it's purple today
bastard dying at his desk
cold wind makes me glad
—the bastard
Showing posts with label poemtry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poemtry. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
messages from the creatures of the deep...
...and other crap the bastard saw in a bar last night
"hi aquaman",
was the greeting the bastard received from a magic marker drawing as he went to take a leak in the bathroom of the 169 bar last night.
"how was the bathroom", my ladyfriend asks me.
"it's a typical bathroom on the lower east side, it looks like a hundred punk rockers took a crap in it and then drew all over it with magic marker. standard"
"cause mattysaintjoe said that it was flooded the last time he played here."
"yeah water was just flying out the door", retorts mattysaintjoe (that's him on the right).
hmmmmm, hi aquaman indeed. the bastard almost dropped hi phone in the toilet over this one.
the 169 was a haven for local thugs back in the day. now it's a haven for folks who really fucking miss cbgb's. there was a girl banging on a piano and screaming tone deaf poetry into a microphone. this trainwreck culminated with her doing the single worst version of you don't own me. the rest of the night, she was yelling, "holla, holla, holla", between everyone's songs. sarcasm i would imagine for mattysaintjoe but definite sincerity for the danish girl who was part of broken down social scene part two. i only figured this because holla girl's whole shit was bitching about her ex girlfriends and judgey catholic priests whole raped her when she was 15 or something. i guess that's the value of a nyu english degree.
mattysaintjoe was good last night although a 50 something year old swedish lady was bending the bastard's ear about how rude his bandmate was to her. and who knows, he may well have been. people just don't make shit up these days. anyway, she told me her story. i told her part of mine justy because this conversation wasn't about what was going on in MY life, it was what was going on in hers. and that the other guy in matty's duo was rude to her. oh well, it still made for a good evening.
oh, right, and they were selling fourty ohs of colt 45 for 9 bucks a clip. being that the bastard spent most of his college career drinking colt 45 for only 2.25 a bottle, i just couldn't do it. that door is closed. but on the other hand, it works everytime.
—the bastard
"hi aquaman",was the greeting the bastard received from a magic marker drawing as he went to take a leak in the bathroom of the 169 bar last night.
"how was the bathroom", my ladyfriend asks me.
"it's a typical bathroom on the lower east side, it looks like a hundred punk rockers took a crap in it and then drew all over it with magic marker. standard"
"cause mattysaintjoe said that it was flooded the last time he played here."
"yeah water was just flying out the door", retorts mattysaintjoe (that's him on the right).
hmmmmm, hi aquaman indeed. the bastard almost dropped hi phone in the toilet over this one.
the 169 was a haven for local thugs back in the day. now it's a haven for folks who really fucking miss cbgb's. there was a girl banging on a piano and screaming tone deaf poetry into a microphone. this trainwreck culminated with her doing the single worst version of you don't own me. the rest of the night, she was yelling, "holla, holla, holla", between everyone's songs. sarcasm i would imagine for mattysaintjoe but definite sincerity for the danish girl who was part of broken down social scene part two. i only figured this because holla girl's whole shit was bitching about her ex girlfriends and judgey catholic priests whole raped her when she was 15 or something. i guess that's the value of a nyu english degree.mattysaintjoe was good last night although a 50 something year old swedish lady was bending the bastard's ear about how rude his bandmate was to her. and who knows, he may well have been. people just don't make shit up these days. anyway, she told me her story. i told her part of mine justy because this conversation wasn't about what was going on in MY life, it was what was going on in hers. and that the other guy in matty's duo was rude to her. oh well, it still made for a good evening.
oh, right, and they were selling fourty ohs of colt 45 for 9 bucks a clip. being that the bastard spent most of his college career drinking colt 45 for only 2.25 a bottle, i just couldn't do it. that door is closed. but on the other hand, it works everytime.
—the bastard
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
...on haiku
make no mistake sir
my elbow means move now, jerk
next step is my foot
it's amazing how random acts of cocksuckery inspires one to tap old poetry styles that they haven't used since they had to write in since high school. i didn'y have to do it in college because all th epeotry teacher wanted us to write was anything about hating america.
i hate you jackassi hope that you choke real soon
stupid green jacket
you see it just rolls right off the old brain. who knows? maybe the bastard will start a collection of his hateful subway haiku. oh. wait. bastard need coffee now.
—the bastard
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