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<livejournal>
<entry>
<itemid>149642</itemid>
<eventtime>2012-12-03 10:28:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2012-12-03 15:28:07</logtime>
<subject>Sumursursursurus</subject>
<event>
Before The Dream Is Gone by Emmit Other No one asked you to look into the hidden reaches In the places no one wants to go. Take this advice, Young sir And learn a thing or two to show. When mutual admiration, From high and hidden or low and banal Reach duely dually synced approbation Sing thee the fire in thy soul. Note then the shadow world That Technicolor Digitalis A syncopathic symphony of Slines Your destiny is dialed up The rings are chimed together Heedless from an infinity of Reeves. Every man a whisper And every coin a slot Take thee to the river Before all is then forgot. No one there to answer When the door opens at the chime Gutter children dying Never spoken ancient rhyme. Broken drums can keep no lock Destiny denies thy call Get your head From between thy cheeks Or never ask at all. Fibinachi sequence Fractal 'dactal dee Prehistoric tomorrows Fireblossom sea Swim then in thy element As the crab without its shell One man's single curse Is someone else's hell. The dawn breaks up thy compost The soil soon turns to dust Be where you are then needed Do then what you 'sume you must. Ringing chimes of waking Ringing dust of ages Be the instructure of the heart And the water to the sages.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>149932</itemid>
<eventtime>2012-12-21 23:14:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2012-12-21 23:16:33</logtime>
<subject>Unbundling Sight Unseen</subject>
<event>
by Redwin Tursor Behold the pretty paper Just waiting to be unwrapped Its soft shiny edges Hiding the goodies inside. Everyone envies you The unknown unseen thing it contains Giddy with anticipation At your own anticipation The grin on your face Knowing that you have a present And they do not. The unwrapping is part of the ancient ritual. The bow is saved. Each careful fold is measured. This is paper that might be kept. Patience of tradition Handed down from one generation to another From a time when toilet paper was a novelty. One turn One twist One slow unbundling Until at last There is nothing but paper Revealed to be a smiley face Your girlfriend put in the middle of it Which you appreciate But in retrospect consider That it probably wasn't worth the hour and a half. The defusing of the bomb Does not merit the same sentiment Of the bottlecap you picked up out of the storm drain That you routinely use to steal the sorceous power Of that bastard who gave you the dead fish handshake. In the end All you’re left with is a piece of paper with a smiley face. One photograph later And it ends up in the trash Right next to the used styrofoam lunch basket That you threw away with the bad noodles. Ten thousand years later The digital smile lives a million light years away Enshrined in the temple to your soul And the Styrofoam lunch basket Is hung up in the Museum of Alien Art In Some distant galactic capital They picked it up In the dust and ash of a dead world Utterly ignoring the wrapping paper.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>150032</itemid>
<eventtime>2012-12-21 23:22:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2012-12-21 23:31:38</logtime>
<subject>And the Horse You Rode In On</subject>
<event>
by Redwin Tursor It wasn't the entirely inappropriate Incorporation of known not gun advocate Grover Norquist Nor was it your demand That every school in America carry A fully equipped Fully Armed Robocop Armed with Anti Union Bullets And Commie Seeking Missiles. It wasn't calling out the news media While being lauded and championed By the feeding source of bottom feeders The scum that is Fox. It isn't the immaculately conceived Methodically reasoned links advocating utter nonsense While ignoring basic common sense Passed from Uncle Grandpa's Former Cousin's Sister's Roommate. It's the fact that 26 bloody sacrifices On the alter of your disgusting God of Lucre Surrounded by masks of false ideology Did not shake you from your stupor. It isn't so much the bullshit. I'm used to piles of that appearing Any time one of your proxies opens an orifice. Its that it was the same low quality bullshit You shoveled just the day before. 26 tiny little lives Burst like video game blood bags With weapons stolen from one of your high priestesses To post apocalyptic violence. Guess what assholes I think I should have a weapon too. The police cannot teleport. Nor can they monitor the world With x ray superhearing ala Superman. But do you think I'm gonna stand up And shout for my gun rights When I look around At the same callous assholes Who go through a whole week Before pretending not to care anymore? I think not You petty disgusting posers. So what are we left with? We're left with a stark bright line Between people who give a damn And people who like lies more than they like the truth. That's what we're left with. You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you...and the horse you rode in on. My apologies to the horse.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
</entry>
</livejournal>
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