writings about
walking around
the prom
moving forward
i'm about to do the stupidest thing i've ever done.
this is not a poem.
this is a confession.
a bullshit, poorly written confession.
kill me if you can because i am useless.
we'll have to see what happens.
god bless amerika.
a laugh that resonates and never ends.
i am the product of your bourgeois capitalism
and i will die before i break down.
fire burns and fire burns and fire burns and fire burns.
i remember the last time i saw the dirt dragon;
he was grumpy and i thought my best friends were dead.
capitalism will kill us all.
i will try to set a fire
that will burn and burn and burn and burn.
slap me because i need it.
kill me because i am deserving.
i will never do it to myself.
i live forever.
ani difranco and radiohead.
the death of all things popular.
i gave away my last cigarette
to a boy who wouldn't even kiss me...
...not that i wanted it; i'm just saying.
i'm a liar and a thief.
pennyroyal tea.
kurt cobain.
a funeral celebration.
not as bad as you think.
please don't worry, my precious dollhouse warrior.
i won't disappear, and leave you stranded.

justin, 10/01/01

1 comment | others by justin

Author's Footnote:
God, I was so drunk when I posted this. I found it the next day on the site and it was a total surprise that it was there. I composed it in the promog textbox, it was a spontaneous effort. The really amazing thing is that, punctuation aside, there seem to be no spelling errors whatsoever. Scholars of my work will notice the reiteration of several of my ongoing themes from this period (Cobain, politics, fire), strung together more or less randomly and with little regard for any sort of narrative. The dirt dragon is a character from a Final Fantasy game that I've never even played, though I pilfered the phrase for a weird poem I wrote about how much Orlando, FL sucks. The two verses about the dragon alude to said poem, but for no apparent reason. The last verse was intended as a reassurance to DollhouseWarrior, a close friend and regular poster to promography; I believe my concern was that she might find the poem before I spoke to her and she might think I was going to harm myself. Even in my drunken blackout, I seemed fairly aware that I was just blowing hot, stale air. I wish you could actually see my face right now, I've got a shit-eating grin and am laughing out loud.
justin, 07/10/03

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