Saturday, December 23, 2006

Bigger And Better At Being Worse

Oh, don't be sarcastic
Please I'm asking you
Because you're making a complete mess of it
I should let you know, we're playing on a level plain
'Cause now I match you pound for pound in substance, style
And cynicism
You just like him so much don't you?
The blond pretty boy, I could make him look blue
And I would, just for to hurt you
But he can't help who he is
A pretty looking boy with a pretty empty head
And a laugh that sounds like something's about to be dead
He's just a cardboard prop to me
I could break him, just to hurt you
As you can tell, I'm not your old polite little yes-boy
Your executive toy
Your wind up, throw away action figure
Now I'm a little bit older
A little bit colder
And a little less naive
You can't control me anymore
I'm not chaining myself to anyone anymore
I've come back from the grave you put me in
And I have something to tell you
And it isn't going to be pretty
Ah, for Christmas Eve
It sure is chilly

Hide Within My Rock

Don't yell at me for who I am
That's wrong, but don't expect to find out from me what's right
I only know that if I still talked to you
I'd still be crying every night
And if you never love you never cry
And never have to watch her die
Broken in your arms
So that's why I have my walls
My caller i.d. and deadbolts
So I never have to love, or cry, or wonder why?
Why?
It's a paradise, I tell myself
And after all
I have my poetry and books to protect me from outside thoughts
And my music to talk to and guide me
I never will see you again
We'll never be anything, not even friends
So don't talk to me again
My perfect life has no room for lovers, or friends

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Nobody Likes "Maybe" Backed Into A Corner

We don't care about who we are
(simply because we can't be who we want to)
You're my best, closestest friend (in my head)
But in real life you're almost as far away as dead
(how happy we are in my head!)
When you feel blue like me (the sea)
Everything rhymes with death
And you can't cry, cause the tears won't come
The human race has already used up its allowance of salt water
Poor me/poor you/poor we
Light you on fire in effigy, leave me be
Leave me the person I want to be
The one you kicked off the hayride
You're my best mistake for ruining my life
You could ruin my life (because you're so pretty)
Keep quiet, I've kept quiet, like little boy blue
You like him don't you?
You loose the color blue from underneath the rock
It was buried under
Christ
You're great
Working for us sinful little people
But I light matches in the wintertime, just to keep my head on
And the snow outside, where I belong
And why does "flowers" rhyme with death?
And why do I hear your voice every night when I try to sleep
You'd weep, like I can't, oh wait, I'm a tragic poet, I forgot
Can I lie like I'm happy with you to the world?
Because you're the last locked door between me and you
Douse the wick in kerosene
Lit like a candle
Douse the wicked kerosene
It's all that's keeping me rambling on
Don't say that poets can't dream
I've dreamed up more than life could ever create
Thank God for imagination
Thank evolution for opposable thumbs
Thank me for not shouting it all out on a rooftop
Because then the world would never let us be
But it never leaves alone
Such farsighted, insighted, uprighted boys like me
I look so good in shades of blue
So do you

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

On Politics, or, You #$%3ing %#$^ $#$%%$^!

Ah, politics. Something that deeply divides the nation. And all nations. And the world. Why is this, you may ask? Well, I might have found the answer. People are thick headed jerks. I know some perfectly nice people, who, if politics is talked about around them, will immediatly turn into the most venomous, disgusting show of intolerance. They refuse to behave civilized about it. If you're going to be a jerk, don't talk about it. Sounds easy, right? Ha ha ha. Not so. Usually, the worse a person is, the more he or she will be attracted to it! But here's a good rule of thumb for gauging people's political hatred level. If they start talking about politics without anyone bringing it up, and their talking about it is very snooty and down-putting to their opposition, quickly tie him or her down, gag the person, and run away as fast as you can. Nothing good can come from these people. The problem with politics is that the majority of people do not realize that the people with whom they differ in politics have legit reasons for their views. Different reason than you have, correct, but legit all the same. Because they don't get this, Democrats are accepting and tolerant of everyone except those who have even a vaguely conservative attitude, and Republicans see themselves as protectors of all that is Good, American, and Holy. If you never hear me talking serious politics to anyone, don't be surprised. I don't want to force anyone to publicly declare themselves an ass. So, just remember that. The person on the other side of the table isn't Satan. He or she is someone just like you, only a different shade of red or blue.

