tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14284180955316105612024-03-05T12:59:33.080-08:00DRUNKKendra Grant Malonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517158839198076819noreply@blogger.comBlogger292125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-83625689658809686842010-10-26T13:31:00.001-07:002010-10-26T13:31:23.372-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.imgur.com/rhnW0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://i.imgur.com/rhnW0.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>Justin Randshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125507305309525962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-70537588571359027172010-10-26T00:17:00.000-07:002010-10-26T00:33:01.842-07:00SOMETIMES YOU WISH YOU MADE FILMS INSTEAD OF POEMS EVEN IF YOU COULD ONLY EVER DO IT HALFASSEDLY<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QmsQrVJQlhc?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QmsQrVJQlhc?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>DBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-82409343966172239362010-03-28T09:59:00.000-07:002010-03-28T10:01:25.628-07:00<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">i’m sorry i couldn’t <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">give more of myself to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">and that my actions<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">were confusing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">i’m sure you have no idea<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">on what’s going on.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">but that’s just it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">neither do i.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">but i know that<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">i shouldn’t be <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">having to force<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">myself to do anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">especially see<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">a person.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">there will be <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">another.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">there always is<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">and i can get tangled<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">in shit again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">but i did enjoy<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">the short time <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">i spent with you,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">lying on the bed <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">in your room with <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">no fan<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">next to the 101 freeway.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">breaking your bed<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; text-transform: uppercase;">and now<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-transform: uppercase;">your heart.</span><!