no no no...this can't be right

atticus11 @ 2005-05-18T22:06:00

2005-05-19T02:06:53Z

She's a harlot dressed in white. Oh god I wish she were a virgin.

atticus11 @ 2005-05-01T00:41:00

2005-05-01T04:43:53Z

Everyone has something to say about everything. For this reason alone no one cares about anything. It leaves you and me above the town alone, watching, waiting for anything to happen to anything.

atticus11 @ 2005-04-28T22:58:00

2005-04-29T02:58:11Z

You have a bad case of me-syndrome. Doctor says you have to stay away and that makes it worse. I carry you to your death bed. Every time I touch you your face does this weird thing with it’s lips. When doctor says “no no” and shakes a finger I step away and you start coughing. I’ve infected your death bed because all of the memories of me so I carry you away and burn your bed. Because you have no bed I take you to mine and doctor says “no no” because you go into shock. You remember; my bed is infected too so I burn it and I say “but doctor, I’ve infected her skin and her insides too. This girl is going to die with or without me.”

I can’t get enough of you and I don’t want to. I tell myself I am a hypochondriac and I get sick for other reasons. I say “doctor I need more so I can get better” and the doctor says “no it’s for your own good” and I only get worse. I kiss you and I feel so good and afterwards I feel like you injected soil into my veins through my lips. I tell myself I can’t see you and I tell everyone else I have pneumonia. I say to the doctor, “I need to see her because it feels so good” and he says “boy there is no cure for what you have.”

atticus11 @ 2005-03-27T00:24:00

2005-03-27T05:54:41Z

If we go a couple ways about sometimes...then we have a few ways, not just a couple ways. You see, with sometimes, there is more than hardly. With sometimes, and a couple for each time then depending on how much some is, we have either a few or alot but our ways would not be scant.

atticus11 @ 2005-01-23T23:18:00

2005-01-24T04:22:54Z

My deciphering capabilities have descended. I am no longer able to understand what is right; so I fuck things. It was just a few nights ago that I cut a hole in my pillow, and pumped away.
As I neared climax I thought, “What happens when I come? This is my only pillow.” But I kept pumping. In. Out. In. Out. In. I figured, after a while, that I should pull out to avoid from soiling my pillow.
Big mistake. At the withdrawal I let myself go and hit the sheets, my comforter and what I had attempted to initially avoid, the pillow. Fuck.
I slept on the couch that night and spent the entire day searching for a new bed-set, all the while keeping an eye open for things to fuck.
Coming back from the countless linen stored and the mall in the city, I spotted a produce stand on the side of the road. It was one of those old fashioned produce stands owned by an old couple that sells not only fruits and vegetables but flowers, pies, cookies, jams, assorted candies, etc. I strolled about the shop for a while and the only item to completely attract my attention was a cylinder shaped jar of grape jam. I just had to have it.
I paid for the jar and strutted out the shop with an ear to ear smile singing softly, “Peanut butter jelly,” as to avoid any prior suspicion. With little patience I sped the rest of the way home. Just a few blocks from my street I heard the sirens.
Shit. I only wanted to get home and fuck this jelly. Leave me alone, stupid cop.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Of course I know…”
“Why sir, were you doing forty in a twenty-five?”
I said to her, “You see officer, I’ve been having trouble deciphering between right and wrong. I fucked my pillow last night and ruined our bed-set. I’ve been out all day shopping for similar linens and I have to get home to change the sheets and dispose of the pillow before my girlfriend gets home.”
Her face went red and she couldn’t stop laughing. Boy did I luck out, “That’s the best one I’ve heard yet. I’m still going to give you a ticket but goddam sir, that was good.”
The bitch wrote out my ticket, handed it to me and walked away. I looked over at the jelly and drove away doing twenty-four.
I changed the bed sheets successfully and got rid of the pillow when I first got in just to get it out of the way, I then went to my toolbox for a hammer. I pounded a hole in the wall just the size for a jar to fit snugly. I dropped my pants and pumped away.
I came just finely right into the jelly, wiped up with a towel, capped the jar, and left it nicely on the counter.
I headed over to the bathroom for my after-sex-piss. When I finished up it was back to my room. Fuck.
There was a giant hole in my wall. Back in the car. I headed over to The Home Depot for some plaster.
When I get home my girlfriend is eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and she asks me, “What happened to the wall in our room?”
Shit. At least she couldn’t taste me in her sandwich. “I tried to put a nail in the wall to hang a picture of you.”
“And you left a hole that big?”
“I messed up.” That was close.
“Oh, okay.” She turned away to take another bite. I thought she was done; then a confused look overcame her face, “Why so low?”
“Fuck, I’m done,” I thought. “Uhh…So either way I roll on the bed I see your face.”
She called me cute, pinched my check and walked off into the kitchen for some juice.
I fucked her that night and I didn’t see it wrong at all that she ate my cum in a sandwich earlier that day because she swallows anyway.

