tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post377917175276637458..comments2023-11-05T04:02:39.418-05:00Comments on Michelle's Spell: An Empty Tank Of GasMichelle's Spellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15769666862403600253noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-49795915863351715732007-05-26T13:29:00.000-04:002007-05-26T13:29:00.000-04:00myCajunQthatsignisasignofthetimesgivesmenitesweats...myCajunQ<BR/>thatsignisasignofthetimes<BR/>givesmenitesweats<BR/>andtheWillies<BR/>NewMiamiMama<BR/>FoxlyLadyD<BR/>SaveRCity<BR/>R2C2!!!!!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-72377195368432659892007-05-26T06:53:00.000-04:002007-05-26T06:53:00.000-04:00RIP Hamilton's quote can also be applied to most m...RIP Hamilton's quote can also be applied to most marriages -- If it ain't rough, it ain't right. I guess this could be perceived as torture. As for my "hoopty," at least now I'm car pooling and the wife has more money to spend.JR's Thumbprintshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10479324326541901987noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-83843205608305187612007-05-26T04:46:00.000-04:002007-05-26T04:46:00.000-04:00"it's strange to stop moving and stand on your own..."it's strange to stop moving and stand on your own again."<BR/><BR/>Amen, Sista. Strange but nice.Susan Millerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05566328070072489203noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-52379246427124737382007-05-26T03:32:00.000-04:002007-05-26T03:32:00.000-04:00I talk to a silencethat finds its voicewhen I'm sa...I talk to a silence<BR/>that finds its voice<BR/>when I'm sane and<BR/>gives me a reason<BR/>to find who I am. <BR/>The wind blows<BR/>through the oak tree<BR/>outside, knocking a<BR/>branch through my roof <BR/>my bed is soaked with <BR/>sweat and rain.<BR/>Animals live here.<BR/>I can't stay here<BR/>again, not tonight; the<BR/>room at the Fraser Motel<BR/>smells musty and steril.<BR/>The silence there will <BR/>talk to me, of all the<BR/>times that I wasn't <BR/>there alone. The only<BR/>sound will be the heart<BR/>of lust and the walls<BR/>telling the stories.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-44095409985868184232007-05-25T20:19:00.000-04:002007-05-25T20:19:00.000-04:00Hoopty.Hoopty.realbigwingshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02187979547555940613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-43704137248091720262007-05-25T17:53:00.000-04:002007-05-25T17:53:00.000-04:00Highusually it's been awhileyou try to make it las...High<BR/><BR/><BR/>usually it's been awhile<BR/>you try to make it last <BR/>trying to create<BR/>a finer substance<BR/>laced on the paper<BR/>lips lingering over places<BR/>twisted, gently <BR/>to shape<BR/>and to taste<BR/><BR/>the difference is<BR/>that the fire <BR/>is the end process<BR/>not at the beginning<BR/><BR/>unlike bold love <BR/>unlike poetry<BR/>on your open lips<BR/><BR/>as I remember<BR/>through the smokeAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-90679276240261562522007-05-25T16:43:00.000-04:002007-05-25T16:43:00.000-04:00Sorry for the morbid jag I got on just now, m. It...Sorry for the morbid jag I got on just now, m. It's therapuetic, on a writing and psychological level. Not to mention that I'm still hungover with your writng from yesterday.<BR/>Today is good, too!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-4306666811462082632007-05-25T16:34:00.000-04:002007-05-25T16:34:00.000-04:00VesselsThe dead will always be sought after by tho...Vessels<BR/><BR/>The dead will always be sought after by those who are still trapped under glass in the sun. <BR/><BR/>And we are never without them, quietly observing or unraveling our many tangled threads always seeming to come accompanied<BR/>by a picture <BR/>or a bottle<BR/>or other fitting vessel for souls to be carried by their mortals<BR/>as they walk in still life<BR/>away from the lightAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-76405754338126510862007-05-25T16:15:00.000-04:002007-05-25T16:15:00.000-04:00Hidden TruthsNext to me, at the brightest part of ...Hidden Truths<BR/><BR/><BR/>Next to me, at the brightest part of my bar<BR/>a bent old man with a face that was hit by a hammer when he was 12 <BR/><BR/>sips green label Jack Daniels from a glass, watching the shorts ride high on the suburban nocturnal wildlife roaming the gratiot corridor<BR/><BR/>next to him a picture of his wife<BR/>with her own barstool in front of her<BR/>she watches him the entire time<BR/>unspeaking but knowing all hidden truths<BR/><BR/>he wishes he was young<BR/>enough to run with one of<BR/>the velvetine floor walkers<BR/>to their car for a blowjob<BR/><BR/>He wishes his memories were alive, and his wife--dead since my own birth over thirty years ago--was eighteen so he could make the rest of these coraled snakes blush from what he knows to be the only true love that god ever created.