--EndFragment--> </div>Justin Randshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125507305309525962noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-35423994094329231452010-01-27T02:00:00.000-08:002010-01-27T02:03:51.983-08:00POEMMY TEETH SOMETIMES HURT<br />A BAD DECISION IS TO HURT<br />A BAD LIFE IS TO LIVE WITHOUT<br />WATCHING A SUN SINK INTO THE OCEAN<br /><br />MY MOST PROBABLE DEATH IS ALONE<br />MY MOST PROBABLE FEAR IS ALONE<br />MY MOST PROBABLE LOVE IS ALONE<br />BUT IT IS NOT<br /><br />LET IT BE KNOWN<br />THAT ALONE IS NOT ENOUGHDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-20988404191143928492010-01-27T01:58:00.000-08:002010-01-27T14:19:18.138-08:00POEMIT’S ALMOST LIKE WALKING DOWN THE SHORE OF MORSE RESERVOIR<br />AT NIGHT, KICKING ROCKS<br />BY WHICH I MEAN I HAVE EARNED SOMETHING<br />BUT THE WATER MADE MY MOTHER SICK ONCE<br /><br />SO I AM AFRAID TO WADE IN<br />AND THERE IS SOMETHING HERE THAT I AM AFRAID TO ADMIT<br />WHICH MIGHT BE LOVE<br />OR IT MIGHT BE SOMETHING WORSE<br /><br />IF I TOLD YOU WHAT IT WAS<br />I WOULD BE AFRAIDDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-56118319023344981902010-01-07T01:02:00.001-08:002010-01-07T01:02:57.295-08:00BEEN PUBLISHED ON A BAR<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk1CfFKo4QY1bkpoImS4IrcsWN5vzavb93sZeyCpceKOeg-3i2ZWLk9Nb3U6GblN9aKZfmCFjHbi9W6GZ2rvnZo2-kCsIkk53d_1Y8-gLgGWZCOwUN2M3O9NuURON1AN-fLFZpkWnT0bi/s1600-h/54307856.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk1CfFKo4QY1bkpoImS4IrcsWN5vzavb93sZeyCpceKOeg-3i2ZWLk9Nb3U6GblN9aKZfmCFjHbi9W6GZ2rvnZo2-kCsIkk53d_1Y8-gLgGWZCOwUN2M3O9NuURON1AN-fLFZpkWnT0bi/s400/54307856.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423920769023827922" /></a>DBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-80552881819010239682009-11-22T03:11:00.000-08:002009-11-22T03:43:22.978-08:00SUNDAY MORNING TRADEMARK BUTTERFLY KISSES/E-COMMERCEEVERY STREET I CROSSED TONIGHT<br />REMINDED ME OF A ZIPPER. THAT'S ABOUT IT.<br />EXCEPT, WELL, NOT REALLY. I HAVE TO<br />TELL THE TRUTH ABOUT THE HARD GROUND.<br />THE TRUTH IS -- IT'S NOT THAT HARD. YOU CAN<br />SCOOP IT UP WITH YOUR GRANDMOTHERS.<br />YOU CAN WHISPER TO IT AND IT WILL COWER.<br />THERE IS NOTHING BETTER THAN TO WHISPER TO IT.<br />TONIGHT WAS A BROKEN POWER CORD, THOUGH<br />ALL FUCKED AND FRAYED IN ALL THE IMPORTANT<br />PLACES. LIKE, GO BUY A NEW ONE, IF YOU CAN<br />FIND THE MODEL NUMBER. BUT WHATEVER, FUCK IT.<br />I AM HAPPY THAT THESE THINGS ARE NOT AS<br />HEARTY AS YOU'D LIKE. I ALSO WOULD LIKE TO <br />EXTEND MY CONDOLENCES TO THIS UNIVERSE<br />ON BEHALF OF THE HEWLETT-PACKARD POWER<br />CORD I FOUND ON AMAZON.COM. I'D LIKE TO <br />ALSO PLAY A GAME CALLED "HURT THE UNIVERSE"<br />LATER BUT I'M NOT SURE HOW TO PLAY. SOMETHING<br />WITH CARDS AND EYES AND STUFFING YOUR POCKETS<br />FULL OF JAIL CELLS AND PERFORMANCE ART? SOMETHING<br />ABOUT THE SMELLS OF YOUR NEIGHBORS? BUT THE BIG<br />COLLABORATIVE THING DOESN'T HAPPEN UNTIL LIKE<br />TOMORROW, SO YOU CAN JUST CHILL OUT TONIGHT.<br />I KNOW THEY SAY YOU SHOULD TAPER AT LEAST 3<br />WEEKS BEFORE RACE DAY BUT MY LAST LONG RUN<br />TODAY DIDN'T GO AS WELL ASI WAS HOPING.<br />THE ORAL SURGEON WHO DID BOTH MY BOYS --<br />WHO ARE RUNNERS ALSO -- SAID AT LEAST THREE<br />DAYS OFF SINCE RUNNING INCREASING PULSE/BLOOD<br />FLOW AND HE WAS WORRIED THEY WOULD BLEED.<br />DO MOST WOMEN BLEED WHEN THEY LOSE THEIR<br />VIRGINITY? I LOST MY VIRGINITY TECHNICALLY WHEN<br />I WAS RAPED AND I BLED THEN. YOU WHO ARE VERY<br />ACTIVE IN SPORTS, HORSEBACK RIDING AND WRESTLING --<br />A FINGER IS NOT THAT BIG SO WOULD NOT HAVE HURT<br />THAT MUCH. WE COMPULSIVELY GROOM OUR FACES<br />UNTIL WE BLEED AND WE ARE AFRAID TO VENTURE<br />OUT OF THE CORNER OF OUR CAGES -- WE AGE.Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-12156138162700975272009-11-18T23:38:00.001-08:002009-11-19T00:10:15.746-08:00HOW TO DRAG YOURSELF AROUND, IF YOU MUST<STRONG>WHATEVER GOES UPON TWO LEGS IS AN ENEMY</STRONG><br /><br />FOR THE STREETCAR THAT DRIVES OVER YOUR LEGS, FOR<br />THE MODERNITY IN THAT PITCH YOU REACH WHEN YOU GET<br />MAD. INTO KNOWING, INTO PITCHED FAILURE THROUGH US.<br />WILD, UH, WILD. SO KNOWING, SO TO YOUR LEGS FOR THE<br />MODERNITY IN THE CHEAP SUNGLASSES THAT WE MUST WEAR.