atticus11 @ 2004-12-14T21:08:00

2004-12-15T02:11:26Z

"Always remember," I said to myself that day, "Your mind is yours."

atticus11 @ 2004-12-06T18:25:00

2004-12-06T23:29:03Z

i love french words
i love italian words
i love the country
and i love the city

someone write me a song in french
someone take me to italy
someone take me to a farmhouse for the summer
someone rent out an apartment for the remainder of the year

i need pillows
i scathe my bed
i need soft sheets

and well, just...
go away

atticus11 @ 2004-11-29T22:50:00

2004-11-30T03:49:50Z

it's a calypso

atticus11 @ 2004-10-04T20:47:00

2004-10-05T00:47:59Z

she'll be the death of me

atticus11 @ 2004-10-03T17:11:00

2004-10-03T21:19:12Z

eggs in a box in april
kiss on a bed around autumn
a few awkward looks and a loop
around some words for a standing on the stoop
how do we feel about a few things
i say we arent close enough
i say we are too close?

we say we are far away

atticus11 @ 2004-09-28T21:58:00

2004-09-29T02:23:15Z

someone get me a mask. this one is wearing thin. the smile has gone to frown and too many strangers ask me "what is it that bothers you?" buy me a new horror and i'll plaster it to my face every morning. using fire, a hot knife, and some awkward water i can rip this thing off of my skin before my glorious slumber.
in this closed-eyed i think about her and him rolling around in our blankets, on the sheets i stained with my sperm and she with her vaginal secretions when we made love. kissing leads to loving.

atticus11 @ 2004-09-24T22:46:00

2004-09-25T02:46:40Z

even in the red light...

atticus11 @ 2004-09-14T20:14:00

2004-09-15T00:21:34Z

its all to altruistic with too many patients wearing petty patens of colored clothing cut coarsly from already smoothed out cloth. and how does it happen that "wow" and "daphne" go so well together? i'll get her if gether and wartheart makes any sense. hearts beating and stopping and starting at the finish line with warm cream in cones with holes in the bottom. "boob! that's what you are!"
"why am i a boob?"
"because you are what you eat and you are a cock."
"what happened to being a boob?"
"shut up cock."
hmm now malificent mathmeticians have this therapy for making us feel inferior and in walls and in class and in everything because without math we are so malign. "cant exist without math. math is all around us."
"you know what i say to math?"
"take a fist and go do it to yourself"
"do what?"
"go fist yourself, and arithmatic can't talk, so dont ask questions!"
"okay"
a disparagent disruption from the angry angers the angered like rangeing missiles on a range. or arrows in a cage? no no no thats all too altruistic and all too easy, and you'd stain the cage, or cave if that's how you like it.
nervous? stop shaking.
run around a bit then bite a bit of bits off the now raw bite. it's sore.

