Wasted Words

I can't remember what it was like to hit the TAB key and have it move the roller-thing forward five spaces for a real paragraph. Seems like such a long time ago. Is it something I'm doing wrong? Surely it is.

As the end of the world escapses us not,
And the sun creeps closer;
Keeping us hot.
Baking the water into the sky,
Drying out throats,
Cracking our eyes.
Swollen tongues,
Cackle and crackle silent cries.
Bury the fetus in a dusty cloud,
A wind gust away from thirsty hound.
Laugh at the crags underfoot,
A trip down a crispy lane of grass,
Then given a spark, a cleansing blast,
This world shakes us off
Like a shitty rash...

Time

The times for thinking of yourself have been over for a long time. You have nothing to offer them but more, more, and even more…you never stop offering. You never stop. Even when not asked, things are taken from you.

Those times you sit and think you’ll be remembered, hope to be remembered, then aren’t, will be the times you’ll ache to forget. You’ll forget. All it takes is a gentle comb of little fingers in your hair, a hand on your shoulder, an unexpected hug, then and only then is all forgotten.

Times sat together on a floor, on a bed, looking at the same things, laughing, and smelling and spilling, all together. Can be too much; can you be driven to madness? Until the snapping shut of lips and open arms, then doors.

The times in bed surrounded by piles on the floor of silent, sleeping parasites of love will be gone, are going and will be missed with the relief that naked sleepy blunders go unnoticed.

Times left to go now less than the times well spent, misspent wasting them at the mirror or waxing a car or cleaning your clubs. All the given and all the taken and all the gifts and stolen treats leaving you with little time for thinking of yourself.

Today

Well, shocking to see Obama really start to close Gitmo. And on another note:

I Got Nothing

The Video


I saw you the other day,
The you, the one, i haven't seen
For some time.
I remembered what it was like,
And i wanted to apologize.

I saw me the other day,
Good ol' me, that i hadn't seen,
For some time.
I couldn't remember what I was like,
And I wanted to cry.

I'll say I'm sorry now,
To you, to me, that should do it
For some time,
It always seemed to
When I made you cry.

-rbm

The Typewriter Posts

Well, I'll give you that they might be hard to read, but I ain't gonna type them upstairs, then retype them down here. I dunno, something about hitting a bunch of keys is satisfying, and loud, and I like being satisfied and loud.

I hope they can be read; too bad no one else does.

brett

Typewriter Posts

Typewriter Blog

Here's something even I can do. I write my stuff where ever I am, then I can post it here, no matter how messed up it is.

I'll see if they can be read.