<br /><br /><strong>WHATEVER GOES UPON FOUR LEGS, OR HAS WINGS, IS A FRIEND</strong><br /><br />THE NIGHT YOU CRAWL INTO BED WITH ME WILL BE THE NIGHT<br />I HINT AT STREET LIGHTS, OR ELSE IT WILL BE US, HUDDLING<br />BEHIND A TOYOTA CAMRY, TRYING TO BLEND INTO SHADOWS.<br />IT WILL BE THE NIGHT WE FIND THE NIGHT IN OUR MARROW, ITS<br />BLACKNESS CRAWLING THROUGH US LIKE MOTOR OIL.<br /><br /><strong>NO ANIMAL SHALL WEAR CLOTHES</strong><br /><br />HERE THE STITCHES FIND NO FREE PASS, JUST A BELATED TRUNDLING<br />OF TEXTURE. YOU X'S DITCH PAST THE COPS AND STRUGGLE OVER<br />THE RIVER IN TRUCK BEDS; YOU X'S STUMBLE THROUGH INTERSECTIONS<br />BREATHING LIES ABOUT POPULAR THINGS. HERE THE STITCHES GO TRUE,<br />PULLING THEIR EXILE BEHIND THEM IN A RADIO FLYER.<br /><br /><strong>NO ANIMAL SHALL SLEEP IN A BED</strong><br /><br />THIS BEING THE HEARTBREAKING STORE MANAGER IN A SHRINKING<br />PARKING LOT, SMOKING LOST TIME. TUSSLING HAIR IN SENTENCES<br />AND PULSING BOUNCED CHECKS. THIS BEING THE MOST YOU CAN<br />WEEN FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN CHEWING AND SINGING. THOUGH WHEN<br />YOU SING, IT SOUNDS FOGGY, LIKE CAR ALARMS AND BRIDGES RAISING.<br /><br /><strong>NO ANIMAL SHALL DRINK ALCOHOL</strong><br /><br />MONEY LAUNDERING SCHEMES DOTTED HER FACES LIKE THEY DOTTED MINE.<br />I THOUGHT WE WERE IN THE SOUTH. OR I THOUGHT I WAS BY MYSELF.<br />CORNER MARKETS DELIVERING, OH, FOR. FOR DELIVERING SERMONS IS PRAISED. <br />WE TRIED TO DANCE, OR, I MEAN, I TRIED TO DANCE WITH HER -- THOUGH<br />I WAS A PARKED CAR ON AN EMPTY STREET. OR AN EMPTY STREET UNDER AN EMPTY CAR.<br /><br /><strong>NO ANIMAL SHALL KILL ANY OTHER ANIMAL</strong><br /><br />THE RIM OF A FULL GLASS IS UNLIKE ANY OTHER CREATURE IN THIS WORLD,<br />IT IS MORE LIKE A BRUISE THAT YOU DESERVE. FULL PLATES FOR EYES, SHE<br />GOES SHOPPING. IF SHE ENTERS THIS ROOM, SHE WILL BE SHOPPING. IN TIME,<br />TUSKS. SLOW GRAIN BARGES CAN NOT KEEP UP WITH THE STILLNESS OF A DYING<br />MOON, OR A FAIR PRICE. THESE POOR STITCHES KEEP DOTTING THE GLOBE.<br /><br /><br /><strong>ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL</strong><br /><br />THESE ARE NOT HANDS, THESE ARE LATCHES, THESE ARE DROP DOWN MENUS<br />AND THE CLOSET WHERE THEY KEEP THE COPIER AND EXTRA PENS. THOUGH<br />HEARTS ARE STRONG MUSCLES, THEY ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO AN XBOX.<br />THOUGH SHE TUGS THROUGH THE CRACKS IN THIS PLACE, SHE IS BARELY<br />DECORATION. BUT AT LEAST? BUT FOLLY, TO KNOCK HEADS.Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-73107581963842971792009-11-18T02:24:00.001-08:002009-11-18T03:10:41.427-08:00THINGS TO CONSIDER BEFORE SEX DEATH / THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF KISSING AND EATINGTHIS LONELY EARTH IS A WEIRD<br />MOTHER FUCKER BUT SOMETIMES<br />WHEN I HOLD MY BREATH I FEEL FREE<br />BUT I ALSO FEEL MY BODY START TO<br />FAIL, WHICH IS A FORM OF CONSTRAINT.<br />OKAY, SO I'M NOT HOPEFUL. APPARENTLY<br />FREEDOM IS JUST THE ILLUSION YOU GET<br />WHEN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH.<br /><br />I DON'T WANT TO BE ONE OF THOSE<br />PEOPLE WHO END UP ALIVE WITHOUT<br />MEANINGFUL CONNECTIONS. DO YOU?<br />I WOULD RATHER MELT MYSELF DOWN <br />TO MY FUNDAMENTAL CHEMICALS AND<br />VOLUNTEER MY SLUDGE FOR CONSIDERATION<br />AS A PLAYSTATION CONTROLLER.<br /><br />OH, GOD? OH, I MEAN, DEAD GOD?<br />ARE YOU THERE? HEY, IT'S ME, MEG RYAN.<br />ARE YOU THERE? HELLO? SHIT. I'M IN A <br />FUCKING TUNNEL. FUCK, I'M GETTING PULLED<br />OVER. HOLD ON. I'LL CALL YOU BA-<br /><br />AM I INTERESTED? OR AM I JUST DISINTERESTED?<br />IT IS UNCLEAR AT THIS TIME -- THIS TIME<br />THAT I MEASURE IN NUMBER OF STEPS ON THIS<br />CARPET. "WE HAVE CLAIMS BY KIDNAPPERS<br />AND TERRORISTS AND BEHEADERS."<br /><br />BUT WAIT, DO WE HAVE TO FILL EVERY SPACE<br />WITH EVERY CHUNK OF OUR DISGUSTING SKIN?