Friday, August 13, 2004
"Bully with a capital B." (Myke)
In an effort to out-class Fenton (actually a desperate grab to show some initiative at something for once), I endeavored to put a piece of prose together. I ended up transcribing it to underwear, but here's the dilly-yo:
It is said that poetry is the way to a girl's heart. Maybe to mine with my obsession for words. Lavish, obstentiate, and narcissm; words expansive, hurtful or passionate own me, own people. Where would we be without a sly and hinting articulation of an action? Words with no heart are my greatest insecurity. Justifiably so. Is it therefore fair for someone to be insincere with my love? Each joke, stutter, or mispronunciation makes me shudder. You toy with me? Pull the knife all the way out before you shove it back in slowly, devoid of emotion in your poetry...the window into your supposed soul. Soul? Possesed by the living, I know!
It's a bit melodramatic and perhaps nonsensical...but I like it.
¶ 2:05 AM
It is said that poetry is the way to a girl's heart. Maybe to mine with my obsession for words. Lavish, obstentiate, and narcissm; words expansive, hurtful or passionate own me, own people. Where would we be without a sly and hinting articulation of an action? Words with no heart are my greatest insecurity. Justifiably so. Is it therefore fair for someone to be insincere with my love? Each joke, stutter, or mispronunciation makes me shudder. You toy with me? Pull the knife all the way out before you shove it back in slowly, devoid of emotion in your poetry...the window into your supposed soul. Soul? Possesed by the living, I know!
It's a bit melodramatic and perhaps nonsensical...but I like it.
¶ 2:05 AM
