| Bohemian Poetry (direct from the napkins their written on) |
| 27 December 2002(Sweet Dreams Cafe) The crow flies at midnight, Yet the stars stare adamantly. Brass pools are at the bottom. Erin is a lunatic, Lunatic: from lunar, the moon affecting her psychotic mentrual cycle. Aha, the demon awakes... fear her? or mock her? Angel spitting nicotene like baseball sunflower seeds. Erin is a maniac... ...in bed.... The haven of ignorance & enlightenment... Awaits the demon slut like blue light. Erin needs to get laid. ...fuck. |
| 27 December 2002(Sweet Dreams Cafe) A drummer, writer, actor & bass... perfection. A lover, a teaser, a master with lace... seduction. Strolling through hills of men, Some as green as a Celtic clover, others brown & withered... Branches beaten, broken to pieces, but knotted into one, An engagement between rape and love is where we find ourselves. Not even a diamond to secure it. But a sapphire glowing, melancholy blueness in the black blackness of night, Cigarettes are flying, Higher than the smoke they produce, Billowing into the already present cumulo-stratus, angry storm clouds are quarters that we eat slowly, homeless in the night. ...fuck. |
| 11 January 2003(Downer Commons) My mind has been fucked beyond orgasm. I have no concept of time or place And I have a need to... all over your face And then I will run & scream all over the place And hit the evil clown with a pie in the face. Evil kiwis cackle as they dance on our graves. Moonlight twines with sunlight spinning beyond time, Time, no concept thereof being present, we wander. We wander into the long dark tea time of the soul. Where is the soul and how do I know whether or not I found it? You will find it underneath your bed next to a pair of crusty underwear; you'll know because it will smell like Mexican food. The smell of life and spring time mixed with the breath of an angry dwarf. Hmm-- bring me a wench and some strong Dwarven ale!! Jello is prettier than blue hair. ...fuck. |