<br />DO WE HAVE TO FIT OUR CHUNKS INTO THE VOIDS?<br />DUMB QUESTION.<br /><br />BETTER QUESTIONS:<br />ARE YOU A POTENTIAL VICTIM? LOOK AROUND YOU.<br />CHECK FOR THE SIGNS. ARE YOU WATCHING UFC?<br />ARE YOU EJACULATING? YOU ARE PROBABLY A<br />SCAPEGOAT WHO IS SECONDS FROM LAUNCH<br />BUT HERE, LET ME KISS YOU ON THE CHEEK.<br /><br />EVEN BETTER QUESTIONS:<br />HAS YOUR PUBLIC ENGAGEMENT CHANGED<br />WITH NEW MEDIA? WHAT IS YOUR<br />OPINION ON THE FUTURE OF NEW MEDIA?<br />CAN YOU ALTER THE TASTE OF YOUR VAGINA?<br />DOES MY BODY LOOK NORMAL OR IS IT WEIRD?<br />SHOULD I HAVE SEX WITH MY BOYFRIEND/GIRLFRIEND<br />IF I LOVE HIM/HER?<br /><br />I'M RUNNING OUT OF HOPE<br /><br />"FOCUS ON WHAT'S OFF ABOUT<br />THE RELATIONSHIP," SAYS DEBBY<br />HERBENICK, PH.D<br /><br />"TILL YOU FIND OUT WHAT ACTUALLY<br />HAPPENED, AND WHEN YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR<br />TELLING THE TRUTH, YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE TIME<br />TO FIND OUT WHAT THE TRUTH IS,<br />AND THAT DOES TAKE TIME."Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-69813697500299266662009-11-14T23:37:00.000-08:002009-11-14T23:38:27.423-08:00THE CO-FOUNDER OF THIS BLOG WROTE A BOOK IN CASE YOU DIDN'T ALREADY KNOW. THE BOOK IS FULL OF DRUNK SONNETS. HERE IS A PERSON READING ONE.<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NDPo5xFLwXw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NDPo5xFLwXw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="http://magichelicopterpress.com/drunk.htm">DANIEL BAILEY'S DRUNK SONNETS IN A BOOK</a>Mike Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01125676207376106849noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-65816770156071174632009-11-09T23:33:00.001-08:002009-11-09T23:48:08.714-08:00I HEART GOD NOISEIF I AM NOT IN CONSTANT CONVERSATION WITH YOU I FEEL LIKE SHIT<br />I THINK THIS IS WHY SOME PEOPLE LIKE THE IDEA OF GOD<br />AND SOME PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE COMMUNICATING WITH SOMETHING<br />BUT FOR THE EXACT SAME REASON I LIKE FREEWAY NOISE<br />AND I TRY TO MAKE MYSELF DREAM ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF TERROR<br />FOR EXAMPLE, I TRY TO FORCE MYSELF TO DREAM I AM TWO PEOPLE, SPLITTING, SOMETIMES.<br /><br />WHEN I SAY "GOD" I MEAN THE IDEA OF EATING VERSUS THE IDEA<br />OF SINGING. WHAT I MEAN, REALLY, IS THIS PUNCHING FROM THE CHEST<br />OUTWARD. TO BE MORE CLEAR, I MEAN MY HEART IS A FIST. TO BE<br />MORE CLEAR, I MEAN MY HEART IS HER FIST. TO BE MORE CLEAR,<br />I MEAN HER FIST IS HER HEART. TO BE MORE CLEAR, I MEAN<br />THERE IS NO BLOOD BETWEEN US -- THIS IS CLEAN. THIS IS<br />A SIMULATION OF WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF THERE WERE TWO TANGLED<br />CIRCULATORY SYSTEMS TRYING TO ESCAPE A BURNING BUILDING.<br /><br />THIS IS A TV ON FIRE<br /><br />AND THIS IS A FIRE ON TV<br /><br />DO YOU SEE THE DIFFERENCE? DO YOU SEE HOW YOU AND I CAN<br />CONVERGE IF WE PRACTICE TRACING EACH OTHER WITH CHALK ON THE GROUND<br />AND THEN IF YOU LIE ON TOP OF ME AND WE ASK SOMEONE TO TRACE THE TWO<br />OF US? AND IF WE ASK THAT PERSON TO LIE ON TOP OF US AND ASK ANOTHER <br />PERSON TO TRACE THE THREE OF US? AND IF WE ASK EVERYONE TO LIE ON TOP<br />OF US -- NO, NO. SOMEONE WILL FUCK IT UP SOMEONE WILL FUCK IT UP. YOU<br />WILL FUCK IT UP, OR ELSE I WILL FUCK IT UP. IT IS NOT UNCOMMON.Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-18985286766857084022009-11-03T00:33:00.001-08:002009-11-03T01:02:19.355-08:00HERE IS A POEM CALLED I LOVE YOU CALLED I LOVE YOU CALLED I LOVE YOU ETC.LOOK AT A MAP OF THE EARTH<br />AND TRY TO FIND ME<br /><br />I AM ALL OVER THAT SHIT<br />WHERE ARE YOU? ALL OVER<br />THAT SHIT TOO?<br /><br />AWESOME<br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?<br />MINE IS BLUE<br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE OCEAN-BOUND MAMMAL?