I'm about to post a couple poems for the sole purpose of then being here for chad to link to.
Why am I explaining myself?
Because I'm neurotic and possibly insane.
The coffee made two hours ago is still sitting here, nearing boil
I have a book about half finished waiting for eyes to read it.
And there's someone I should be getting back to
But that'll wait.
It will have to.
I have nothing to do.
An impressive and awe inspiring amount of nothing to do.
The nothing is coming out of my pores and soaking me down to the fingertips.
Little rivulets of nothing go coursing over the down on my arms.
And travelling from my scalp to the hollow between my shoulder blades.
Expanding puddles of nothing soaking my socks and this patch of carpet.
And it's all mine This growing flood.
Mine to dance in... to move in.
And when the waters reach my swaying hips I will lay back
Breathe deep, find a level in the deluge
Bathe and float in my own aching hollow
My own special empty
My very own nothing.
We're all caffeine whores
Slinking out at night
Caffeine whores, all of us
See us sitting in a Denny's at 3 a.m.
Watch us roll into IHOP at 4
Slurping down the potent bean
Hunch shouldered and hungry
Pale and bag eyed
Wild pupils roaming
Synapses fire in our hot-hot brains
And numb fingers clutch
At the comforting shape of
Our ceramic pacifiers
Little cockroach lives for the caffeine whores
Lives lived in felonious funk
Over the easily marketted commodity
They have become
Grande low-fat americano mocha latte
Light on the coffee
Heavy on the image
Someone explain to me why people are still walking around asking "where were you on september eleventh?"
They want the stories... everyone's version of events.
If you were a block from the buildings... I might give a shit.
If you were IN one of the buildings... I might give a shit...
probably I won't.. but you stand a far better chance of me giving a shit than you do if you're just another self important wank in the middle of nowhere who feels the need to get deep and 'rap pit' with everyone about this shared experience you seem to think we all had.
Yes. It was an incredibly bad day for ... just about everyone...
I don't know ANYONE who wasn't freaked out in some way shape or form.
But share your stories for your friends.
Share your stories for your kids.
You aren't getting any sympathy or inspiring any catharsis by churning the ashes.
Does this mean I'm just a cold hearted cynic?
Does that make me cringe?
Not even a little.
I find it odd that the same people who are so annoyed about the misuse of 'patriotism' and who have *nothing* but criticism for the actions against the taliban are the same ones who keep running back to this "share your story" bullshit.
If you lost someone, you need to deal with that with your family and friends. You should be talking about it...But those aren't the people asking everyone to get cozy and share.
The people asking are people who were not touched by it any way at all beyond watching on TV..... it's like... they're groupies... they desperately WANT to be somehow more attached to what happened and so they're writing themselves closer to the story through this namby pamby pseudo-therapy bullshit.
Just stop doing it.
Maybe someone can explain it to me.
"all in all... you're just another dick with no balls"
and you're a DAMNED goofy dancer.