So Meaty

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Whenever they're needed, no one is ever online.

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Anonymous said…
tell me about it...lol
February 15, 2006 11:46 AM
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Five Alarm

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A steady rhythm Inhale Exhale Smoke-filled lungs Inhale Exhale A glorious epitaph Such a wonder opens before me Coffers of splendor A myriad of voids and endless worlds A hooker under a street lamp A gangster in a bank A gambler in a casino And the dead man in jail This air of mystery This fog of complexity Death in sticks Suicide in packs Choice limited by your issues Freedom hampered By coughs and the sense of smell But there is this moment And there is this space Where there is just space And nothing matters Because nothing exists And you can ignore the tar in your lungs And the smell on your clothes And hands And hair You can ignore the frostbitten fingers The shaking limbs The futility of a lighter in the wind Because in that one moment It’s not about what you did Or’ve done It’s about that moment And about the feeling Of knowing nothing at all matters It is a Zen garden With rocks and sand And Coy swimming about in empty circles It is a forest of solitude Of green And brown Of br...
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Do you know what one of the main problems is with modern day society? We're taught not to discriminate based on race. And while that might seem like a good thing, and you might be rather outraged right now, the entire concept is fundamentally flawed. The problem is that teaching people this concept instills them with the idea that there is such a thing as "race." There isn't. "Race" is a socially construct based on a person physical appearance or geographic location. Genetically, there is no basic difference between one person and the next. Obviously, because we're all different, there are genetic deviations. But there is nothing to establish "race." There might be differences based on a person's ancestral geographic home, where an entire group of people gathered in a specific type of environment and procreated based out of a small genetic pool. And there might be physical differences because of those environments and the extensive amount o...
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Crayon Boxes I think I have died That you no longer care if I live This grave could be unmarked, for all the people who look at it and know I am here I am hunched At my desk in my favorite sweatshirt The hood lined with orange And the sleeves frayed, worn I have worn this sweater for so many years, though loved it half as long The orange does little to cheer me tonight As I have searched your name and found a new addition to your fame An expansion of your being I realize the knife is still there Because I can feel it twisting, fresh, in the wound I smell that change in the sweet spring air and regret that I am not there. These rhymes are happenstance and agony. It has been so long since I have written here, had the charge to write here, and as always, it is of a tragedy My tragedy Like a forgotten war, Like a villager, killed by a despot, who is survived by a child who grows up dreaming of nothing but the tyrant’s death (I don’t even care to draw the conclusion) I have a thousand songs...
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