Michael Dayton (1563-1631)
Quote: For that fine madness still he retain which rightly should possess a poets brain.

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But the subsequent collision of fools...
Well versed in the subtle art of slavery.

NWA - Fuck the police

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"It is not the critic who counts:
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood,
who strives valiantly,
who errs and comes up short again and again,
because there is no effort without error or shortcoming,
but who knows the great enthusiasms,
the great devotions,
who spends himself for a worthy cause;
who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement,
and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."
Theodore Roosevelt
"Citizenship in a Republic," Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

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quote:

Originally posted by Alex NWA - Fuck the police

If you lived in Compton then I could understand.

-smh-

___________________

But the subsequent collision of fools...
Well versed in the subtle art of slavery.

I just googled "SMH" and I must say... HOW DARE YOU shake your online head at me!

NWA is poetry for all!

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Life Story
By Tennessee Williams
After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course

there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with the mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all along,

and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

Roses are red, the sun is gold...get on your knees and do as you're told.

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quote:

Originally posted by Alex I just googled "SMH" and I must say... HOW DARE YOU shake your online head at me! NWA is poetry for all!

I actually have NWA-Greatest Hits

But I consider it a novelty act.

___________________

But the subsequent collision of fools...
Well versed in the subtle art of slavery.

Inb4joyceletters

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> S u s h i p u n k . P h o t o g r a p h y <

inb4charlesbukowski

A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING
John Donne (1572-1631)
As the virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say,
"No."

So let us melt, and make no
noise,
No tear-flood, nor sigh-tempests move;
"Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love."

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did, and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
---Whose soul is sense---
cannot admit of absence, 'cause it doth
remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two
so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other doth
roam,
It leans, and hearken after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle
just,
And makes me end where I begun.

___________________

But the subsequent collision of fools...
Well versed in the subtle art of slavery.

Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.


Shel Silverstein - One Inch Tall

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

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4a.m.deepdarksweatypulsingwarehousemusic

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