man smiled and, in the voice rivaling a roman senator, (in the categories of tone,timbre, volume, and vibrato only. He was not speaking latin or anything like that. If a senator were to engage him in an actual debate, in latin, my money would fall solidly on the senator. Do not doubt this.) o Etc (Note: In my experience, the people who make this sort of claim fall into one of two groups. First, anyone with more money than can be spent in ten lifetimes is forgiven for forgetting the value money holds for the mortal population. If one is affluent, and has always been so, money may begin to seem useless, time consuming, barbaric, and yes, stupid. The second group is more unfortunate. Those who admit to themselves that money will never be theirs in any great quantity are prone to act as though money can’t buy happiness, since they will never have enough money to make that particular purchase. The voice which carried this particular comment into orbit belonged to a member of the former group.) "Dirty pool, Colonel. Pornographic at the very least." Bottles was not pleased. A tapestry, or indeed any item of beauty, should contain, if any acts are to be portrayed, at least one scantily clad (preferably in linen) wetnurse who seems intent on scolding the viewer of the piece. * Genome has been ‘streamlined’ to optimize production, e.g. Ever the thinker, Bottles considered the oddity. The portion of the tapestry visible from his bedroom was ornately appointed with the image of a charging unicorn. Charging directly towards the bedroom, to be precise. This head-on view of a realistic, life-sized mythological creature stumped him momentarily--he had not noticed the wall hanging at all before. He stepped into the hallway to look at the entire piece. In spite of the downpour, the smells from the patios are unmistakable--lunch is being prepared. Meals in this house are always a bit odd, even when the company isn't. That enigmatic fellow in the iridescent tuxedo seems to be a servant, but is only visible during meals. His influence is felt about the house, but I must confess I have never actually seen him, except with the trappings of a supper on his person. Trays and the like. Admittedly this is a rather expansive estate, but I have never seen (or not) a more uncanny presence (or lack). * I dashed about in the chaotic world that unholy temple had woven about me. * The Baby Factory Factory specializes in engineering smaller and smaller infants for commercial use The tiniest sliver of guilt 1 pricked the already weary conscience of Sir Reginald Bottles as he stared at the spiral-horned abominations above him. Rather than assuage this guilt by looking away, Bottles determined to risk his bad eye, in the interest of future guilt assessment. Fearful of blinking, lest any gruesome detail remain hidden, Bottles attempted to extract every detail, grisly and otherwise, from the objet d'filth. * I dashed about in the chaotic world that unholy temple had woven about me. "buttery drawbridge gate house oriel oilette revetted..." * I staggered dizzily, shut my eyes, and covered my ears. Two women, who had, until that moment, been finishing an ice sculpture in the hallway while debating the Success of socialism in the face of a salad culture which becomes more low calorie with each passing meal, moved beside the large fellow, matched his stride, and spirited away the buntings. The man smiled and, in the voice rivaling a roman senator, (in the categories of tone,timbre, volume, and vibrato only. He was not speaking latin or anything like that. If a senator were to engage him in an actual debate, in latin, my money would fall solidly on the senator. Do not doubt this.) Praise the Lord! And come on out! "Odd indeed," he said, his teeth clacking the stem of his pipe, an elegant Meerschaum given to him by his uncle. Carved into the image of a seated man counting parcels of indeterminate content, the pipe arrived at Bottles’ home on the evening of his thirteenth birthday, prompting the birth of a lifelong smoker. From behind the lacy skirts of the hors d’oevres barge, I chronicled the passing of several key guests. I had taken refuge here after being startled by the man’s emergence from the wall. The others witnessing this miracle of entry greeted him like an old friend whose conversation would be appreciated and discussed quietly by groups of no more than five. More precisely, they greeted him like the affluent friend of an old friend, whose acquaintance they wished to secure. He carried in each hand an infant. Both stood erect and peered blankly about the room. They, in turn, carried the troubled expressions of two infants being forced to stand upright on the hands of a man whose familiarity with the house afforded him full use of its numerous hidden passages and secret doorways. They were concerned. I could tell. They seemed on the verge of manifest discomfort, as though they could sense, with their as yet unfocussed eyes and asynchronous pupils, a danger standing near them. Perhaps at the edge of the room. Perhaps as near as the trays of Drupe Aspic and Morseled Rattan. Opinions differed about whether she was keeping the soon-to-be art in her heart or her brassiere. I tried to pass them unnoticed as I wanted to follow the infant toting gentleman from the panel gallery, but she stopped me by placing