bitches and hoes, bitches and hoes

hah another entry. i love the livejournal format.


yellow cobweb hands grace the cover of your dead beat textbook, salted down through years of biting your fingernails and slicking the trails of thought from your yellow forehead. moved the air like graceful birds these hands once did, like these cardboard pages once fluttered in the summer heat, thin as ice. now we're weighted with our unnatural gravity


INTERRUPTION


DO YOU NEED POWERFUL STEAM CARPET CLEANING?

no


IF SO---

no!
interruption ended



oopsssa daisy my tongue's school girl giggling again, what a suggestive piece of juicy steak i am trrrrrrilling my rrs. zzzzZT. pause.

hehe bet you didn't see that sucker coming, now you're pinned down under my snake eyes *snorts* and your scents already flick flicked its way into my olfactories what a HEAD RUSH >>breaks down into laughter>> can you imagine what thats like, stabbing your brain with your tongue? cherry juice blooms school girl purple crimson on my kleenex, reminds me again who i am. i can never ever ever ever imagine that my pretty muffet, 'specially now with my nose all clogged up the way it is. sneezing with holes in my gums, whatevers THAT gonna be like tomorrow?


the writer is a glorious creature, a shining beacon of hope in our fading---*the horn fanfare*---in our fading, um (enter the strings) fading depths of soc...BOOM goes the cannonball baton!...of our FADE OUT >>>>>>>
see the truth is that we don't have patience, and the immediate thrill will always grab us first and fiercest. the performing artist steals the show without fail from the quivering rembrandt, but that's only until we remember that a performance is only once, only once. perform your art to perfection, but unless behind the scenes somebody bothers to record it (history, it should seem, has the last laugh) or carve it into paper by way of pen, it might as well have never to existed. that is not to say the writer is greater than the musician (or vice versa) if we keep with the battle mentioned above, or the painter meaner than the twirling baton man. we simply, i believe, lack the breadth of mind to comprehend both at the same time. two different parts of the same brain piece. one might feel inferior in the company of the other, even though skillwise, they are equally matched. it can hurt to feel helpless, or can be quite a whizzbang of fun. wheee!!