<br />MINE IS THE BELUGA WHALE<br /><br />HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE STARS SO BLURRY<br />THAT YOU TRULY BELIEVED HEAVEN<br />HAS SPILT INTO OUTER SPACE?<br />I HAVE. IT'S PRETTY GREAT.<br /><br />HAVE YOU EVER BEEN STABBED?<br />I HAVE! I WAS STABBED IN MIDDLE SCHOOL<br />WITH A BROKEN CD SHARD<br />IT BARELY BROKE MY SKIN<br />I'M OK, OBVIOUSLY<br /><br />HAVE YOU DROP-KICKED YOUR BROTHER<br />INTO A CLOSET DOOR?<br />I HAVE, AND WE STILL LAUGH ABOUT IT<br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE EPISODE OF THE FRESH PRINCE?<br /><br />HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT PEOPLE WHO DON'T VOTE?<br /><br />WOULD YOU EVER CONSIDER JUMPING OUT OF AN AIRPLANE<br />AND SHOOTING SILLY STRING FROM THE CENTER OF THE SKY<br />UNTIL THE EARTH CAPTURED OUR BODIES<br />AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO DO <br />BUT LET OUR HEARTS SLOW DOWN?DBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-92192380787273651302009-10-18T11:12:00.001-07:002009-10-18T11:12:39.164-07:00ON THE BUS<br />FULL OF DESPAIR<br />TRY TO LOOK FOR BEAUTY<br />BUT THERE'S NOTHING THERE.Justin Randshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125507305309525962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-1356238131829783672009-09-08T01:20:00.000-07:002009-09-08T05:22:05.723-07:00LET DOWN PRAYER / I HAVEN'T WRITTEN A DRUNK POEM IN A WHILEAND MAYBE THIS IS OUT OF A SENSE OF OBLIGATION<br />BUT I AM NOT OUT OF A SENSE OF OBLIGATION<br />AND YOU ARE NOT OUT OF A SENSE OF OBLIGATION<br />SO WHAT IS THIS?<br /><br />IF WE WADDLED AROUND THE LAMPPOSTS LIKE A COUPLE OF DUCKS<br />WE COULD KNOW WHAT: THE WHATNOT OF THE MATTER<br />QUACK UNTIL THE SUNRISE LIKE THE COUPLE OF DUCKS<br />THAT WE ARE. FALL SHALLOW IN THE POND OF CARS AND LIGHT<br /><br />I HAVE A JAR OF DEAD MOTHS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HOLD IT?<br />I WOULD LIKE YOU TO HOLD THIS JAR OF DEAD MOTHS<br />THAT I HAVE SAVED UP FOR A MOMENT LIKE THIS<br />A MOMENT WHERE I COULD SHOW YOU DEEPEST RAINFLOOD<br /><br />DOES YOUR TALK FEEL LIKE A RAINBOW COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH<br />BECAUSE THAT'S HOW MY EARS RECEIVE SOMETIMES<br />OTHER TIMES IT SOUNDS LIKE A PRAIRIE ON FIRE<br />CRACKLING WITHOUT PERMISSION INSIDE THE EVER<br /><br />WHO IS THIS "YOU" THAT I ADDRESS IN ALL MY POEMS?<br />WHO ARE YOU? CAN I SLEEP INSIDE YOUR YOU?<br />AND WHEN A BABY STANDS UP NEW IS THAT REBELLION?<br />IS ALL OF THIS LIFE AN ACT OF REBELLION?<br /><br />I MISS MOWING THE LAWN. I MISS SLAM-DUNKING<br />ON A SEVEN FOOT GOAL. I AM GOING TO CONJURE THE "YOU"<br />AND HOPE THAT YOU WILL LEAD ME THROUGH THIS POEM<br />WILL YOU BE MY VIRGIL, MY GUIDE? <br /><br />SEE THAT WAS A REFERENCE TO DANTE. ARE YOU IMPRESSED?<br />I AM NOT. OK, BUT NOT. OK. GOODNIGHT. JK<br />I HAVE NOT REACHED THE END OF THIS POEM<br />ARE YOU STILL THERE? ARE YOU STILL WITHOUT SIN? NO?<br /><br />I JUST PUT MY PALM ON THE TOP OF MY HEAD<br />AND I RUBBED THE SPOT THAT WOULD BE BALD<br />IF I HAD DECIDED TO BECOME A MONK <br />WHICH IS SOMETHING I WOULD NEVER DO<br /><br />GOD IS NOT ALIVE INSIDE OF ME<br />GOD MAY BE ALIVE INSIDE OF YOU<br />I ONLY FEEL THE WORTH OF MY OWN WORTH<br />LIKE A DRUNKEN CAB DRIVER ON NEW YEAR'S EVE<br /><br />LIKE A SPLAYED OUT HAND WITH THE KNIFE THRUSTS BETWEEN<br />I HAVE SEEN THE HAVOC WREAKED BY THE OTHER HAND<br />I KNOW THE HEART OF DARKNESS. I HAVE SEEN IT<br />WHICH IS ANOTHER LITERARY REFERENCE. RACK ME ANOTHER POINT<br /><br />I CAN FEEL THE RAIN IN MY BONES<br />IT HAS THE TOUCH OF A DOWNY SHOT<br />I HAVE LICKED THE SAP FROM YOUR EYE<br />AND HAVE BEEN SUSTAINED BY YOUR SWEET<br /><br />AND IF YOU WANT NOTHING FROM ME<br />THEN KNOW I AM FULLED FULLY BY "YOU"<br />THE "YOU X ME" SOLUTION