atticus11 @ 2004-08-07T00:27:00

2004-08-07T04:28:19Z

Silence, and too much of it when I wish it weren’t around. Not enough when I’d need it the most. I wish I lived on a beach, with a girl and pictures of us around the house and at night we’d dance and complain about the bugs together. It would be hot when we go to town but by the beach there is always some wind.
Music, and I turned it on real loud. It hurt my ears and I could hear it from outside the room when I came from the bathroom so I turned it down. I’d say it’s still a bit loud but that’s as low as it will go so I can still hear it.
Sometimes I wish I could curl up and cry, just let it out. For no particular reason at all, I would say to anyone who asked, I would just sit on my bed in the corner and cry. Not to be cliché at all, not for sympathy at all, not for anyone but me I would put my face in my hands or my hands on my face and let a stream run down my neck with a delta at my groin as I piss my pants.
The thing I hate about sad music is it puts me in the most treacherous of moods, making me want to punch walls, run away, just drive, meet people I don’t know and leave the ones I do. It is horrible. Props to the artist, he and she or he or she or he and he or she and she or they know how to work different brushes, strumming a guitar or painting a picture or back and forth with the bow of a violin. Pluck a bass and make me water but trumpets, saxophones or anything made of metal but a flute wont do it, nope.
Props, and an annoying amount of them would do from me on top of the thousands of others from others. But do keep this in minds, people like me, if there are any others who feel the same way I do (of course there are you silly bastards) hate you because you are so good; not out of jealousy or spite, but because you make us sad.
Keep doing work, and do what makes you happy even if it is out of sad.

atticus11 @ 2004-07-18T01:36:00

2004-07-18T05:50:05Z

Late Bikini Night

“Two important minutes.” That’s what Grace always said.
“If I know anything at all it’s that we are close.” That’s what Adam always said. But Gregory was always in the way.

The well was empty and that was news to them.
“No way. Greg what the fuck is going on?”
“Adam drank the well.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He did not drink the well.”
“I saw him the other night snooping about with a straw. And there were crows all around…”
“Greg, shut up he didn’t drink the well. No one could drink the well.”
Adam walks up. “Hey you two.” Greg sits on Grace’s feet.
“Greg what the fuck are you doing?”
“Calm it with the language alright? You know its so unattractive when…”
Adam looked at her with eyes wide open.
“That’s alright Greg, she can say what she wants.”
“That’s just because you have a boner for her. And what did you do to our well?”
“Our, your! No, no. It is our well.” He grabs a hold of Grace’s hand.
“You drank our well you fuck.”
“Greg would you stop that! Jesus Christ! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Greg tells grace to shut up. He gets up off his ass, off his feet and on his way up he knocks Grace off balance. She falls back, hits her head on the side of the well and drowns in the water.

Like paper-machete she has not shape. Not one person bothered to give her a mold or hell, even tell her what she’s made of. She wanders as a handful of substance searching for anything to give her shape. Anything done to her is certainly alright. A puncture or piece of her taken is acceptable because it gives her color, design, something to call her own.
People kiss with masks strapped to their faces, particularly the men. The one’s watching wonder why. Worst of all, a continuous beat on the eardrum faster and harder with every consonant, an eyesore itching and swelling, tearing and causing an abnormal blinking pattern that increases in speed simultaneously with the seconds the eye remains on the awful sight. There aren’t even holes for the lips. Every mask has painted a sad or mourning face. Such a thought for creatures to kiss in mourning. It gives them no cheer! If sends no up lifter to save them from the down and by far, they are down down down.
If only everyone I knew didn’t live on wheels. They slowly lose grip on the wheels and at first, they stay at that pace moving only slowly. They hit a hill and without even so much as a flash or a goodbye their car is gone. If they did bother to shout goodbye they were moving too fast for us to hear and the wind carries. The wind carries like hell. Like hell it does! Drive your ass back and say goodbye; I would consider it closure. They roll and roll and without even so much as a notice, their foot falls upon the break. Drivers ride the break. Drivers wear the break. If only they wore it, they could jump out the window and stop. Had I heard of a fallen passenger, I’m sure I would sprint my best to catch up and help that person to stand. Too fast to jump? You have no heart.
I recall a summer when it rained and no one was sad. I never imagined a rain without depression. Without someone exclaiming, “It’s not fair!” Incredible how our socks never got wet. Incredible how she never damn kissed me when it rained. And that night she did she exclaimed, “How fine we are! How fine we will be!” Our edges were rough, out powder loose and full of chunks. It rained that summer and no one was sad but me.
She takes her car for a lube once a week so she can go faster and further with no squeaks, creaks, no noise. She left in the night by pushing the car in neutral. How she steered it, I have no idea. But she had to and she did. She left me when I was sleeping and made a horrible disaster of my mess. She should be a queen.

The two enter in a rage.

