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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| Inspired by an Old Man on Congress St.
Who wears short shorts? -
Geriatrics do!
Neon Richard Simmons green,
Lands End navy blue.
And if in age my style wanes,
My dignity in tatters,
Shoot me when I’m sixty, please.
And force my corpse into some jeans!
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| Ach,
For a face,
and body like David,
A trunk borne of marble, I mooaann
You men - we worship your bodies! Remember:
that though we are ladies,
we are not made of stone.
Oh,
So inspired, and YES
so turned on! the
shape of a god and the drive of a faun
Boys, men, guys, will I ever get enough?!
E, I, O! Of that penetrating stuff!!
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| i am crazy! and finally a musician!!!! | | |
| Sleep.
I used to absolutely adore it. I remember the good times in the dorm at Darlington, at 4am, I'd take a running leap into bed after talking to Brad on the phone for 5 hours straight and, squealing and whimpering, bury myself deep into the void of soft sheeps, down-filled comforter, and infinite pillow. I used to skip classes to sleep. Fail so I could sleep. It was like I could never catch up on the sleep I lost on the phone.
In my first years of college, this addiction continued. If I had any issues that I was having trouble with, i could simply surrender my tense body into the nothingness of dreams which I watched liked tv, anyway. Chores? Sleep. Laundry? Sleep. Sad? Sleep.
But now this has changed. I got to bed as soon as I get off of work, sure, but I work late. Without fail, I wake up at 8am and naps are now impossible - the days are too full of stimuli, and too interesting to surrender. I have dishes to wash, and money to make.
And I have to say that I don't miss sleep. It was a black hole - it was an evil. There is too much to be done, to many vocal techniques to master, to many books to read. And by the way, the more C.S. Lewis I read, the calmer I get. Hmm. Life, even awake, is a harmless, interesting thing.
Too bad I have the damn flu and STILL can't sleep, and can't do anything productive either.
(pros and cons..argh!) | | |
| Oh, and over, passing milky mountains swathed in mist
Holding hands and flying fast and sweetly
Honeyed lips from clouds and spit
Our nostrils flared to breathe the sun in deeply
The water comes to carve the ground, and
Our friends the birds whorl and dark through bright
And to the seas they lead us, singing songs of truth and emptiness
And past the shore, we dive and fall, Bowls now filled, directionless… | | |
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