IS YET UNSOLVED<br />OK. I AM LEAVING NOW, BUT I AM NOT<br /><br />I CONTINUE. I FEEL THE ITCH UNDER THE SKIN<br />LIKE SWELL. LIKE A GODDAMN FOREST FIRE<br />FUELED BY BABY RABBITS AND DEAD MOTHS<br />I AM UNSTUNG IN THE COLONY WASPS<br /><br />PLEASE LET ME REMAIN FOREVER UNSUSSED UNTO ME<br />LET ME COMMIT FLAGRANT FOULS AND BE EJECTED FROM THE GAME<br />I WOULD FRAME ALL THE RED CARDS AS A REMINDER<br />IF THAT WOULD COULD ME IN THE KNOWING OF YOU<br /><br />BLEEDING CARCASS IN THE MOUTH OF THE VULTURE<br />THE SPIRIT OF UNKNOWN FLOWING RAMPANT LIKE PAINT<br />OFF THE BRUSH OF YOUR TONGUE. THE LICK OF YOUR LOVE<br />LIKE SO MUCH ALREADY DONE DIRT AND THE NOW...<br /><br />THE NOW JUST KEEPS LICKING THE WHEN LIKE A BABY HYENA<br />I AM AN OBSTACLE TO MYSELF. IT IS LIKE IVAN ILYICH A LITTLE<br />WHICH IS ANOTHER LITERARY REFERENCE, AND I WILL KEEP MOVING<br />THROUGH THE REFERENCES AND THE NOT, BUT OK, WHATEVER<br /><br />MY BED SMELLS LIKE PAINT AND THE HALLWAY IS A NUMB EXHIBITION<br />OF THE CELL THROUGH A VEIN THAT HAS NOT SEEN DISEASE<br />THAT HAS NOT EXPRESSED SORROW THROUGH RUPTURE<br />A RUPTURE LIKE A FLOCK OF WASPS OUT OF A DIRT SHELL<br /><br />MY MIDWESTERN DIALOGUE WITH MYSELF SAYS LIE DOWN IN THE DITCH<br />LET THE FIELDS WRAP YOUR BODY ENRAPTURE YOUR MEMORIES<br />LET THE HEARTACHE OF VISION BE SWALLOWED BY THE COLD, COLD STALE<br />BUT MY FOREHEAD KEEPS PUSHING OUT LIKE A LOVER<br /><br />AND THERE IS A NOSE UNDERNEATH THE LOVER<br />NOT A KEEN NOSE, NOT A BLOODHOUND NOSE<br />BUT A NOSE THAT IS ABOVE A MOUTH<br />WHICH IS A CONDUIT FOR THE SPITTLE I SPEAK THE MOST<br /><br />UNLAP THIS BEER. DEFOREST THIS MUDDLE I THINK<br />BBQ THE FOREST OF EDEN AS VEGETABLES TO TOP ON BURGERS<br />AND BRATS. AND MORESO, I AM NOT A VOICE OF THIS VOICE<br />I AM A VOICE "YOU," YOU "YOU," WHOEVER "YOU" ARE<br /><br />LET MY TONGUE LICK YOUR INNERMOST<br />LESS ROMANTICALLY, LET MY TYPE WORDS THAT DON'T FAIL<br />LET ME PUT FORTH MY BEST "FOOT," WHICH IS A REFERENCE TO PROSODY, GO ME. <br />LET MY LITTLE HEART SING LIKE LARYNGITIS AT CHRISTMAS<br /><br />LET UNDO ME WHAT UNDO ME<br />AND SO FORTH, AND LET THIS POEM NOT FAIL<br />AS SO MANY POEMS HAVE FAILEDDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-25776622671027571102009-09-01T15:12:00.000-07:002009-09-02T10:56:40.210-07:00I LOVE YOU, I MEAN, I'M SORRYWHAT DID I MEAN BY "YOUR DRESS, YOUR BLACK DRESS, YOUR FACE, KNIFE ME."<br />AND SOMETIMES, THE BLACKENING OF YOU AGAINST THE DAY WOULD DRINK ME<br />UNDER THE TABLE AND WARN ME WITH A GLANCE. BUT THESE DAYS, THESE FUCKING<br />DAYS, WILL KEEP ME AND KEEP ME. <br /><br />AND I WILL KEEP THIS FACEBOOK GIFT FOREVER<br />THIS IMAGE OF A FOAM GLOVE. THIS WILL REMIND ME OF THE FALSE IDENTITIES<br />THAT YOU AND I AND EVERYONE FUCKS INTO THE SAND.<br /><br />AND RIGHT NOW I AM SHAKING AND I KEEP THINKING THAT WE ARE ONLY<br />DIRT MOVING IN VAGUELY INTERESTING WAYS.Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-33684236139688131622009-08-27T01:29:00.000-07:002009-08-27T02:19:41.646-07:00THE NUMBERS 1 - 4 AND SOME WORDS1.<br /><br />TODAY I ATE LUNCH ALONE IN A DINER AND AS I ATE I <br />FELT LIKE DEATH IS A CONTINUOUS FUCKING OF THE VEINS BY GOD.<br />TOMORROW I WANT TO EAT LUNCH INSIDE OF YOU BUT<br />INSTEAD OF FEELING SAD, I WANT TO FEEL LIKE A TWO-HEADED<br />MANNEQUIN WITH NO ARMS AND NO IMAGINATION<br />MODELING A SWEATER.<br /><br />2.<br /><br />MY CHEEKS ARE HANG GLIDING AROUND THE ROOM TOWARDS YOUR SHAKING HANDS.<br />I WANT TO GO BACK TEN YEARS AND MAKE AN ACTIVISION GAME ABOUT A<br />HELICOPTER PILOT CONVINCING MY BLOOD TO ESCAPE THROUGH MY FEET AND<br />THROUGH MY SLEEPING EYES. THEN I WANT MY BLOOD'S HELICOPTER PILOT TO DIE.<br /><br />3.<br /><br />MY MEDITATION IN AN EMERGENCY IS ME<br />PRAYING MY WIRELESS MOUSE WILL KILL ME.<br /><br />3A.