<-- 10:44 AM MT -->
After querying a close friend if he had made it home after a weekend of fun, this is the response I get:
Well, as a matter of fact, I DID. For all YOU know I could have been splattered across the road like a Halloween pumpkin on November 1st. Sheesh. We go out on Saturday, I think everything went well, I'm looking forward to hearing from you and what do I get? NOTHING. No flowers, no call, no email, not even a fucking POSTCARD. How do you think that makes me feel, huh??? I lie around all night in my pink lacy little negligee, coyly wrapping my furry pink princess phone's cord around my finger as I lounge on my giant heart-shaped bed with all the stuffed animals and laced pillows, waiting for you to call. But do you? NO. So every night, after my 4 strawberry dacquiris, I resign myself to slipping between my pink satin sheets, cuddling Mr. Boo, my giant teddy bear, wishing it were you, but knowing it's not, slipping into a deep inebriated sleep, dreaming of you as I suck on my thumb.
Here's a poem about how I feel:
Tortured Heart
Your square jawline, your deep voice
I feel dizzy when you speak
When we go out on Saturdays
I am giddy for a week
But then I realize
That you think I'm just some slut
For you to use and fuck
And put fingers in my butt
I want to cry when I feel like
You do not give a shit
When all I really am to you
Is some good ass and some good tit
But in spite of all your shit
I still love you so
I have a tortured heart
That is what you must know
For every night when I go to sleep
It's about you that I dream
And when I never get a call
It makes me want to scream
Is there a life that we can find
Where you and I can work
Or will I feel forever
Like a stupid dork?
There's nothing I can do now
I'm pierced by cupid's dart
I'm yearning for the day
You fix this tortured heart
I'm sorry I'm crying too much right now so I have to stop writing.
Have a nice life. I hope you are happy. I'm going to a frat party to see if I can get the guys to run a train on me. THAT'LL SHOW YOU YOU FUCKING JERK!!! I'LL FUCK EVERY GUY AT CSU!!! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well that is just an example of what I put up with on a daily basis, explains why I am nuts? Maybe justifies... who knows!
<-- 10:42 AM MT -->
Well we added 2 new people to the site. Both are personal friends of Corin7 and both are very eloquent writers.
Kurtz25
I have heard rumors this guy is an English major. Some of the emails Corin7 has let me read from this guy use words I have never seen before. So look for some good stuff here. Kurtz25 resides in the Ft. Collins, CO area right now. But don't use that against him. *grin*
Rick
Rick lives in Texas ::cough*hick*cough:: He is an entertainment journalist for a local paper down there somewhere. I don't know much more about him, so maybe we can get him to introduce himself.
So there we go. 2 new people to bring some more variety to the site.
<-- 7:27 AM MT -->
Point.
Dogs are trained to point out objects to their masters.
The dog's body stiffens, forming a straight line. "There, look where the dog is pointing." A downed duck. Danger. Drugs.
Now it is the master-turned-parent who points out an object to the dog. A dropped morsel of food here, a rabbit in the distance there, an inert frisbee on the grass.
Look, we say, pointing towards the object. But no matter how insistent our gesture or how coaxing our tone of voice, the dog continues to stare dumbly at our extended finger.
The more we point, the harder they fix their stare on our gesturing hand.
Humans are beginning to resemble their dogs.
Point.
A couple walks down a city sidewalk just as dusk gives way to early evening. The man beckons his companion to the sight of a blood-red moon hanging heavy and low in the twilight.
Though his hand motions towards the heavens, the companion grasps only the gesturing fingers. The companion is a deep thinker, a self-conscious and highly concerned individual, and so he never lifts his eyes to the heavens.
It's as if he can't see the sky for the hand in front of his face.
After querying a close friend if he had made it home after a weekend of fun, this is the response I get:
Well, as a matter of fact, I DID. For all YOU know I could have been splattered across the road like a Halloween pumpkin on November 1st. Sheesh. We go out on Saturday, I think everything went well, I'm looking forward to hearing from you and what do I get? NOTHING. No flowers, no call, no email, not even a fucking POSTCARD. How do you think that makes me feel, huh??? I lie around all night in my pink lacy little negligee, coyly wrapping my furry pink princess phone's cord around my finger as I lounge on my giant heart-shaped bed with all the stuffed animals and laced pillows, waiting for you to call. But do you? NO. So every night, after my 4 strawberry dacquiris, I resign myself to slipping between my pink satin sheets, cuddling Mr. Boo, my giant teddy bear, wishing it were you, but knowing it's not, slipping into a deep inebriated sleep, dreaming of you as I suck on my thumb.
Here's a poem about how I feel:
Tortured Heart
Your square jawline, your deep voice
I feel dizzy when you speak
When we go out on Saturdays
I am giddy for a week
But then I realize
That you think I'm just some slut
For you to use and fuck
And put fingers in my butt
I want to cry when I feel like
You do not give a shit
When all I really am to you
Is some good ass and some good tit
But in spite of all your shit
I still love you so
I have a tortured heart
That is what you must know
For every night when I go to sleep
It's about you that I dream
And when I never get a call
It makes me want to scream
Is there a life that we can find
Where you and I can work
Or will I feel forever
Like a stupid dork?
There's nothing I can do now
I'm pierced by cupid's dart
I'm yearning for the day
You fix this tortured heart
I'm sorry I'm crying too much right now so I have to stop writing.
Have a nice life. I hope you are happy. I'm going to a frat party to see if I can get the guys to run a train on me. THAT'LL SHOW YOU YOU FUCKING JERK!!! I'LL FUCK EVERY GUY AT CSU!!! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well that is just an example of what I put up with on a daily basis, explains why I am nuts? Maybe justifies... who knows!
<-- 10:42 AM MT -->
Well we added 2 new people to the site. Both are personal friends of Corin7 and both are very eloquent writers.
Kurtz25
I have heard rumors this guy is an English major. Some of the emails Corin7 has let me read from this guy use words I have never seen before. So look for some good stuff here. Kurtz25 resides in the Ft. Collins, CO area right now. But don't use that against him. *grin*
Rick
Rick lives in Texas ::cough*hick*cough:: He is an entertainment journalist for a local paper down there somewhere. I don't know much more about him, so maybe we can get him to introduce himself.
So there we go. 2 new people to bring some more variety to the site.
<-- 7:27 AM MT -->
Point.
Dogs are trained to point out objects to their masters.
The dog's body stiffens, forming a straight line. "There, look where the dog is pointing." A downed duck. Danger. Drugs.
Now it is the master-turned-parent who points out an object to the dog. A dropped morsel of food here, a rabbit in the distance there, an inert frisbee on the grass.
Look, we say, pointing towards the object. But no matter how insistent our gesture or how coaxing our tone of voice, the dog continues to stare dumbly at our extended finger.
The more we point, the harder they fix their stare on our gesturing hand.
Humans are beginning to resemble their dogs.
Point.
A couple walks down a city sidewalk just as dusk gives way to early evening. The man beckons his companion to the sight of a blood-red moon hanging heavy and low in the twilight.
Though his hand motions towards the heavens, the companion grasps only the gesturing fingers. The companion is a deep thinker, a self-conscious and highly concerned individual, and so he never lifts his eyes to the heavens.
It's as if he can't see the sky for the hand in front of his face.
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