Do not give in to the soul

Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.
Take no heed of the indecipherable script on his unread sign
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Will work for love I thought it had said so
But the mind it wills what it will to survive
Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.

Hungry and tattered he begs to be exposed
The buildings, the houses, the skin he’d rip open wide
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Insatiable as the dream of life, to all that we do he’s opposed
Feeding him would only be the breeding of more insatiable sighs
Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.

Let the sun rage down, let the murderous elements take hold
Let the ancient apparition know there’s nowhere for him to reside
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Everyday people with everyday woes go where everyone goes
His is a cross to the everyday mind crossing this with that every time
Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Man Alone

Great News

A Woman, A Big Truck and The Wind

That's Right, You're Not From Texas, But Texas Wants You Anyway

Mother and Son

Now That Would Be More of a Tragedy Really

Hunting for Bambi


Men, are you tired of denying your manly selves?

Are you tired of being sent off to kill people so somebody else can profit?

Are you tired of always having to talk about ‘the relationship’?

Are you tired of trying to get in touch with your feelings?

Are you tired of having to just hold her rather than trying to fix the problem?

Are you tired of having to help out with the kids and the housework?

Are you tired of not being able to hang out with the guys?

Are you tired of having the channel changed during the best part of the game?

Are you tired of going to Men’s Retreats to recall what is to be a man?

Are you tired of having to shave your bodily hair?

Are you tired of penis extensions, penis reductions and penis substitutes?

Are you tired of being blamed for all the ills of the world?

Are you tired of women wanting equal pay for equal work?

Are you tired of having no significant role left to play in modern society?

Are you tired of being sued for Sexual Harrassment because of bad lines?

Are you tired of beating on your chest and yelling Jane when there are no Janes left in the jungle?

Are you tired of having to constantly create Romantic scenarios?

Are you tired of all those popup ads on pornography sites?

Are you tired of the high price of hookers?

Are you bored with hunting down deer and exotic birds?

Women, are you tired of bringing home the bacon, using your brains, crawling across cut glass to make the big deal, having children and raising them too, trying to explain your needs to a man, sextoys, sleeping and/or dancing, flirting your way to the top and artificial insemination?

Then this might be for you:

Hunting for Bambi in Las Vegas.

Pay 10,000 and shoot wild screaming naked women with paintballs.

Women or should I say girlsreceive 2,500 for avoiding paint pellets and 1,000 if you get hit. Medical insurance is not included. Raises are possible when it is turned into a Reality TV show.

There is an extra fee for shooting above the waist. Maiming and inflicting serious bodily harm is much much extra. See Cochran, Bailey, Scheck, Dershowitz and Shapiro.

Have fun.

found at Burningbird

Urban Legend

Folks, this is absolutely not true. Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein are not hanging out on the beaches of Los Angeles recruiting senior citizens over the age of 85 to do a few errands for them. No matter what George Bush and Tony Blair say. The French did not have anything to do with it. The CIA has not confirmed, denied and then taken the blame for it. This is a mere urban legend.

You Live Your Life as if it's Real Turns One

After over 60 poems, countless parodies and God knows what else, You Live Your Life finally turns one.
Thanks to everyone for stopping by. Here's a few oldies but goodies, i hope: one of my first feetwetting posts and the first Streams of Bloggishness.

Overheard at Self-Loathers Anonymous

And the man at the podium asked:

Does life seem brutish, nasty and short?

(Swift? Hobbes? Calvin? Calvin and Hobbes? I wondered from the last pew)
And somewhere out of the ether that infernal voice, that infernal music blew.

The ceremony was on.

And Waits fell off his piano stool on late night TV.
And Letterman said something about not being in Kansas.
And Waits clicked his heels. He clicked and he clicked.
Shaffer smiled. And they mercifully cut away.

And the sound of desperation grew louder and louder.
And 12 infernal midgets with green tongues started banging.
And Waits started singing.
And we all started banging, all of us, gathering round
for the music had started.
And Waits sang.
And we all beat out the rhythm on our very own tin garbage lids.

Bang. Bang. Bang.
And Waits sang.

Well, the moon is broken
and the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
the only things you can see
is all that you lack
all you're crying dont do no good.
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house
The world is not my home
I'm just a passing thru.

