tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89819134541923890592024-03-13T19:43:10.800-07:00lovers for a minute.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-40420150844522300812010-03-24T11:12:00.000-07:002010-03-24T11:14:17.208-07:00you've got it so wrong.i know i've been chasing happiness for as long as you've known me.<br />but still. baby. you're nowhere near good enough to be my pouting, posing, 60's throwback, jagger-swaggering indie boy.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-19602723576710481002010-03-18T13:01:00.000-07:002010-03-18T13:05:49.384-07:00untitled.you took my words<br />and scribbled<br />that which i<br />would never have written.<br />you took my art<br />and created<br />that which i<br />would never have drawn.<br />you took my dreams<br />and aroused<br />that which i<br />would never have permitted.<br />you took my phonetics<br />and spoke<br />that which i<br />would never have pronounced.<br /><br />you took my adoration<br />and reciprocated<br />that which i<br />could only have desired.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-5168641766220274712010-03-18T12:54:00.000-07:002010-03-18T12:55:47.502-07:00hendrix.<span style="font-size:130%;">"</span><span class="body">i used to live in a room full of mirrors; and all i could ever see was me. i took my spirit and i crashed my mirrors, now the whole world is here for me to see."</span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-22621181322923619082010-03-18T12:49:00.000-07:002010-03-18T12:52:25.268-07:00sartre ii.<span style="font-size:100%;">"if only i could prevent myself from thinking. i musnt think. i dont want to think. i think that i dont want to think. i mustnt think that i dont want to think. because, well, that is still a thought. will there never be an end to it?"</span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-60756351390477065832010-03-18T12:47:00.001-07:002010-03-18T13:51:39.939-07:00pleasure.<span style="font-size:130%;">i need to see.<br />i never saw.<br />your need for me.<br />your passion raw.<br />i need to hear.<br />what i never heard.<br />against my ear.<br />your dirty word.<br />i need your haste.<br />to pull me out.<br />i need your taste.<br />on my mouth.<br /></span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-78743010343962884422010-03-18T12:39:00.000-07:002010-03-18T12:43:00.266-07:001984.sick of big brother.<br />and the 1984 mentality.<br />there's little sympathy on my part.<br />as i watch you follow<br />behind<br />the biggest fucker.<br />but it's ok.<br />because she's the one who<br />sparkles<br />the most.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-4167563770000645832010-03-17T13:05:00.000-07:002010-03-17T13:09:49.771-07:00running.my lover is awakening. he is leaving me. packs up his guitar and his paraphenalia.<br />his heart feels unloved. although it isnt. but his soul is tortured. he is running always from old age, religion and the tax man.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-53057710081639314162010-03-17T12:57:00.000-07:002010-03-17T12:58:20.437-07:00joe.<span style="font-size:130%;">i dream only of words. and the success of my very talented lover.<br /></span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-90810072051046765202010-03-08T14:34:00.000-08:002010-03-17T12:58:44.089-07:00sartre."<span style="font-size:130%;">you see a woman, you think that one day she will be old, only you don't <span style="font-style: italic;">see</span> her grow old. but there are moments when you think you <span style="font-style: italic;">see<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span> her growing old and you feel yourself growing old with her: that is the feeling of adventure."<br /></span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-48992293303631825202010-03-02T15:21:00.001-08:002010-03-02T15:23:23.349-08:00letter.this is a letter<br />addressed to fuck knows who<br />and posted to fuck knows where.<br />but it's sent from<br />the creative, warped individual<br />who loves you,<br />but only for the idea of it.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-31968527160631086602010-03-02T15:18:00.000-08:002010-03-02T15:19:17.251-08:00murder.what is this face,<br />so murderous in its beauty?<br />with its<br />sneaky<br />passionate<br />acidic<br />kisses.<br />it petrifies the will<br />and then my will<br />shall be no more.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-1740030544216485162010-03-02T14:02:00.000-08:002010-03-02T14:39:18.904-08:00lover of the famous.and so you were there with the famous,<br />you slept with the famous<br />and you wrote about the famous.<br />but what you found out is that the only thing that the famous are worried about,<br />is their fame.<br />and not the young beauty lying in bed next to them.<br />your letters that you wrote me slowly became sadder<br />and sadder<br />and less frequent,<br />the more that your lovers betrayed you.<br />your last letter told me of a 'crying bench'<br />in the middle of a bridge, over the Lea at Bow Creek.<br />you wrote of how you sat on this bench every night,<br />crying passionately, for the lovers who had long forgotten you.<br />if only you would have cried,<br />for the love that could have been ours.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-7890954153214565022010-02-22T15:23:00.000-08:002010-02-22T15:28:54.307-08:00sex.his dreams are long<br />his heart is high<br />the chains are strong<br />but so am i.<br /><br />penetration is deep<br />his resistance is low<br />sex that's for keeps<br />two bodies to hold.<br /><br />his kisses are urgent<br />his desires are wild<br />when passion is transient<br />love becomes defiled.