<br /><br />WHEN I SAY "WIRELESS MOUSE" I MEAN "YOU"<br />AND "HOW I LOVED YOU BUT I FELT LIKE IT<br />WAS NEVER QUITE EQUALLY RECIPROCATED EVEN<br />THOUGH I WOULD WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF<br />THE NIGHT LYING NEXT TO YOU IN A COLD<br />SWEAT THINKING IMMEDIATELY ABOUT DEATH AND<br />HOW IT WOULD MEAN THE ABSOLUTE CESSATION OF<br />MY COMPLETE DEDICATION TO YOU THROUGH NO<br />FAULT OF MY OWN OTHER THAN THAT I AM MADE<br />OUT OF BLOOD AND NOT GOLD LIKE I WISH I WAS."<br /><br />4.<br /><br />SHOOT AT ME WITH A SHOULDER-MOUNTED MISSLE ONCE IN A WHILE. OR MAYBE I'LL <br />JUST CREATE A NEW SIGNIFIER FOR YOU. MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE "POP ROCKS." AND WHEN POP ROCKS ARE FINALLY GONE YOU WILL FINALLY BE GONE FROM MY BLOOD, BONES, DRYWALL, SKY, ETC. ETC. ETC. FUCK.Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-63112294919362880792009-08-22T16:53:00.001-07:002009-08-22T16:53:41.530-07:00THE DRUNK SONNETS PROMOTIONAL VIDEO<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/imfMsp2V4os&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/imfMsp2V4os&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>DBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-51015793212626071202009-08-18T22:34:00.000-07:002009-08-19T00:09:22.432-07:00IF I DELETE ALL MY INTERNET PROFILES WILL YOU LOVE ME COMPLETELYMY NAME IS ON SO MANY DUMB THINGS. SOMETIMES I FEEL FAMOUS WHEN I GET A GOOGLE ALERT.<br />THEN I FEEL LIKE KILLING MYSELF. I WONDER IF I CAN DROWN MYSELF IN PEANUT BUTTER.<br />SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THE ONLY POSITION MY BODY KNOWS IS "HUNCHED OVER A GLOWING THING."<br />I WISH I HAD MORE GOOD THINGS TO SAY THAT WOULD MAKE EVERYONE THINK I KNEW THINGS.<br /><br />SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE A PENGUIN WITH A MUSTACHE. I FEEL LIKE THE LAUGHING STOCK<br />OF PENGUINS. LIKE I FORGOT TO PUT THE PENGUIN EGG UNDER MY ASS SACK AND ACCIDENTALLY<br />ABORTED IT BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY READING. BUT NONE OF THEM ARE MAD BECAUSE THEY<br />REALIZE IT TAKES A LOT OF ENERGY TO RAISE A PENGUIN BABY. AND ENERGY IS SCARCE.<br /><br />SOMETIMES I THINK OF WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO WAKEBOARD INSIDE OF YOUR CHEEKS OR TO<br />BORROW A TI-83 TO DO A MATH PROBLEM INSIDE OF YOUR BELLY. MY FIRST QUESTION WOULD BE<br />DOES THIS TI-83 HAVE ANY GAMES ON IT? MY SECOND QUESTION WOULD BE SOMETHING LIKE WHEN<br />I DIE WILL YOU TAKE MY ASHES AND TURN ME INTO PRADA SUNGLASSES? WILL YOU FUCKING DO THAT?Bryan Coffelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-70754807293846242442009-08-10T00:35:00.000-07:002009-08-10T00:49:13.315-07:00WHEN YOU WANT NOTHING<br />THERE IS NOTHING.<br />NO ONE CAN FORCE YOU<br />TO DO ANYTHING<br />UNLESS<br />BY MEANS OF VIOLENCE.<br />AND EVEN THEN<br />THINGS ARE IFFY.<br />SO YOU<br />TRY TO RELAX<br />AND<br />SETTLE INTO<br />COMFORT.<br />I'VE FORGOTTEN<br />HOW THIS FEELS.<br />I'M FORGETTING EVERYTHING<br />I THOUGHT MEANT A GREAT<br />DEAL TO ME.<br />NOW THERE IS JUST<br />A SILENCE<br />SWEATPANTS<br />AND RAGGED<br />T SHIRTS<br />AMONGST THE BIGGEST<br />BLACK HOLE VOID<br />YOU COULD<br />EVER IMAGINE.<br />I WISH I COULD<br />REMEMBER THE SMALL THINGS.<br />YOU KNOW.<br />THE GOOD STUFF.<br />THE THINGS THAT MAKES YOUR ARM HAIRS<br />STAND STRAIGHT UP.<br />YOUR THROAT<br />GO DRY<br />AND YOUR<br />CHEST BEG FOR MORE ROOM<br />TO GRATIFY YOUR HEART.