Friday, November 25, 2011

bright eyes: the bottom of everything

So there was this woman and she was on an airplane,
and she was flying to meet her fiance seaming high above the largest ocean on planet earth.
She was seated next to this man she had tried to start conversations,
but the only thing she had really heard him say was to order his Bloody Mary.
She was sitting there and she was reading this really arduous magazine article about a third world country
that she couldn't even pronounce the name of.
And she was feeling very bored and despondent.
And then suddenly there was this huge mechanical failure and one of the engines gave out,
and they started just falling thirty-thousand feet,
and the pilots on the microphone and he's saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my god... I'm sorry" and apologizing.
And she looks at the man and says "Where are we going?" and he looks at her and he says "We're going to a party.
It's a birthday party. It's your birthday party.
Happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much."
And then he starts humming this little tune, it kind of goes like this: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4

We must talk in every telephone
Get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues in the books that we have read
And in the face of every criminal
Strapped firmly to a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare

We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell
And in the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing

It'll go like this:

While my mother waters plants
My father loads his guns
He says death will give us back to God
Just like this setting sun is returned to this lonesome ocean

And then they splashed into the deep blue sea
It was a wonderful splash

We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole
We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul
And in this endless race for property and privilege to be won
We must run, we must run, we must run

We must hang up in the belfry
Where the bats and moonlight laugh
We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past
And in the caverns of tomorrow
With just our flashlights and our love
We must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge
 
 
 
 


And then we'll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything
And then we'll see it, oh we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it

Oh my morning's coming back
The whole world's waking up
All the city buses swimming past
I'm happy just because
I found out I am really no one

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Helen Proskow November 8, 2011


 
Sitting there mesmerized, holding his face with leathered hands was the hardest worker at the Mill. Among the silence creeping around him capturing with a steady sigh. The taste of fresh lighten cigarette smoke wafting thought a musty air ,where this tattered old man has live for most his life.
“Where did my life go?” Whispered the old man as he took a drag of his menthol cigarette
“Why am I still here?”  With a Sigh “What was my motive the leave my wife a children after that one night?” speaking with frustration in his tone “I know should have stayed at work. Why did I go out the boys that night? Stupid idea my wife hates my guts and probably told them awful things about me!” as tears were flowing in his eyes.  “My children will they probably don’t even know me anymore my…”
The frigged old man with crystal blue eyes started to cry hysterically heard the intercom announce “BREAK TIME OVER!”
He put out his cigarette like nothing happened and could on his years working at the Mill. He died at age 75 from lung cancer.

Friday, November 4, 2011

post secondary

Though many may say random words with no wisdom about me, millions are unknown to my secret identity. I helped Albert Einstein get his Noble Peace  Prize.
On Wednesday’s I only eat peanut butter sandwiches and .On Mondays I sleep in an extra 2 hours and 4 minutes and 17 seconds. On Saturday’s I only watch big bang theory on DVD .On Sunday’s I read 13 pages of The Great Book’s .On Friday’s I sing the song  ‘Friday’ well doing cartwheels in a pit of baby rattlesnake and scorpions.On Thusday's Many don’t know I work for the Umbrella Corporation along with my contributions of engraining the key to a worldwide genocide T-Virus

Marilyn Munroe is my 27 cousin on my father’s side.  My mother is Michelle Obama and my father is Gandhi they had a thing. On my spare time I’m know to travel thought form any point and time thought-out the universal with my lovely invention the TARDIS! No human being know I was once a Jones Brothers