And there on the front row.
Bukowski turned to Kafka and asked him if he had a roach.
Kafka said Fuck you. Bukowski said Fuck me.
The cockroach smiled. For he was not waiting.
What are we waiting for? Bukowski asked.
I dont know why we were there. I certainly don't know why we're here.
I told you. We have to wait. Kafka replied.
Well, at least i felt.
I felt, Kafka muttered.
Guilty, Bukowski snorted.
At least I wasn't false, Kafka retorted.

And still we banged on.
And Waits sang.

You got to Come on Up to the House.
And we banged.
Come on Up to the House.
And we banged and we banged.

Does life seem nasty, brutish and short?
The seas are stormy and you can't find no port.
There's nothing in the world that you can do.
And you've been whipped by the forces that are inside of you.
And you're high on top of your mountain of woe.
And you know you should surrender
but you can't let it go.
You gotta come on up to the house.

And then all the banging stopped.

And for a moment, i think i rose.

Bukowski said At least the music's good.
Kafka sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered something about that infernal American music.
The cockroach smiled.

And I wondered about my own coffin.
And whether or not i might sleep tonight.

Streams of Bloggishness (Mow Naked)


beginning and rebeginning, flashing up and into nothing, blue fire flickers the millennial tree exploding in blue fire while the flame of time licks lips to speaking of that which was, is, and will always be James Brown! Like our bodies, our feelings are also controlled by the robot, running on automatic pilot Mow naked! Sure enough. The split comes, and that motherfucker is going west. We've made the split, that Honda has just about cut me off someday i'll be a good little girl with a plastic smile, i promise, golly gee shucks! and i'll turn off the dark parts of my brain and i won't think and i won't think. and i won't cry over thinkful things but just broken nails and sad puppies and i won't think and i won't think.Mow Naked! Same old script, same old cast of characters; familiar, swarthy, moustachioed bad guy; simple, all American, cowboy, good guy; show down; high noon; staring each other down in the heat of the desert... In our own way, we are all tilting at windmills One hopes it's the president of course, though I've heard strong minority voices for Condi Rice, Rumsfeld, and Cheney. Whoever it is, I think they've confirmed my belief that the Administration has managed this crisis like a virtuoso. The Red Wine Negation Café. When I get my farm, I want to throw wild parties where we will run around naked and listen to James Brown and sit in unladylike positions while we drink our beer on the front porch at all hours. And Mow Naked! War is peacefreedom is slaveryignorance is strength what is happening in the world is a projection of what is happening inside each one of us; what we are, the world is. Connection reaches in and changes us. It picks us up and moves us – just like the music – to someplace we didn’t expect to be. And there we are. But where do the children play? If you wanna kill Rushdie, kill Rushdie. Poor Cat. Fuckin’ Coyote. Our minds contain a vast unused library of thoughts and ideas Sometimes when I look back I still see the severed head.. I think that everyone in Tie Rack ought to apply to the UK for political asylum, on the well justified grounds that they're probably going to get bombed. I think we might see a shift in Mr Blair's stance then. 'You want to bomb Tie Rack? But, George, it's a shop that sells ties!' 'That's what they want you to think, Tony'...No, you can't kill the devil with a gun or a sword. Our grief is not a cry for war. Mow naked! We accept the universe around us as stable and normal, when there is immense mystery and complexity and reality hidden from us by ignorance and habit. I don’t see heaven or saints or angels. I see people cashing in on every decent moral impulse and every human tragedy. Our moral authority comes not only from our conscience but from our actions. In our own way, we are all tilting at windmills... Do you think they have a big board on the wall in Seattle that lights up… and will George C. Scott be able to ward them off? Why settle for skyscrapers when you can have sky, shorts and a tee, when you can mow naked? Ithaca is traversed by waves, there is no place of safety to which Ulysses, each of us, any of us, might return to the source of the sirens’ song. Shhh, here she comes with her damn milking machine. Blue millennial flickers. Although I am a true believer in the power of the mind, today will not require its magic.


Words and quotes taken from:

Wood s lot,Mike Golby,Tracy 'Mow Naked' Swank,Whiskey River,Tom Bolton,Miranda,Human B Leever,George Partington, Frank Paynter, The Happy Tutor,David Lyttle,Pilgrim at Enthusiasm,Gary Turner,Loren Webster,Mike Porter,Tish, Jane Gault, Chris Locke,Rose McMahon