<br />BUT THE THOUGHTS,<br />AND THE MOMENTS,<br />THEY ALWAYS SEEM<br />TO SLIP THROUGH THE CRACKS<br />OF MY HANDS<br />AND AS I GET OLDER<br />I KEEP FORGETTING THAT I HAVE<br />CONTROL OF MY FINGERS<br />TO STOP THAT FROM<br />HAPPENING.Justin Randshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125507305309525962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-9753453946272853742009-07-09T17:57:00.000-07:002009-07-09T17:58:14.613-07:00THE WORST<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WwgzejbEqxw/SlaSGtulqfI/AAAAAAAAAhI/RCOo4guKmWw/s1600-h/Fcuk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WwgzejbEqxw/SlaSGtulqfI/AAAAAAAAAhI/RCOo4guKmWw/s400/Fcuk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356629450855655922" border="0" /></a>Justin Randshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15125507305309525962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-71136986788813620972009-04-06T19:25:00.000-07:002009-04-06T21:14:03.572-07:00I LIKE TO JUMP AND GO "EEEEP!" WHEN SOMEONE ATTRACTIVE LOOKS AT MEWHENEVER THERE IS R & B MUSIC ON I FEEL FUCKING STUPID. <br /><br />IT'S DISGUSTING SOME OF THE THINGS I HAVE BECOME COMFORTABLE WITH. <br /><br />I HAVE A HARD TIME SLEEPING BECAUSE I'M ALWAYS WORRIED SOMETHING AWESOME IS GOING TO HAPPEN IN MY APARTMENT AND I WILL MISS IT, LIKE MAYBE EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE COLOR. <br /><br />TAKE YOURSELF OUT OF THE BEST FRIEND GAME WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE.sam pinkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05802130245839962069noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-89827146794152769832009-03-25T01:23:00.000-07:002009-03-25T01:25:59.890-07:00I WANT TO BE A SOUTHERN WRITERI'MA BE DEAD BY THE TIME I'M 49<br />DEAD WITH A GUN NEXT TO MY BODY<br />NO BULLET HOLES OR NUTHIN'<br />IT WEREN'T NO BULLETS KILLED ME<br />IT WERE THE CHICKEN BONE <br />I GOT LODGED IN MY THROATDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-38792875417124771492009-03-16T23:12:00.001-07:002009-03-16T23:21:19.465-07:00DRUNK SONNET 59I APOLOGIZE TO ALL MY FRIENDS FOR MY DISAPPEARANCE<br />FOR MY NOT CALLING, MY STRANGENESS, <br />FOR ALL THE DRINKS I WON'T HAVE TIME TO BUY YOU<br />FOR ALL THE DRINKS I OWE YOU, FOR THE TIME<br /><br />I WOULD RATHER HAVE FRIENDS THAT I LOVE<br />THAN A LOVER THAT DOESN'T LOVE MY FRIENDS<br />I WOULD RATHER GIVE MY LOVE TO MY FRIENDS<br />UNTIL I FIND A LOVER QUITE DESERVING<br /><br />FORTHCOMING FROM DANIEL BAILEY AND FRIENDS:<br />MUNCIE ON FIRE, BEFORE MAY, BEFORE WE ALL LEAVE<br />BEFORE ALL OF THIS ENDS<br /><br />I FEEL SO MUCH LIKE A POP PUNK SONG RIGHT NOW<br />THIS FEELING IS GREAT, LIKE DEFEATING THE NAZIS<br />I WANT TO SAVE THIS FUTURE HISTORY INSIDE USDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-83623087879474421172009-03-16T23:05:00.000-07:002009-03-16T23:11:44.101-07:00DRUNK SONNET 58I HAVE MELTED THE BULLSHIT ACROSS MY CHEST<br />I HAVE SMELT IT EVERY NIGHT<br />EVEN IF I HAVE NOT DELT IT<br />FUCK THIS POEM<br /><br />FUCK ALL THESE POEMS<br />FUCK ALL POEMS <br />POEMS CANNOT CONSOLE<br />POEMS ARE ALL LIKE WHA WHA WHA<br /><br />THIS POEM IS A SHITBOMB<br />SMEARED ACROSS THIS PAGE<br />BY A MOTHERFUCKING TERRORIST<br /><br />IT IS BLOWING UP REALLY HARD<br />AND WITHOUT REMORSE<br />I AM SORRY FOR THIS SHITTY POEMDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1428418095531610561.post-13998084107844966532009-03-16T22:51:00.000-07:002009-03-16T22:57:52.184-07:00DRUNK SONNET 56IF I AM NOT A HEART ATTACK<br />THEN I AM A SHARK ATTACK<br />I JUST BIT SOME LEG OFF<br />OF I DON'T KNOW WHAT<br /><br />I LIVE MY LIFE LIKE I EAT MY BURRITOS<br />WITHOUT REMORSE, WITH HEART, LIKE A SHARK<br />ATTACKING A BUILDING IN THE SKY OF THE OCEAN<br />THE ONE THAT EXISTS FOR MOMENTS LIKE THESE<br /><br />WHERE THE SPINNING IS NOT DISEASE<br />WHERE THE CHAMBERS OF THE HEART<br />ARE ALL FILLED WITH N64 CONSOLES<br /><br />AND MY VEINS ARE THE N64 GAMING SYSTEM<br />I CANNOT BE CONSOLED RIGHT NOW<br />I AM IN GOLDENEYE. I CARRY THE GOLDEN GUNDBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13361787862466570073noreply@blogger.com2