Saturday, May 19, 2007

Shits to you

Mind you,
it's bullshit if you step on it,
it's dog shit if you squash it,
and it's cat shit if you smell it.

Remember when you go swimming
in the river and the streams,
that's where fish shit in it.
And the oh-my-goodness public toilets,
need I remind you who did that?
Yes I do, that's human shit for you.

When you don't go F**K,
you'll go SHIT!
Either way, it means the same.
It can be an oh-shit day
and someone can be real shit to you.
If nature is against you
you may even shit in your pants,
or God forbid that you'll be shitting bricks.
And if your day goes all wrong
then you'll know that shit happens!
But if you want to go all Frenchy
just tilt your head and whisper c'est la vie.

If you're a toad under a rock
you might see some weird ass shit,
but if you like what you see
it'll be some real cool shit.

Some people believe that life is shit,
and go around telling everyone else
they don't need this shit
and accuse the others of being horse shit.
It's because they are so full of fear
that makes them chicken shit
but the truth is,
they want to get out
of the shit hole
they shat themselves in.

Has anyone ever told you you're full of shit?
Or perhaps they mentioned something to the effect
that you are a real piece of shit.
If you're ever in doubt about it,
you could always turn around and scream back
- I don't give a shit!

It's how we perceive a shitty day
that makes it all worth while,
once we can get our shit together
our lives will be filled with shitty smiles.
People only get into deep shit if they allow it,
that's when the shit hits the fan,
but if you walk on by and go about your shit
then you'll know the shit you get is all your own.
At least you can will truly know
that you don't have shit for brains.
And after all these madness and confusion
it is only in death that we will see
what can be only described as 'holy shit'!
And when we realize that our entire existence
is based on human assumptions of making up
stories as we go along,
if you don't already know it,
well in the end
everything's a major crock of shit.
So whatever, whatever, whatever.
One things' for sure,
it feels so good to do it
doesn't it?

Sunday, May 13, 2007

my own

When he walked out,
he left a trail of blue green dust
that drifted recklessly
like a dying wind in a cold room,
or static that hangs on
to the ends of the hair.
I was nonplussed,
I was indifferent
and stupefied
to have what I wanted
but to lose what I gave up.
I couldn't understand
why I bewilder myself
with such angst
trying to straighten the lines
that were crooked
and bending the lines that
were straight.
He was suddenly gone.
I could now hear
every distinct sound
buzzing round my head.
I could feel the breath
of warmness that seeps
from underneath the floor.
I felt the hunger
in my stomach
and I realized I was
indeed yearning to devour
or pleasantly nibble
at the edges of time
and not grind my teeth
in the middle of the night.
I could, I suppose
ask for more
but the truth is,
I don't want anymore.
I shall walk to the arid desert barefooted
and swim with the barracudas barenaked.
After all, I am my own moment,
I am my own noise.