Monday, December 18, 2006

The Ageala Mahor Conflicts, part 1.

The surface of Ageala Mahor shines and wavers through the outer layer of the atmosphere, like the air in a desert. On the surface, though, it's cool and wet, for the rainy season has just departed. And in opinion of Private Herring, Amphibious Ambush Troop, it's just a sight too cool for his liking. "Sir, permission to speak?" The request was answered by a gruff "Permission granted" from Sergeant Maliffso, Amphibious Ambush and Assault Extraordinaire. "Sir," said Private Herring, "isn't it going to be great when the weather control station's up?" The cold stare he got in reply said, very clearly, no, it will not be great. "Keep your eyes on the water private; the last report said the sklinterrs are coming this way." They were on the edge of a rocky cliff, the abrupt end to the ground. Below the cliff was the clear blue Agealian sea, and somewhere in there was a group of sklinterrs, surging through the water, their sole aim being to attack the nearby United Base. Sklinterrs are one of the strangest death machines; they are individually two foot long sharp metal splinters, yet they can bind together to form shapes for traveling. In water they form a vaguely dolphin-like shape, and on land they can create a flowing snake. When they reach their target, they split apart, and fly through the air, spinning wildly. While doing this, they can shred nearly any material apart. And this is why Private Herring and Sergeant Maliffso were stationed on the edge of a sea cliff, with an amphibious missile launcher for each of them.
As they waited, Sergeant Maliffso watched Private Herring; "The boy could be good," he thought to himself, "but he seems to be rather easily distracted. I wonder how he'll cope with his first battle." They stood quietly, then Private Herring sunk to his knees. "Private?" Sergeant Maliffso asked. "Praying sir; I had a sudden resurgence of Sunday school memories." "I see. Well I would- Get up Private, they're here." Two large dolphins had swam into view. Or at least, they were shaped similar to dolphins. The machines were about three times larger than the average dolphin, and made of a shiny platinum-looking metal. "Get ready to fire, Private, but don't alert them to our presence." "Siryessir. Preparing to- oops." The missile cartridge slipped out of the Private's hands, and crashed upon the rocks below. The air briefly turned yellow around where the cartridge hit, then went back to normal. "Wonderful, Private, just wonder-" before he could finish his sentence, several sklinterrs detached from one of the groups, and launched themselves out of the water towards the Sergeant's head. He dispatched them with a missile, and began to reload. But before he could fire more than one or two missiles, the sklinterrs had already reached the cliff, and were flowing up in rivers of liquid steel. "Damn, we can't hit them from here; the angle we're at will just ensure we miss if we fire. Come on Private, it's time to retreat back to base. Run!" They took off into the forest, running for their lives. "Drop your weapons Private, they'll just slow you down!" "Yessir!" They let their weapons drop to the ground, just as they heard the whirring that meant the machines had gotten up the cliff and were already ripping apart the vegetation.
After only thirty seconds or, an explosion ripped out as the sklinterrs hit the guns; a high pitched scream went up, and then they got angry. They split apart, and spread through the jungle indiscriminately shredding whatever moved. "Get into a tree Herring, we'll be able to hide from them that way!" "Yessir!" The Sergeant swiftly clambered up a tree, but as the Private grabbed onto a branch, it snapped and he tumbled to the ground. He got up and made a leap for another branch. He never got there. A sklinterr came out of the undergrowth and drilled through his chest, killing him instantly. The sklinterrs came back together, and flowed on as the snake form toward the United Base. The Sergeant marked the place where the Private had fallen, and came down from the tree. He started running off to base, taking a circuitous route to avoid running into his previous pursuers. "Sorry kid... Bad luck." He thought to himself as ran, "But I'll be back for you. Though what needs to be done now is save the Settlement; your corpse can come later."