<BR/><BR/>he cathes her gaze<BR/>a quiet rembrance<BR/>unspoken prayers<BR/>against desire, <BR/>heartache<BR/>a bottle of alcohol<BR/>and the often bitter pill <BR/><BR/>love <BR/><BR/>severed limb of the heart<BR/>rotting in this relentless season <BR/><BR/>Unspoken prayers<BR/>are hard to kill<BR/>but will die this way<BR/>in this heart's longest winterAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-36549616210787928172007-05-25T15:10:00.000-04:002007-05-25T15:10:00.000-04:00As soon as she admitted to herself that she never ...As soon as she admitted to herself that she never loved him anyway, the tank was empty and she stopped at that moment to either learn to stand, fall or move.<BR/><BR/>Having been on the other side of this coin I realize I see this tale from a different perspective, but I have no sympathy for the protagonist here which is not the husband but the one who stayed with a man she didn't love and then whined when her washer and dryer were sold.<BR/><BR/>As for the Balzac quote that goes two ways, but if one partner or the other tightens the lug nuts once in awhile you know what...the goddamn wheels never will fall off.<BR/><BR/>Men are not the only assholes that won't commit. <BR/><BR/>Sorry Michelle i have read everything you posted since you told me about this spot; this piece hits a 25 year old still very sore spot with me.the walking manhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10058913927297370740noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-49609729888074061532007-05-25T13:29:00.000-04:002007-05-25T13:29:00.000-04:00What a lovely string of pics you've had, gorgeous ...What a lovely string of pics you've had, gorgeous one. Today's pic is heartbreaking in its beauty. Yesterday's had just welded it back together, too...Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-75035426451830734152007-05-25T13:20:00.000-04:002007-05-25T13:20:00.000-04:00Fundamentsfive minutes before class--fundamentals ...Fundaments<BR/><BR/><BR/>five minutes before class--<BR/>fundamentals of physics<BR/>I keep trying to write<BR/>anything to save my soul<BR/>from the pull of the <BR/>irresistible forces gathered<BR/>at the bar across the street<BR/><BR/>one stanza in <BR/>and a woman in magenta blouse and jeans of black on black<BR/>sits down, turns, watches my hand.<BR/>She asks me what I'm doing.<BR/><BR/>I'm a writer, I say.<BR/>I hope I won't disturb you.<BR/><BR/>She smiles and tells me<BR/>she won't bite; that <BR/>I'll keep her good company.<BR/><BR/>She wants to read what I'm writing. Her eyes are on my page<BR/>looking up at me<BR/>I told she could read it,<BR/> as soon as it's perfect;<BR/> <BR/>Kafka was right.<BR/>So I turned up the heat<BR/>trying to make diamonds from<BR/>the gathered rough all around me, inside me, from inside another--<BR/><BR/>all at the request of a magenta rose<BR/>from physics class lectures<BR/>have just started<BR/>about gravity's attraction<BR/>something physicists say<BR/>is the weakest force<BR/>known to man<BR/><BR/>She turns, asks me if <BR/>I'm finished writing<BR/>I nod, look down at the words<BR/>dancing in front of my face.<BR/>I tell her I'm still<BR/>waiting for the poem, too.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-3452728506934864112007-05-25T12:45:00.000-04:002007-05-25T12:45:00.000-04:00I'm still the typo king, baby. The RIPster knows....I'm still the typo king, baby. The RIPster knows. Ask him.<BR/><BR/>Good post--heartbreak, drinking and really poorly thought out toasts. Loved the booty call, non-commiting asshole part. Everybody nowadays is either an octupus or one of these culture of non-commitment types that you spoke of. Keep the faith.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-24492815419492774172007-05-25T11:23:00.000-04:002007-05-25T11:23:00.000-04:00The vietnam sign is kind of freaky.The vietnam sign is kind of freaky.Charles Gramlichhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02052592247572253641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25133444.post-87665127496229593732007-05-25T10:33:00.000-04:002007-05-25T10:33:00.000-04:00That's why RIP wears a Halloween mask!That's why RIP wears a Halloween mask!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com