Officially one of the coolest things in existence right now.

Think of the money to be gained with that divorce!

Have a heart.

Not just for you, kiddo. Stay on the internet for a while. Haha.

Though it sounds somewhat narcissistic, if we go out I'm doing urban climbing. Please bring a camera and an appetite.

I tried to figure out an algorithm for hours the other day. For fun. I asked my girl if she had total recall, but she doesn't. Stick in the forums aside from this one. Hate to say it, but it's dead in the Michigan forum here.

Best of luck.

So... for anyone on this site that doesn't know, I have a girlfriend.

She's cool with me posting here and she hates poetry.

We talk about or ex's a bit actually, to ensure that we don't end up ex's as well.

I'm beginning to think I'm part of the minority of this site that is currently involved in a relationship.

But... I'm technically a Millenial, so disregard what you don't believe.

My body feels as if I'd jumped off a train, and if I drank any more that may have possibly happened.

I keep a drink in one hand, and I'm angry about being unable to find my cigarettes.

My Halloween was interesting.

I don't usually comment on... well, comments on my poems, but I appreciated the positive response by all, and feel that it was only fair that I write that appreciation appropriately.

In all fairness, the cadence of these piece isn't borrowed but a bit stolen by a song I've been listening to lately - Blood of a Young Wolf by Buck 65.

While I'd like to think my ideas original, their autobiographical quality is all that I think gives them life. I would never suggest to be so inventive with a pen as to be so creative that I would consider it inventive.

I've never considered myself a good writer; if anything, anything but one. Bukowski is laying on my floor and my small apartment that I share with my girlfriend is littered with other classics, for which I do feel truly grateful, as at least one third of my own books were stolen with my car earlier this year.

Fun fact for the people that know me and don't like me!

Though I actually long for extensive and scathing remarks regarding my work I truly appreciate the sense of community that survives here, and keeps persisting me to keep posting my poetry of this forum.

I don't lie about being a Millenial, as is said about my generation, and that the general sense of nationalism, fear, and desperate and depraved conversation regarding important consequences featured by this blockbuster called life seem to seamlessly present, with a constant authority that seems to me as if it could nearly verge into an Orwellion nightmare - full of futile and unrecognized signatures, spelling out a time period so eloquent in its faithfulness with passivity that the pen seems immaterial.

So, yeah, thank you all for continued support and constructive comments.

- Col

the sun was up
the line we stretched
upon the sand
well, there was a bench

and it's early evening
close to working
death with soul
i'm so deserving

i just copy modern poets
merely just a misplaced product
but i remember empty night
full of wandering
graded for lust

and you lost yourself
in careful health
with sickening stations
boring dreams
i won't forget the sign
on the highway trucks

that's what you mean

now i'll be dead before i'm honest
wondering about dylan thomas
and thompson, my boy
if i toy to be honest

you really think i'd them on?
it's one dumb girl who couldn't right
i'll hit the walls right through their bricking
and i won't even lose the fight

stealing all the constant music
that fills my ears across the tide
who was strongest?
who was bravest?
any man that's still survived.

it's still just gender
still just race
you'll just my features awful tender
you don't even know my race

some skinny kid with long, hard arms,
i swear i'd take the whole thing back,
except the city, seeing farms

and, yeah, i know - i'm just a quote
the last one down, one final round, i'm off the boat

i don't want your tired lyrics
i don't want these boring girls
one more sonnet, the sonic sting that finally killed the world

we're painters and we're desperate for some lonely scene,
i haven't seen yet,
see what i mean?

questions for the poet's lines
and questions for his petty time
the days, they last forever
they just don't get cut in pretty lines

so now i dream of death and failure
ideas beaming, not my idea
day by day i'm getting paler
but i still love you, loving schemer

it's all one play, no triple written
an accident of the afflicted
wondering about a boring life
so severely typical

i'll shake your hand then wink an eye
cross my crucifix, then hope to die
pry the doors off every building
it's okay - it's city living
cling to rent, get underpaid
guess we're getting sick tonight
250's all she really made

and all you local almost people
you just feed a fit of frenzy
fill me from an endless cup
i'll jump the train and leave it empty

you are such a pretty girl
you get to be a hipocrite
vowels all surround your family
a constant note it what i hit

i remember cold decembers
endless work and vacant members
you ask me if i've shed some tears
i've dragged them through forgotten mud

loving you then killing that
putting on my lovely hat
that speaks to terms of death and violence
my life is not some welcome mat

you play and chew your food, i'm jealous -
name a sin, i'll keep account
i've done all you deem forbidden
i don't want to sit and pout

so learn a system, build a friend
injustice just lands to the end
all castles burn
that, i'll defend

girl, i feel the world is over
girl, i feel the world is gone
did no sin that needs some name
i'll take the charges
accept the fraud

except the rhymes, they
just get tougher
let's buy dante with money scores
but you got good at games, boy
you're prepared to play the war

addict friends, some apathy
that's not the way i chose the call
all it is is what i'll be

a lovely, irish boy with talent,
bored, and so he hates the truth
fight or flight, one's only one way
you never get to challenge youth

these are all my words of wisdom inside slightly suggestive verses
life isn't long, we sing a song,
and then you'll go invest in purses

life is pretty
i'm not damned
i'm just here in a bitter land
where cops can shoot for moving wrong
keeping a bong or troubling youth

politics, you lovely failure?
i'm not done, don't keep me dead.
i'm not done with laughter either
keep this sadness in my head

Ashes to ashes.

Double-click be damned.

See, I find really polarized opinions about ".found". I've been kinda going through the IMDB list of mid-range rated movies (of multiple genres) and giving them a chance. Mostly hit or miss.

I hated ".found", except for the last... four minutes. The acting just destroyed it for me. It looked amazing too.

If you haven't yet I highly recommend "Afflicted". I also suggest refraining from finding out anything about it. Haha. It's a found-footage type movie and it's straight horror.

Yes, I really had to be told that you can use it as a straw-holder. Here's the thing - I had never seen anyone do that ever... and I don't use straws. It's just... I wasted so many years in that ignorance. Haha.



If you drive your car underwater you can still get out in time. I know, right?

Oh, that's dope, man. Congrats to the both of you!

I got six stitches in my index finger so I haven't been typing much lately. Haha. Things have been pretty groovy. A lot of museums and movies.

You can put a damn straw in there. Now this is really on me but why the hell did it take me over twenty years and thousands of cans of pop before I was told this?

Depends on the "date" scenario, but basic psychology and body language. "Control freaks" MAY tend to ask a lot of probing questions and have a keen ability to redirect conversation through subtle misdirection.

What's been new, man?

Sometimes I hear the cars crash
on the highway next to my house.
If you
were to sit here with me, and
against the hum of the window-mounted air conditioner,
just listen too, then
you may even conjure a scurrying of feet,
whispered memories heaved upon strangers from
throats filling with blood,
hearts maybe literally broken.
You could
imagine the sirens roaring through
the day
or the night
or the... well, you pick a time,
toward the heaps of metal,
scorched alloy and battered, discarded pistons.

But mostly, if you were at my house,
you would hear a crash,
and then the squealing of tires,
and then nothing more,
and nothing less,
than a long silence, intermittently postponed
by car horns,
bathing in the sacred delight of knowing
at least it wasn't them.

*hug*