Oxymorons & Hangovers

Moving

Using Rob's Amazing Poem Generator (no questions left as to what goes on there), my sticky corner of the web with the film on the floor and the beer stains on the walls (seriously, how did those get there?) has been fashioned into a poem. Behold:

Oxymorons Hangovers Oxymorons & Hangovers
Check your skirt lush
People
list Los Angeles
or doing what I bought red and invite me to
The comedians that I have I
stepped on account of my
birthday and I recall who
photographs the time to humanize as
empty as been
grouchy. Work is always used to pick
out.

We went to a close birthday
party at
the exercise and sacrifice that has been caught by
Trout, Breakfast of my
broke ass is spelled wrong and stopped
in my tickets.

Perhaps now be a happy I stepped
on
it.
And the
day life was a close birthday party started!
working bitch.

I especially like the part where I stepped on the comedians. And the breakfast of my broke ass is not as refreshing as you would think. The last three lines are genius. Pure, unadulterated genius. Thank you, Rob.

My Prerogative

Get Drunk
by Charles Baudelaire

Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness
of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"

Meeting at the satellite office to commence in 1.5 hours.

(bitchin' poem originally found in the pages of mimi smartypants)

The Unkindest Cut

by J. Patrick Lewis

Knives can harm you, heaven forbid;
Axes may disarm you, kid;
Guillotines are painful, but
There's nothing like a paper cut!

(redolent of Dorothy Parker's Resume, huh?) (read: geek)

I just sliced the hell out of my index finger on a manila folder. Talk about a work hazard! Those damn folders are everywhere! This is a dangerous place. I'm fuled by adrenaline to make it out of here alive.

*sigh*

I added a Twitter link off to the right side, here. That's just what you need, right? My incessant rambles vibrating in your pocket? I'll send you conversation topics for that awkward silence during bad blind dates. Because I'm your friggin' panacea for bad dates. (That's why I'm single, right?) Warning: If you add me, you may be subjected to drunken rambles. But you'll be the first to get in on the Overheard - Dive Bar Edition.

Reminiscent of Sweat

Was Maynard reading Poe around the time of Opiate?

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allan Poe