her hand on my thigh. * Genome has been ‘streamlined’ to optimize production, e.g. Have you ever been cast in plaster? As he continued his walk, the unicorns' activities became no less fervent, and the amounts of gore and contortion were rivaled only by the degree of ichor (shed only by mythological beings) in the borderwork. His investigations carried him slowly towards the second ballroom, down the grand staircase and eventually, onto the patio, where the others had already gathered for lunch. No, but I was once cast as a mad Scotsman in my preparatory school’s production of Lenner’s “On Love and Depth Charges.” I eventually surrendered the role under pressure from the funding committee. My r’s were trilled to fully. This led to accusations of my being a ringer. As if summoned by the young aristocrat’s musings, a voice offered from the corridor... | |
| Homepage URL | http://www.algabrosticspastigraphy.com | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 16 Nov 04 - 11:49:18 AM | |
| Name | Matt Miller | |
| E-mail address | aegyptuspatriaest@yahoo.fr | |
Comments |
daisies fuck dandelions
lavender breath dips venus de milo favours chips Thoughts of light are now on my mind there's a bloodstain on my mouth Though a hunter in darkness I must be Thoughts of light are now on my mind there's a bloodstain on my mouth On the lonely hill where I sit In the eyes of my victims before they lay still In the eyes of my victims before they lay still venus de milo favours chips lavender breath dips Thoughts of light are now on my mind marionettes spark sexual death oft lead to mind slips stay, blessed spot stay, blessed spot My conscience is the only light left in me and in the dark, a penis enters a vagina My conscience is the only light left in me I'm waiting for the sunrise today venus de milo favours chips In the eyes of my victims before they lay still out damned spot no stay | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 2 Nov 04 - 01:50:35 PM | |
| Name | Matt Miller | |
| E-mail address | aegyptuspatriaest@yahoo.fr | |
Comments |
The presence of animals on a corpse,
To deny his indulgences. On some of the circumstances surrounding death. The sheer ecstasy of it all. The sensuality, the lust. To deny his indulgences. Seymour Butts Hairy Bottom and The Sorcerer's Bone And whether drugs were present in the body, Whether a body has been moved, Whether a body has been moved, The sheer ecstasy of it all. Can provide information for investigators, The sheer ecstasy of it all. On some of the circumstances surrounding death. But there's also the pleasure, The sheer ecstasy of it all. Chesty LaRue The location of wounds, Of desire and disgust. Dickman and Throbbin Hairy Bottom and The Sorcerer's Bone On some of the circumstances surrounding death. The sheer ecstasy of it all. Whether a body has been moved, The presence of animals on a corpse, To deny his indulgences. Whether a body has been moved, LaRue LaRue | |
| DATE | Friday, 10 Sep 04 - 11:09:40 AM | |
| Name | Alyssa Mayfield | |
| E-mail address | alyssam@bratl.org | |
Comments |
Fraggle...
the love in her eyes. Let the music play, What therefore God has joined together, What therefore God has joined together, Down at Fraggle Rock. let no man separate. Let the Fraggles play, that makes me love her each day. Fraggle Fraggle | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 31 Aug 04 - 02:12:02 PM | |
| Name | Matt Miller | |
| E-mail address | aegyptuspatriaest@yahoo.fr | |
Comments |
A North Umbertonian Vampire Pudding (copyright 2004)
Quick and quack on his paddy whack, Pat his head for a loaf of bread; He was the first vampire, according to many The peril of perceived mortal woe. The peril of perceived mortal woe. Pat his head for a loaf of bread; Pat his head for a loaf of bread; of the older vampires I have consulted on the matter. but he was not one of the seven demons. Remember that these ancient times were more rife with spiritual activity, but I digress. Ride him to town and don't come back; Pat his head for a loaf of bread; The peril of perceived mortal woe. Pat his head for a loaf of bread; and in no other way. No one is born a vampire. Half a bucket and thimble of gin; That part of the legend at least is true. Ride him to town and don't come back; and in no other way. No one is born a vampire. with spiritual activity, but I digress. Half a bucket and thimble of gin; In deepest agony our souls unite, with spiritual activity, but I digress. That part of the legend at least is true. And join so fleetingly and brief, Pretty soon friend you'll be dead. Quick and quack on his paddy whack, Yet might we draw from these cold chains and know, with spiritual activity, but I digress. Some say he was cursed by the gods. a laborer by trade I have heard, who, for reasons unknown, became a vampire. Quick and quack on his paddy whack, The peril of perceived mortal woe. Half a bucket and thimble of gin; The peril of perceived mortal woe. and in no other way. No one is born a vampire. That part of the legend at least is true. That part of the legend at least is true. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 31 Aug 04 - 10:39:56 AM | |
| Name | thundarr | |
| E-mail address | t_h_u_n_d_a_r_r@yahoo.com | |
Comments |
rick james + rick james +rick james
