I LIKE YOUR OLD STUFF BETTER THAN YOUR NEW STUFF

 

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Saturday, 19 June 2004 1:29:57 PM
tensions and conflicts of the revolution i swore id never think of again
and here im am, reading soboul just after ten

i tried to go out to join in the saturday night fun
but after half an hour i had to leave for there was work to be done

the day i return to the french revolution i said "i will rue!!"
that vow, i do believe, i will now have to review

for here we are, same shit different year
young milo is on the verge of failure (cue mira:) DONT FEAR

go out and have fun mils, ill stay here its understood
so im lost in the wilderness of bookchin, rude, doyle and in desperate times i turn to WOOD

but what i fear most is that events it seems have come full circle, not the imminent sac
so i sit her with my head on the desk and wish for my life back

but there is no getting out, not at this late stage
and so ill continue to write until every tension is down on the page

Saturday, 19 June 2004 3:48:40 PM
 
 
its approaching two and i shall conclude: i surely am a lady of steel
had i been around in 1789 "i would be the one who took the bastille"

love lefebvre

Sunday, 20 June 2004 6:20:09 AM
 

 
Yours is surely the most gorgeous regression to have honoured mankind
whilst everyone is looking to the future,the times you are behind.
 
look on the bright side, you arnt old mother twitchet with only one eye that cant see,
because if you were a needle and thread it would be difficult to get an ENTER over ninety.
 
im going to have to stop humouring you, fool
DOING YEAR 12 WORK AFTER 2001 IS NOT COOL!
 
what a sorry state it is when the most ridiculouse thing ive heard this week is not your regress-
that cake was taken by katies fresh water pearls and off-white deb dress.
 
Now, tomorrow is monday and im wondering what if....
because Gisele is back from the tax exempt holiday she paid for in JIFF.

 

NEWIE

an updated website is what we need
but its hard to plant that creative seed

when our body of work is set in stone
our immortalised words means later works will stand alone

as i call "allison" with the passion of blanch duBois
help me...my work has lost a certain 'je ne sais quoi'

there is no lizzy to set fire to my flamable (100% cotton) soul
no hitler, no goebbels, no chaplin, face like a doll

its just me on the road...of thoughtless wilderness, like jack Kerouac
the only think keeping me going is the absenture of a mind numbing how and why history sac

this is miserable...to the oven ill go
like my creative ancestor who died when she lost the flow

off the rails im going, and this poem will go down with the ship
perhaps this is the end of the journey...so too speak, le fin of our collective creative trip

this poem has no heart in it, no core, no pulp
(milo just told me im drinking my juice to slowly, but i do believe i took quite a liberal gulp)

 

Its time to admit that s was for once not right-

because We've been friends for almost 3 years and havnt had a single fight.

granted there was that time in B's office when you called me a "hypocrite"

and given your own credentials I could hardly believe it

Apparently i was interrupting your study of revolutionary theory

but that hardly counts as it was year 12 and i had the tendency to get teary.

Only in jest did you ever call me a whore on crack

I never once wrote u a letter saying "i just want my friend back".

So the old adage is right: the best ship of all is the ship of friends

(obviously its not the titanic-you know how that movie ends...)

DORA

To say we need new material is not a fair call-

we may be doing Dada, but she's doing fuck all.

Oh shit ive sworn in poetry form, i was trying to keep this all high brow

see i like to think of us as the surrealists, who set up a shop in Paris to create a factor of 'wow!"

granted shes our proverbial best customer and thus gratitude we should dispense

but while we're slaving away unlocking the collective subconscious, she's sitting on the fence.

But we've got bigger problems, such as katie that seemingly innocent pet

who upon seeing our poetry site stated: "now i understand why there's so much crap on the internet"

This morning';s poem (i was painting) is a bit of a blur

but my memory was refreshed when i read your racial slur.

Now onto a poem inspired by the people who give me inspiration

I use pseudonyms to avoid being sued for defamation (one of our patients is a canibal...try to guess which one, i think you'll be pleasantly surprised)

SOME CHARACTERS

-Besides how to write a gripping email, there was one thing Renaldo forgot:

The Bastille is fine to take, but drugs are not.

-Agent X. is a regular eccentric, leaving a trail of scarves with whom ever she drives,

Her clone was released into the wild and appears on days of our lives.

-Fairy Lee had to discuss and urgent matter

Apparently got sick from eating raw cake batter.

-Miss. M was incapable of knitting, but great at spinning webs,

She liked to hide from people at uni she thought were incompetant plebs.
 

Monday, 28 June 2004 

PISSED MIRA (OFF)

So youll censor my work will you, you despot, you nazi
The internet is free virtual air time and this is now my partzi

I bet they wouldn’t have taken this shit in Porta della carta
That’s right, your censoring antics will turn me into a martyr

The doge may have done what the doge doesn’t do
But you have gone too far, and from the depths of my body beats a twisted sinew

So watch our (no, not for the shaq attack)
But for a furious artist who wants her best art back

Like bellini’s procession this website implies a synthesis of modified concepts
Take me out of the equation and lose the rhyming couplets’s underlying precepts

Or do as you wish and remove yourself from the racial milieu in which we write
But you will rue the day when I call you up one sad an lonely night

And tell you I have won the Prix de Meilleur, or the Laureate Award
For work you were too scared to confront, that you thought was too forWARD

Tuesday, 29 June 
today i pushed a kid of a swing
because without child abuse the park is rather boring

she then got hit in the face by a dog leash,
a special one for hurting children (their market's a niche)

i took her home to give her a sandwich with honey
given the order she made for me to make it, she didnt eat it which was funny

not ha ha funny, the other kind
not the humourous element that can be found in laughing at the blind

the kind of funny which made me wonder 'where is the nearest swing'
so the fat kid ate it for her, you see, here is the thing

he eats until he has more food inside than exists in the world around him
its not exactly a diet that will keep him fit and trim

but at the ripe old age of one and a half
body image is not an issue and at his self-destructive tendencies i can only laugh

laugh that is, and feed him more
feed him so that at me, he ceases to gnaw

_______________

FRAN'S GUMS (OR ALTERNATIVE TITLE: FRANS ADVENTURES AT THE PERIODONTIST)

fran fran, she's our man
if she can chew it, anyone can

_________________

So lets get it over with once and for all
a poem about brooke, i can no longer stall

a play of epic proportions she told us to read aloud in class
leora with the role of every second character, the lesson was a farce

i spent most of the days in the square mothering spites
for the lady with the broach, whose fro reached great heights

in the most desperate of hours i would turn to big lickies
but generally fran brooke was off taking sickies

or should i say gummies chez periodontist each day
the poor man whose hands regularly in her mouth, would play

the touching, the patting, the 'refer closer to the text'
these are the thinks that have my mind vexed

the owner of a cow named frida, could she be anything but sweet?
a lady farmer whose voice broke? and for whom a 'square' was a treat?

those days are over now, no longer in sight
but in my mind the memories dance through the night

take them away i plead but the heavens, they do me ignore
so at my tormented soul the words 'are you getting help?' will continue to gnaw

 
 


 

 

 

 

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