The things I used to write  

rm_roofpig2004 43M
42 posts
1/10/2006 6:38 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

The things I used to write

A few days ago I did a web search for myself. The first thing that came up was a web site that I created years ago where I would post various poems and other writings. I thought this site was long gone along with everything on it. So I was surprised to find that it is still there.

So this is one of those "other writings" that was written back then and posted. I remember the day I wrote this (just the day, not the date). I was attending a concert, against my better judgement, of an avant-garde jazz band called Bodhi Ensemble. The band was, and probably still is, very abstract. I sitting there in the theater watching about 15 musicians make random noise and looking around at all the people who were eating it up and saying things like "it's sooo spiritual!" I didn't catch the spirituallity of a saxaphone making random fart noises. So I started writing this thing. The entired first part of it was written there in the dark.

A few weeks later I found the notebook it was written in and liked it so I decided to finish it. Or at least finish it as well as it could be finished. I was and still am proud of the results. I considered writing more like this but I decided that there would be any point. After 3 pages or so it all becomes the same thing and I'd just be a weird avant-garde jazz band on stage making fart noises with a saxaphone.

The Unconscious Ensemble


You are a psychotic monkey with a real eye for seeing the unseen things in everything under the pillowcase of which wayward son of abraham who's only wish upon a funky song about a beatnik cat in a hat from a place known only for pickles and baseball bats when night falls and all is lost in a concrete jungle gym baker was probably the best liar in the whole half and half of equal rights and wrongs in the north-south-east-westpoint of view finder in a corn on the cobweb hanging in the corner of a newly built condo on a beach front property in arizona jeans... king of the land growing up through my window pane in my left shoulder 'cause of a motor injury deciding if diet dr. pepper really does taste more like regular dr. pepper to the average elvis fan of the hermaphrodite gender bender race around the world in a plain water in my cup won't make the ceiling any whiter in the winter wonderland on the mooned the crowd and screamed "wild, my brother, wild" to the back of your mother's favorite shoes 'cause they didn't give the order to a crumbling society inspired by a four-eyed madman on jap in need of help for his temporary loss of momentary plea bargaining for the guilt we all wish to unload unto the ones we care the least about a girl whom I loved madly and returned to me in fits of rage against my personal welfare hair net caught a dolphin... it died on the moment the music lost it's way through the bus station playing and dancing to the tune of "inda gada davida" to the point of pointlessness because we all know when the music stops the coffee cups and takes the shape of an out of work, overpaid man of modern thespianism with nothing better to do than to mold little molehills out of the mountains he finds in his backyard stick of non-accuracy with nothing but the person of the opposing gender whom now adorns the seat to my right...


Got all that? Good, 'cause I know you're gonna dig this...


I ran to catch a plane doughnut in the parking lot of a quiktripped over an elephant that I didn't notice when exiting the entrance of a well oiled multimillionaire's top notched on the ladder of life in the middle of a coal burning train traveling at twice the speed of the passengers on the third to the last exit before eden where everyone has dabbled in the black arts students molding a painting out of used air that will be thrown into a tub of pudding pops in the middle of an overpass going straight through to the side of the brain that controls the motor functions of the computer can sometimes be difficult to understand up in a classroom full of chickens to speak my mind your mother and everything she says is going to come true love is waiting for you at the end of a sheet musician's salary for a little bit of nothing (or so the people say) when he stands attention to the flag down a car to report a crime in the city limits are pushed everyday by people who think they can push instead of pull and the door will open for businessmen in their suits and ties that hold us together can sometimes tear us aparts left over are common when building models walking down the runway with a sarcastic grin to their overpaid egotistical face the guns when you are then one who pointed them at uncle peter's cow and maybe, just maybe, you'll find what they aren't looking for... until then, when everything goes in the right direction at the wrong time in the right ways you think that if you were to assemble an impossible dream from scratch my back please yourself and everyone around you will feel more like they are justice in motion rolling slowly but sanely in a world that barely knows what the color of a kiwi really should be called you last night but someone answered, it might have been you, so I hung up and redialed the wrong number one contender for the middle weight your turn, dam it so that the water won't flow over the ducks making them have to swim for a living in the forest off of green and red things that taste like foul was called on the blue team for illegally hitting the spectators with potatoes (even though it was amusing) soup like mom made is really, really hard to come by... my mind wanders back to a time when it didn't think I'll stop sign just ahead on his shoulders acting up again with the story about you and me and the giant attacking the village and smashing it to peace's can only be attained through the preparation of warlords landing after a long but heart-felt flight and their arms are all used up (so is that joke)ing about the way my tie clashed with my pants after the boy was running full to catch the mail from eating his homework after school at the diner where everyone meets and talks about those who talk about them both then and now it's time for the weather or not you believe me I really don't know but I tell you all I know is the truth to the best of my knowledge of my building in the city in witch (hunt) I have never actually seen but I've heard his sheep are more human than most people and carry some delightful conversations if you ask them "what would you say if I told you that none of this is tru"ly a night I won't forgo the operation to become a wo(man) am I tired, I spent the whole part of a half wrecked car on a bridge holding up traffic for at least I don't have to dance in front of my mother-in-law anymore directions from people who are lost and I might be able to find my way back to back with other shows that are doing equally poor in the race to the top of the world class cuisine was prepared by a low class immigrant from the south end of my street in my home town making him a local traveler in his own mind is loony sometimes when I've been awake for too long and I start seeing things that do exist but I start believing they don't want to be a part of my bigger, better, faster, moron the sideburn hippie kite hayride is the only way to seduce a woman into thinking instead of drinking the waterhole into non-smoking sections of a parallel is always better to not over beat you pancake batter coating... time slips through the pavement for another girl friends for life beat me up scottie, back home again with the stories of high ho the dairy sew the seeds of love can build a bridge across troubled water falling in love with love is here to stay or so they say it with music of goodbye yellow brick road route 66 is the only crazy endless summer nights in white satin on the dock of the baywatch what happens to a hawaiian wedding song of life is what happens while you're busy making other plans of a new day dream boat race.

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