Tinkerertink69

Tinkerertink69
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Your closet, Indiana, France
Birthday
July 16
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President and CEO of Your Mom
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Your closet
Bio
Smell my Paws! Does that smell like poo to you? Writer? No way! I'm a guy with a cat who knows my passwords and likes to blog!! What? Oops, I mean, I'm a cat who likes to blog. Smell my paws!!! French prostitutes? Only on Tuesdays!! Lets cuddle!!

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Salon.com
FEBRUARY 10, 2013 4:54AM

MEOW: SUNDAY MIND F*CK AND OTHER TALES TO TELL YOUR CHILDREN

Rate: 7 Flag

Meow 

I was smoking Jesus in the public park, waiting for midnight, half past four AM.

I was burning up two sticks at the same time, the smoke rising to meet the moon, night after night, till the waking nightmares would stop and be replaced by insanity.

Canada was sad, and Mexico was dead, the United States was not united anymore.

It seemed dead, but trying to pretend it was still breathing, moving towards a common goal but just falling off the high cliff, half past noon, it would finally look in the mirror just as its nose fell off and disappeared into the sea foam.

Was California still a state when it fell off into the ocean?

I believe it was but who knew it would fall off like that and become an island out there, the beach bums waving and cheering as the politicians drowned.

Or was that Washington, DC?

It may have been.

Kansas decided to run off into space, to become a country on the moon.

I was still smoking sticks of peppermint, waiting for a dream.

Damn those dreams.

Damn them all.

Sexy dreams are the worst.

You think you're going to get something and you don't, except a communist pamphlet, stating,

"There is no sex in this dream!!! Capitalist lies!!!"

Was I dreaming as I was walking down the street the other night?

Maybe I was....

God was on a bus heading towards the horizon.

He was reading a book by some guy named Mary.

"Mind fucked by Jesus? Who thinks this shit up?"

The children were eating beef stew that wasn't beef, but other children who were naughty and their parents couldn't take it anymore.

"Could use some salt!" one said to the other as the rest went out to play in the streets.

The dream stopped then fast forwarded to the end, where the bomb was dropped.

The children screamed, the women fainted, the men cried, and in the end, it didn't matter.

"Sing!!" the director screamed.

Nobody wanted to sing.

Nobody did.

We all just sat there, waiting for our lobotomy.

chaplin-charlie-modern-times_01 

The machine kept turning, Charlie Chaplin was still being dragged through the gears, trying to tune it to a modern time.

The Hell of the Bible was replaced by a street crime, a child killed.

The phone rang.

Mother cries.

Then her soul dies, her body moving but her mind gone.

Gasps.

Blackness traps us.

We give up but keep moving forward.

Where was the modern times?

The mad men went on to become our leaders, as it always was, as it would always be.

Jazz band kept playing as I smoked my last stick, Jesus died on the cross for somebody's sin but not mine.

I wondered why he died, cause people still sinning, sucking, fucking, rolling in the hay, machine keep turning out sinners, synners, drop dead gorgeous beautiful people who reproduced ugly children by the thousands.

The world keeps spinning, the sun devours, even as we die, leaving whatever we leave, the fates of our children is dust...

 

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Comments

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Rated for the insane way it makes sense.
Btw, First and Second because I don't like sloppy seconds.
Ginsberg:
Ginsberg's theorem
• 1. You can't win. 2. You can't break even. 3. You can't even get out of the game.
~
Some writer dude said, “Nobody knows whether we were catalysts or invented something, or just the froth riding on a wave of its own. We were all three, I suppose.
• Glen Burns (1983), Great Poets Howl: A Study of Allen Ginsberg's Poetry.
~
Catalyst!
~
It seems you on the way to being a damn fine poet.
Canada was sad, and Mexico was dead, the United States was not united anymore.
It seemed dead, but trying to pretend it was still breathing, moving towards a common goal but just falling off the high cliff, half past noon, it would finally look in the mirror just as its nose fell off and disappeared into the sea foam.
Was California still a state when it fell off into the ocean?
~
And
My question as well about JEEZ-US:
“Jesus died on the cross for somebody's sin but not mine.
I wondered why he died, cause people still sinning, sucking, fucking, rolling in the hay, machine keep turning out sinners, synners, drop dead gorgeous beautiful people who reproduced ugly children by the thousands.
The world keeps spinning, the sun devours, even as we die, leaving whatever we leave, the fates of our children is dust...
The sinning: Here's where it gets weird. These born again types. Some of them believe that, because they are "born again" and "saved", that anything they do from that point forward will be forgiven because Jesus died for their sins. So they can murder, rape and pillage with impunity. Isn't that disgusting. They do so much damage and hurt so many people and claim to do it with Jesus' blessing. Sanctimonious pigs.

Anyway, how's your Sunday?
"Sam Stone came home,
To his wife and family
After serving in the conflict overseas.
And the time that he served,
Had shattered all his nerves,
And left a little shrapnel in his knee.
But the morphine eased the pain,
And the grass grew round his brain,
And gave him all the confidence he lacked,
With a Purple Heart and a monkey on his back.

Chorus:
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don't stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.
Mmm....

Sam Stone's welcome home
Didn't last too long.
He went to work when he'd spent his last dime
And Sammy took to stealing
When he got that empty feeling
For a hundred dollar habit without overtime.
And the gold rolled through his veins
Like a thousand railroad trains,
And eased his mind in the hours that he chose,
While the kids ran around wearin' other peoples' clothes...

Repeat Chorus:

Sam Stone was alone
When he popped his last balloon
Climbing walls while sitting in a chair
Well, he played his last request
While the room smelled just like death
With an overdose hovering in the air
But life had lost its fun
And there was nothing to be done
But trade his house that he bought on the G. I. Bill
For a flag draped casket on a local heroes' hill."

Repeat Chorus

-John Prine
You're still here! ;-)
Tink,

You wouldn't admit it in your last post, but I think you do want to break out as a rap artist. :)

I agree with James that this seems like poetry, and as I read it, and especially toward the end, it seemed like it could work as rap.
Trudge, me neither!! :D

sky, mew!! :D

James, Jesus just seem to have died for nuthin!! :( :D

phyllis, I had a pretty good Sunday!! Went to Church and got lots of hugs! Cause well, I don't go to church that much so.....:D

Steve, damn those monkeys on the back!! I got a few!! :D

Eyes, yes I am!! :D

Diary, who says I haven't? ;D