Friday, November 26, 2004

I'm Being Stalked By The Patriot Act

Not felling so good today. Horatio and I were up vary late last night, imbibing thepoets' drink, Singel Malt Scotch - well actaully did not have money for that, so we had ac ouple bottles of Canadian Club insted. It' doe'snt matter much though. In the end it all deos the same thing, you get vary drunk, and you are exhalted into a poetic state (either) above the god's (and all that) poetrie (fr.) comes spewing forth like a piss hurricain ( I guess I still in the either just a bit) and I just coulnd't stop mys elf.

and so at about 2:30 in the mroning we deicided to go down to this litle all-nite internet cafe and spew froth my poetrie (fr.) . I was in quite a state. I wold say probably exalted to the seventh levle of the heavenly bodies, really primed , and so I let forth, and it just came flowing out of me for hours on end. It would not stop .

They finally had to drag me off the stage , still with poetry just streeming froth , but unabel to contain my intents delite I had genially disrobe for alll to see.

It is a little embassing to think of now. But, it all seemd to make sense at the time. I am proud that I did not try to ebb the flow of the god's , but instead went with the jungian flow, the deep subconsious need to be a part of the eternrity of the collective unconcious.

After my spontanious poetrie (fr.) recitle, I met an beaustiful youong asian lady, who helped me on with my cloths and helped me back to my apratment. (don't know what had happined to Horatio by this point) . Here name was Mae, and she was delisious and their was vary mysterous air about her .

Well, I think I will leave the spoils of my poetique confrotaition (overwhemling shock and awe campaign) to the imagination. I will defer to the mystique of love, and not shall escape from my lips, the wandriment.

But, hear's to you Mae, wherever you are, and may be...

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Um, guys, isn't that an elephant in our living room?

Paturkle

6:25 PM  

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