I have had the most incredibly fucked day. Of a fucked life. Sorry, but only this will do.
Dream Song 14

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no

Inner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.

-John Berryman
( cackers, Wed 14 Jan 2009, 4:06, 3 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Who knew that gay fella from Torchwood
could write poetry?
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Wed 14 Jan 2009, 6:34, Reply)

cacker's rhymes be shit, i'll step to dis cracka
reciting fuckin poetry makes me think he a fudge packa
a tiny violin playing just for u
cause u had a shitty day motha fucka boo hoo
wipe those tears away, u soft little bitch
crying 2 the internet makes my fucking dick itch
u wantin sympathy u won't get it round here
u shud go to soho and give a £20 to a queer

YEAAAAHHHH
OUT
( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Wed 14 Jan 2009, 8:08, Reply)

Might I just say:
Ahaha!

Word.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Wed 14 Jan 2009, 8:27, Reply)