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-57253047239919152002010-02-22T14:13:00.000-08:002010-02-22T14:37:49.452-08:00the fear.if you went out with him, wouldn't you want to spend all of sunday kissing him?<br />what if your movements seemed to catch alight and burn with thoughts that made him shiver?<br />and what if, when he finally understood those thoughts, it resulted in him getting the fear?<br />would you want to kiss him then?Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-72021528917675680212010-02-22T12:24:00.000-08:002010-02-22T12:54:54.227-08:00doped.right you fuckers, all that we really need now is a little bit of harmony. and some kind of social and/or political integrity. but that won't ever happen really, will it?<br />nothing that we do will ever make much of a difference. revolutions don't exist anymore. there's no passion left.<br />so all in all, we might as well just stay dosed up and keep on taking those pills, brought to us from a secret administrator of rare hopes and a purveyor of prescribed chemicals.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-46394917899492082712010-02-22T12:01:00.001-08:002010-02-22T12:03:04.328-08:00beautiful freak."<span style="font-size:130%;">one day the world will be ready for you,<br />and they will all wonder how they didn't see you before."<br /></span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-28221822173530470162010-02-22T11:35:00.000-08:002010-02-22T11:55:54.858-08:00my grievance.all i can think about is your absence<br />and how you aren't here with me now.<br />the only thing left for me to do<br />is to grieve<br />the drenched, salty manifestation of our love,<br />with just the chaos<br />and a feeling of hurting<br />and reeling.<br />there's too little time<br />to think of nothing,<br />as we stumble around our dreams<br />in the midst of the night.<br />piling anguishes upon confusions.<br />as all alone,<br />i am the last to comprehend<br />the most culpable of my instructions.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-13972446485715411252010-02-22T11:33:00.000-08:002010-02-22T11:34:17.735-08:00f scott fitzgerald.zelda sayre. what a bitch.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-42365505372201497822010-02-22T11:01:00.000-08:002010-02-22T11:08:21.281-08:00he heard.i always thought that you never listened.<br />i dunno, it's how i figured you were.<br />but you artful bastard,<br />you heard everything.<br />taking it all in, ever so delicately,<br />playing about with my words<br />and understanding<br />that which i could not anunciate.<br />how dare you do that?<br />who allowed you to comprehend<br />what i myself cannot?Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-50904577714423612672010-02-22T10:43:00.000-08:002010-02-22T12:03:21.731-08:00oscar wilde.<span style="font-size:180%;">"a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he will see the dawn before the rest of the world."<br /></span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-82752406447269067842010-02-21T15:21:00.000-08:002010-02-21T15:26:34.315-08:00my prolific bastard heroes.i've run out of things to say tonight. and as i'm writing this, i'm thinking of bukowski. and i'm thinking of cohen. and i'm thinking of wilde. my poetic, literary heroes.<br />i picture them sat over their typewriters. sat at their desks. sat at their respective machines or sat upright, pen in hand.<br />i bet they never had to cope with writer's block. i bet they never had to deal with running out of things to say. they were such prolific bastards.<br />such magnificent, prolific bastards.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-29869455789201628192010-02-21T15:18:00.001-08:002010-02-21T15:27:28.543-08:00realisation.<span style="font-size:180%;">i don't understand you. but i do love you.<br />maybe i love you because i dont understand you?<br /></span>Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-89152627795158223722010-02-21T15:13:00.000-08:002010-02-21T15:17:39.151-08:00where dreams end and reality begins.you, my love, are the biggest dreamer going.<br />i watch you going about your business and living out your life as if you think that it is real and that it is yours to own. don't you know that it belongs to me? and as you live it out, a thousand kisses deep, it is me that dictates where your dreams end and where your reality begins.<br />you see, there isnt enough time in life left for dreaming. there isnt enough time left in life to always be taking time-outs. that's why you can't be trusted to control it on your own.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-78918667709730673212010-02-21T15:09:00.000-08:002010-02-21T15:12:42.631-08:00an explanation.i'd try to explain my dreams in words, but i sometimes find that words can be too exposing.<br />i would try to draw out my slumber-driven fanstasies because that would make them a little more ambiguous in meaning.<br />except, i can't really draw and have no talent for the arts.<br />i'd leave all the painting to joe, but it's just that, i don't think he'll ever be able to quite understand exactly what they mean.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8981913454192389059.post-26911522503862933582010-02-21T15:04:00.000-08:002010-02-21T15:07:24.294-08:00my poet.my poet doesn't write me poems,<br />his dreams spill out of paintpots<br />onto white emulsioned canvases.<br />all art is poetry.<br /><br />he doesn't write me words,<br />instead he plays the sound of his kisses,<br />using the romance from the keys of a piano.<br />all music is poetry.<br /><br />the rhyme lies within his talent,<br />our lust is what creates inspiration.<br />and his genius is borne out of my love.Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11041541525479519563noreply@blogger.com0