She has yet to fail to let me down with her crazy antics and such. “But I’ve forgotten!”
“Yeah well you always forget.”
“Oh won’t you forgive me?”
“It is not on my to do list.”
“But please! Just give me one more chance and I won’t let you down.”
“For the eighth time, No!” He pauses for a moment to let his hatred for her sink in. He whispers under his breath thinking somewhat aloud, “If only it were mutual.”
“You are at the top of my roster.”
“My place on yours matters as much to me as yours on mine. If you would care to look, you haven’t a place.”
“You speak so horribly of me, to my face even!”
“Would you rather me behind it? Perhaps I could whisper things softly into your ear.”
“They would be vile things.”
“Vile is such a strong word. My dear, you are but a weak child.”
“In a week we will be children together, holding hands and running through the park.”
“You live in fantasy. There are witnesses other than I. We are adolescents. You have the mind of a child and don’t bring me into it.”
“You are taking this elsewhere!”
“Where do we have to go?”
“We can go anywhere together. I recall you, nights ago announcing to me your plans for days ahead. We were to make breakfast, and snuggle afterwards. It would be our morning. Others all across the world just like us might be doing the same as we do. And even if those couples decided to dub the morning theirs it would be ours. We wrote a deed and you say you don’t love me.”
“I was in the moment.”
“And now you are in another. Don’t be so foolish as to let it go.”
“You and I, our love is a bridge. If it were a drawbridge then it has opened for the boats to pass. The sail has torn and the current is gone. Tugboats aren’t anywhere to be seen. The boat now rests under the shade of our undersides. If it were a suspension bridge the wires would be in the ending process of unwinding. The road would be halfway to the ground and wires about the air. All to be left standing, and now weakly because of loss of support would be the towers most likely to fall.”
“I consider us an arch. We can indeed take the pressure. Our only problem is this; the pressure is equal on both sides. One side is falling and the other is stands durable as it always has.”
“I assume you presume yourself as the stronger counterpart of the weaker side?”
“I do.”
“If only you were right.”

The two exit hand in hand.

But it makes me dance and it goes one one two two two three three three three and oh god, I go insane. I want to stand up in the most awkward of ways; a way so awkward even those that love me will deny my company. From this unbearable (to others of course) stance I would begin to tap my foot. First my left, putting all of my weight onto my right, locking the knee. My left knee would be bent a bit and from there I would swing it around, then through the air, then with my other I would hop into the air sending me in a spin. I want to tailspin. I want to fall from the sky at such a rapid pace in such an awkward manner that I would be sent into a tailspin by the awkwardticity (yes I am making up words, I do not like awkwardness) of the manner of my fall. I want to fall so awkwardly the ones I love would cry and panic when they see me falling form the sky. I want to be in an unawkward mood because the opposite of that is what I am always in. I am always inside of something. Perplexity! A quandary that’s it! I am in a quandary. I am in a state of perplexity. A state of the perplex nature is what beholds me; and it is quite awkward. Say I am overreacting, tell me to get over it but what is she doing? I intend to say that if anything, she is doing nothing. She tells me of her thoughts and they do not go so far. I find that awkward because she says she wants me, she sees the view and thinks of me. So if her thoughts do no go far much, and her thoughts are of me, then do I not go far into her thoughts? Do I not make it through the bloodstream, through her nervous system, through her skin? Am I not distributed throughout her? Do I make it to the roots in her scalp, and if that will I ever make it to the tips of her hair? She is so blonde at times I can see right through her. She might not be blonde, I might just be good. But then again the whole situation is a bit awkward. I have been told that I think into things too much; and that is awkward. There is nothing wrong with being awkward because if I were to stand up in dance in the awkwardest of fashions, people would laugh. There laughing does not make it past my skin because they do not know of the motives for my dancing. They do not know they dance. They could not dance the dance. They could not accept the trance for the dance and they would not dance the dance. They would be afraid; they would be ashamed of the trance of the dance. People would laugh at them! People would talk about them days and weeks after! But that’s what people do! People talk about people!

