| i put stuff here |


Getawayhe's a stoic collection of things-- raw mud-christened grit half-covers his face, eyes that flush radiance out like a car's engine in a city swelter,Getaway
a steady jaw latched shut from years
of breaking falls and a bar.
no one comes, he doesn't sell booze or place out peanut baskets-- no olives, no darts -- just dusty bottles along shelves in a basement and a television flicker for sports or a comforting glow


Surviving the Fireit meanders about -- pouts through rubble, eyes spit tears as it claws at old memories, ashed like a well-smoked bluntSurviving the Fire
wooden obelisks strut up, scraps flake off and dissolve away as they grasp air -- in vain at what was home


4.7.09:Woodit had rot around the edges--as though it would break at the slightest touch--its wooden carcass malformed from wear and use.4.7.09:Wood
not to say it wasn't loved, the boy loved it as his father had, taking it out back in the tiny well-kept yard to hit rocket home runs over the picket outfield wall.
it was thrown to the ground, not with malice, as the boy would push his short legs to the limit to round the pottery base, the old tennis racket, and the one regulation base before Dad tagged him out.
the boy, now Dad, stirs with
| i put stuff here |
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EVERYONE GOES INTO FUCKING ROBOT MODE AND SAYS THE SAME BULLSHIT OVER AND OVER
<bewareofthesnowman>but i thought i could fake it with strangers!
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unplug thephone.stop all the taps.itall comes flooding back.from poisoned cloud to poisoned dwarf>>what a nastydulkbhs SurprisE.the wormsll come for you big boots
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EVERYONE GOES INTO FUCKING ROBOT MODE AND SAYS THE SAME BULLSHIT OVER AND OVER
<bewareofthesnowman>but i thought i could fake it with strangers!
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EVERYONE GOES INTO FUCKING ROBOT MODE AND SAYS THE SAME BULLSHIT OVER AND OVER
<bewareofthesnowman>but i thought i could fake it with strangers!
You're welcome.
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It grieves me that this is not a dirigible,
that the sea stows us as a song in the belly of a maestro...
Oliver de la Paz
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EVERYONE GOES INTO FUCKING ROBOT MODE AND SAYS THE SAME BULLSHIT OVER AND OVER
<bewareofthesnowman>but i thought i could fake it with strangers!
NOW WITH EXTRA MADNESS
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I tell you such fine music awaits in the shadows of the fires of hell. -Charles Bukowski
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