Everybody dance on the funk You and I The kind of girl you read about That's the time I start romancin Don't you know Make you hot till you've had enough Make you hot till you've had enough Everybody dance on the funk Make you hot till you've had enough So you can move You wouldn't make love to me We fit together like a glove on hand I would imagine us dancin Than Hughes himself That's right That girl is pretty kinky We laid this groove Give it to me baby Give it to me baby Down to her feet, yeah We fit together like a glove on hand She's never hard to please We laid this groove That is why I'm so elated You went fast to sleep That's right Ohhhhh | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 17 Aug 04 - 10:41:29 AM | |
| Name | Lord Picklesworth | |
| E-mail address | aegyptuspatriaest@yahoo.fr | |
Comments |
"Vampire Stew" by Matt Miller, a.k.a. Lord Nigel Higginbotham Picklesworth
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun; 5 Tablespoons whole coriander leaves 1 onion finely chopped. Seeds of 2 green cardamom pods 5 Tablespoons Vegetable Oil Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets; laugh, leaning back in my arms Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers, for life's not a paragraph Colour and splendour, disease and decaying, for life's not a paragraph your eyelids' flutter which says Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats. who pays any attention Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats. wholly to be a fool Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling 4 Cloves Crushed Garlic Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane, Seeds of 2 green cardamom pods Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain. 5 Tablespoons whole coriander leaves your eyelids' flutter which says my blood approves, wholly to be a fool since feeling is first to the syntax of things Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets; your eyelids' flutter which says | |
| DATE | Saturday, 14 Aug 04 - 02:37:51 PM | |
| Name | loverboy+the refused+james dickey | |
| E-mail address | todd@squarebluecircle.com | |
Comments |
It's here for us to admire if we can afford the beauty of it.
If we can afford the luxury of turning our heads. Everybody's working for the weekend, A hundred years to create The same voice calling insanely Everybody's working for the weekend, | |
| DATE | Wednesday, 11 Aug 04 - 09:35:53 AM | |
| Name | Lord Nigel Higginbotham Picklesworth, III | |
| E-mail address | aegyptuspatriaest@yahoo.fr | |
Comments |
Quite. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 05:25:46 PM | |
| Name | Same | |
Comments |
say up jump the boogie to the bang bang boogie
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, This were to be new made when thou art old, Crawling, slithering, along The Horror. That’s my nightmare. now what you hear is not a test--i'm rappin to the beat I watched a snail crawl to the black, to the white, the red, and the brown, the purple and yellow along the edge of a straight razor. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 02:31:21 PM | |
| Name | Kurtz+Sugar Hill + Shakespeare | |
Comments |
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
I watched a snail crawl let's rock, you dont stop the edge of a straight razor and surviving. Crawling, slithering, along to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat well so far youve heard my voice but i brought two friends along The Horror. the edge of a straight razor and surviving. That’s my dream. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 02:21:40 PM | |
| Name | Colonel Kurtz + Sugar Hill Gang + Shakespeare | |
Comments |
The Horror.
the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie That’s my nightmare. The Horror. and me, the groove, and my friends are gonna try to move your feet along the edge of a straight razor. Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 02:19:43 PM | |
| Name | Neruda + Whitman + Curry Recipe | |
Comments |
Now
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.In the storm-tossed naked, * Salt * Salt until the onion they are shrink and be saturated. grape of the sea When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and reason hold not, surround us and pervade us, The skies of day and night—colors, densities, forms—May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known; glistens, of snowy flesh. like a glove, that it may be immersed in glory, * 2 pounds uncooked shrimps in shells of land and sea, and tomato * Pepper and paprika the tender eel when the savor is naked, of the pot, * 1 clove garlic to the kitchen And in Chilean And in Chilean garlic, the essences of Chile, I cannot answer the question of appearances, or that of identity beyond the grave; | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 01:49:11 PM | |
| Name | Just me | |
Comments |
4 Cloves Crushed Garlic
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying, 1 teaspoon Garam Massalla laugh, leaning back in my arms laugh, leaning back in my arms your eyelids' flutter which says will never wholly kiss you; cummings H. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 01:08:02 PM | |
| Name | First Poster | |
| E-mail address | her@myspace.com | |
Comments |
I love it. I am testing the guestbook. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, 10 Aug 04 - 01:07:05 PM | |