“What an ogre!” She said, “I can’t believe that a bit.”
“Shut up Sally.”
He walked away, leaving her face for two reasons. The first being his hand, leaving the second to be his legs taking him opposite the direction of which she wanted them to.
She loved green, It turned her on and did things to her. When her eyes were introduced to any green at all her stomach left the cavity to which it belonged and followed above her head. When roused from such a trance it would some to her the realization that she is depressed because she dreams of fields, and all the things to be done on fields. And then she imagines hills. Hills with no dirt. All green grass hills; and all the things to be done on green grass hills.
Then she dreams of green at night and how it appears to be of a grey color with white contours in response to the moon lending its light; and all the things to be done on the grey hills at night.
Then, in a state of misery she would tear at her hair and grasp or tear at her neck as to prevent her vocal chords from producing a high pitched, distinct shrill that would be recognized as her own by those who have overheard her tantrums before. She was sane enough to not disturb the peace in the air around her. He was wearing a green shirt that day. And he was walking opposite her direction.
For two reasons now did the thought process that passed through her mind when she saw green take the route through her eye sockets and to the chamber in her skull, somewhere inside of her brain where thoughts take place. One being the color of his shirt, the second being the location of his walking.
She did not acknowledge herself walking. Her subconscious kept her somewhat safe. Also what she did not realize was that Sally was walking with her. Maybe it was Sally keeping her stable and helping her walk.
She was experiencing and overload. The though process went through her head twice at one time and with all this going on, she could only see green; a wall of green. Not green figures, not green people, not a green sky, just green.
“She, what the fuck is wrong with you?” She was crying all over herself. With hair all about her shoulders and the ground behind them and her neck fairly bloody, she appeared to be having a seizure of some kind, a tantrum.
With a sudden jerk, her body rested. She looked at Sally only to see green, “No, I hate you.” And with that she walked off the sidewalk in front of a bus.

(Why does that woman sit alone when she eats?) I knew what she was thinking. I could always tell what she was thinking. (I envy her. I want to be alone. No one wants to be alone anymore and it is so…). The woman sitting alone looks like she’s thinking, thinking hard. Girls think too much into things. Then again, there is this guy I know…
“Why are you always thinking? Don’t do it so much and you won’t always be so upset. It doesn’t get you anywhere!”
(“And the girl who plants herself in front of a screen all day and goes to bed thinking about what she will do the next day, dares to tell me such a thing?”) I wish.
“I have to. Even if I get upset, at least I am figuring something out.”
“I don’t like to think. When I do, I get upset then I have to stop because I don’t like being pissed off.”
(“How do you just…stop thinking!”?) I wish.
“I can’t do that. There are too many things to think about. I could go on for days.”
“Yeah.”
This guy I know, he thinks a lot. And the girl he’s with now at the table, yeah, she thinks a lot too. It is a bit of a letdown that I am a letdown. We are here at the table, talking when there is an abrupt silence. Then, “I envy her because she’s alone.” Well, thanks! I wish I could say the same but I’m having too much fun looking at your face. If only your face couldn’t talk. Most do.
“Wow, way to totally make a mess,” she said, walking away. The day before she said something similar, something along the lines of, “you sure know how to fuck someone.” I knew she meant that in more ways than one, because she said before she put her shirt back on and drove away in her fucking car. It was a few days ago. She asked me if I felt sick too.
(“No bitch, I don’t feel sick, but I’ll make you a disaster before I leave you tonight. And you talk about a mess.”) She said she wanted to be alone. Then why even come to dinner; what a waste of gas money. At least I got to see your face.
I can’t believe that girl doesn’t think. She’s cute too, but she just won’t think about me. This girl thinks I fuck her. She thinks about it so much she wants to be alone. I always thought we were making love. You can’t be alone and in love. In that sense, can you be crowded and in love; as in love with more than one person? My immediate and instinctual guess is, “No,” but why not? The most common answer is most likely to be, “Because you just don’t do that.” Most would say you are really fucked up and just in love with one of the persons. You have crushes on the remaining “lovers.”
Why not love your friends? Love your friends! Only the real ones.

“Kiss under the mistletoe? But I’ve never kissed anyone before!”
“Then let it be here under the mistletoe with me that you have the best time of your life, the biggest smile to ever come across your face.”
“I am hesitant. Girls tell me your lips know many shades of lipstick, different tastes of tongue, and far too many words; too good of words to swoon me and taste mine as well.”
“Girls don’t know what goes on.”
“Tell me then, what does?”
“You and I are standing under mistletoe. You are wearing a woolen sweater and I, a synthetic vest. My hair is combed to the side while yours covers your eyes. I wear the smile of one in love while you wear the grin of one unaccustomed to it. Kiss me and you will feel bliss.”
He lifts his arm to tough hers. He could feel it pulsating, sweating (drip drip drip), trembling; he could feel every vein in his arm swelling as it unsteadily found its way to her elbow. Then, -a crash! A stomach-dropping sound. It was so low their ear drums might explode into their brain. If it didn’t stop within seconds they both might die. Their bowels were just about to release when…
She kisses him. His heart quits its bitching.
“I see your hand has introduced itself to my elbow.”
“Will it ever have to leave?”
“Not if you kiss me.”
“But…but we’ve already kissed?”
“I had the honor of being the initiator, the conductor of everything good in the hour. An orchestra could be following my every hand movement playing, perfecting, bragging, boasting the notes I wrote for you and then still I would not have such a smile on my face as the one I speak past now.”
He kisses her on the cheek.
“And my lips?”
She closes her eyes. She feels his hand fall blandly off her elbow and hears footsteps walking away above the commotion. Easing her lips she presses her chin into the hole between her collarbones and pushes hard.
“Where are you going?”
Her eyes open. Looking across the room, past the guests she spots him in a doorway with his hand on some girl’s elbow. She hears a deep low booming and shits all over herself.

"Is it over?"
"I'm afraid it's over."
"Then give me some money."
"For what."
"I need to get some new clothes. If this is ending then I am going out with style!"

If anything is to be said at all then by all means say it. Fuck.

atticus11 @ 2004-07-16T18:20:00

2004-07-16T22:21:57Z

Someone is scared, "Does she not give her name?"
"No, she does."
"Well then, what is it?"
"I'd rather not say."
"In that case what did she say?"
"She said you suck."
"With those words? 'You suck?'"
"Yeah."

atticus11 @ 2004-07-11T10:14:00

2004-07-11T14:21:38Z

And this kid was clean. I would have hired him as my hygiene manager hadn't he been so damn neat.Not once would he leave crumbs on the table after breakfast. "For crissake Adam we had toast for breakfast and sandwhiches for lunch!" The guy would wipe his ass with a soap covered wad of toilet paper if he had to shit after a shower. Always so clean he was. If the light shone in a way that it made my teeth look yellow he'd be sure to tell me about it. "Like i care! I brush them once a day I promise they are clean." But that wasn't enough he was disgusted. I now brush them twice a day. He was good for that sort of thing but the guy wouldnt make a mess. Hygiene is one thing and tidyness is another.

atticus11 @ 2004-07-02T13:58:00

2004-07-02T17:59:11Z

Everyone is an actor.
Everyone is an acrobat.

atticus11 @ 2004-07-02T00:48:00

2004-07-02T04:48:53Z

And by the way...(he has an announcement to make) sex is off of my mind!

atticus11 @ 2004-07-02T00:46:00

2004-07-02T04:47:01Z

I made it all up; and a few wishes.

atticus11 @ 2004-07-01T00:54:00

2004-07-01T05:16:02Z

"Okay! Okay!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, "You just don't get it!"
"Mmm your voice, it's a vice, and you won't let go."
"Stop it!"
She wouldn't stop screaming
"Lower your voice."
"It's mine and I don't have to!"
"Remember that night we climbed on top of the building?"
"Yeah."
"That was fun."
"Yeah it was. We should go up there again sometime."
"Yeah, if you would just quit your fucking yelling."
"I'm done with you!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, "I just can't stand it."
"Then dear, take a seat and grab a deep breath. You could use both."
"Use them for what!"
"To calm the fuck down!"
"I'm calm!" She pouted as she paced in front of the chair he pulled out for her. She was such a dumbass.
"Okay! Okay!" He said from the bottom of his lungs, "Just hear me out..."

Buy a smile from party city
It might do you some well
it might take you
("take me where?")
to a place
("what place?")
buy a smile from party city
take yourself to the mirror
and watch the smile
it only gets old and old

"Why?"
"Because it's from the same god damned store! Next time get your own fucking smile."

"She doesn't care that I'm leaving."
"No one really cares that you are leaving."
"But it bothers me most that she doesn't care."
"Look, get over it, she has."
"But she said she cares about me."
"No one really cares about you."

I have this girl. Well, i don't really have her but she's got me wrapped around her finger like a jackass with a chinese finger trap. She talks to me nightly and gets upset when i try to go to sleep but...but...well, this is going to be hard for me to say because "I am in such a dire position." I am caught between two fingers. It isn't so bad but one is broken. The other just got it's nails done and looks so cute. What do do! What to do? I'll tell me what to do! Stay right between these two fingers because the fuck who they belong to is too retarted to push in, grab, and pull out. I can only wait. Anyways, this girl, she's good to me. And she's fun because she likes to talk. And I like to listen. Girls are fun and I like them. I especially like this girl because when I want to cry she tells me I can. When I don't want to cry, she keeps it that way. She is so much fun. When I am in the laughing mood, she makes me laugh. And best of all, she always laughs WITH me. "Everyone laughes at you." Nuh-uh! No way! Not her.

But they all say things when I go away. Going a way wo'nt be so bad. But which way would I go?

atticus11 @ 2004-06-28T09:00:00

2004-06-28T13:00:26Z

How's this for love: "My business is mine own."

atticus11 @ 2004-06-20T22:15:00

2004-06-21T02:15:50Z

Haven't any of you read a thing! Haven't any of you seen my mood?

atticus11 @ 2004-06-17T20:29:00

2004-06-18T00:29:55Z

That fucking girl who is so goddamed lonely that she makes out with all of the boys on the basketball courts. The assholes fuck her in her ass and in her mouth and slap her in the face with their dicks and it gets them nowhere. And it gets her nowhere. But she thinks she is worth ten dollars. She thinks she is worth a twenty. I wouldn’t waste a rich man’s dime on her pathetic lips, and her loose vagina. I wouldn’t spend a minute’s worth of my time to hear about how she lets them come inside of her and how she swallows it all. I would strangle all of them if I could and stick their own dicks up each other’s asses.
Poor girl, someone should take her out to dinner, show her a good time. Something for godsakes! Anything to get her away from all that dick. I saw her in the park Wednesday night with some kid. She was just laying there with him. Jesus Christ, it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. For a moment I was jealous of him. She held so much dick in those hands. He hands were dick-machines. Dick hands. But those hands, that night, they were love hands. They held him. The kid was crying. Why so down you little fuck? You have a girl who lives for dick holding you, caressing your back.
I didn’t stop walking though, I just kept walking and thinking. I was so close I almost stepped on the poor kid’s head. He didn’t flinch a bit; a bit odd. He rolled over to look at me when I was a good few feet away. The poor fuck had a bloody nose. It was those assholes from the basketball courts; they are always kicking his ass. I don’t know why he doesn’t take up tae-kwon-doe or boxing or something. He just takes the beating like his girlfriend takes the dick. If he would just stop sitting on the goddamed courts every night when those sons of bitches want to play, he wouldn’t get his ass beat so bad so often. He just doesn’t care, like they are his courts or something. He’ll take a beating for the courts; his girl beats the boys from the courts.
I’d be pretty pissed if those fucks were sticking it to my girl. Then again maybe it isn’t like that. I go for a walk every night in that godforsaken park and I only see those two there on Wednesdays just laying there. Sometimes those heartless basketball played are hovering right over the two, breathing right down their necks all hot and sweaty from kicking his ass and playing basketball. They never say a word though. When I see those fucks standing over them I hide behind the bushes and watch for a while. I have yet to hear them open their fat shit-faced mouths. They just stand there and watch. After a while they just walk away. I know for sure they don’t have ANY gentlemen in them at all because all six of them fuck one girl at the same time right after kicking her boyfriend’s ass. Then again, maybe it isn’t like that because I only see her with him on Wednesday nights.
It was so dark one night and I saw him sitting on the courts. I decided to go up to this weird sonofabitch and ask him what the fuck was wrong with him. As I approached I heard a stampede of feet. Well fuck that I was out of there; I went off behind the bushes. It was those fucking basketball players; I want to strangle every single one of them with their own shoelaces and throw that stupid ball at their faces until it deflates and their faces are bloody and marred. They were beating his ass real bad. They never even play at night so I’m wondering what the fuck is going on. Some girl comes out of nowhere and somehow manages to stop them from tearing this kid apart. She walks him over to the other court and sort of just, rubs his back.

atticus11 @ 2004-06-15T16:36:00

2004-06-15T20:36:51Z

You make no FUCKING sense.