If you ain’t got the bloody bible call
Then you ain’t got no reason to be
For heathens like me
We just believe that you are
Doesn’t have to be a reason to see
Just whatever you want to be then be
Cuz at the end of the day
all we have
Is nothing more and nothing less
Than the ain’t buried in the derelict of the mind
Thoughts spread wide (open)
and a mountain
Of challenges that never seem to answer
When I call
Turns out all I really know is what I see (or not)
Sitting trying to act engaged and as if I’m listening. The buzz from the beer and the spinach and mushroom quesadilla is fading. All I can hear is a muffled sound that resembles my parents rehearsing adulthood by speaking in an overtone of “adult” speak. I thought by having dinner and drinks with my colleagues would mean that instead of feeling like the kid at the kid’s table I would be involved in more peer sited topics, but not the case. I high-five the eight year old at the opposite side of the table as if the only connect is her. In-laws, children that speak a second language, and husbands that annoy are all brand topics at this four top table. I feel like if I don’t nod and smile appropriately I may give away the nail on the chalkboard boredom that has overcome my body. Officially, I have lost the feeling in my face and now cybering my way to bed. Another beautiful dinner with peers of no harm but seemingly not the shoes I want to inhabit.
having a rhetoric for my instincts
Guilty pleasures are never a node I want to hide. I’m wide out in the open with my pleasures. In no particular order:
1. Sundays spent in bed with movies and ice cream
2. Watching cult classics a billion times over (like Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, Back to the Future, and so many more)
3. Soaking in the rays on a lovely beach, ipod and book in tow.
4. Sinking into good conversations with someone that gets it.
5. Drinking a nice red wine while writing in some median
6. Massaging lotion all over my body after a nice long bath
7. Listening to friends
Please feel free to add to the list of guilty or otherwise pleasures. I’m all ears!
the daunting woos sought out by sexual tensions
or is it just the need to piss out confucius says situations thought useless to a thousand of the same dicks or janes; fountains of pervasiveness shooting through my mind like loose forming gestures
that might have something to do with a ceiling dripping dirty pleasures only some may find through a little crazy – fondling each other in the corners of their minds with a little sympathy for the right dose of sentiment, pleasures
and a little new something to do….
Cradling the omni-plexars of centuries and theorizing the ability to believe; It isn’t everyday I see the cost of risk impending my ability to play the over indignant cynic, but today it has.
Economical explosions expanding and yet, some how we are surprised. If living life feeds the fears of unsustainable status quos then maybe the answers are revealed in how life is lived. Living for the paper, what-haves and have-nots will ultimately create a devalued kitchen sink level of non-beliefs that rise as no other than false hope.
Judging the said and saidless, founded irony has provoked the smidge of connectors that may or may not have the answers.
expansive neurotic weather and amiguous thought processes
feels a lot like a Cure balad…or just a reason to refuse to…
if it wasn’t for this methodical wrinkle in my dick i wouldn’t even bother jotting down these few digs..
i can’t even explain how time slips from my neck as the slime soothes my throat.
some mechanical feature i can’t explain and won’t even try to.
not a lot of chivalry thinking about this mindless god of slippery bed springs
but i’ll forgive the manufacturer this time.
it’s not every day you find a squeaky tube of toothpaste that doesn’t scream
like the r that doesn’t work on my typew*ite*
In this chameleon known to dwell aloof of a sacred existence, it’s the va-jay-jay in a bottle for the prime price of only – your soul. If you buy the sound system that comes attached it’ll make the squeaky sentiment of the purest form. Like a cheerleader laminating her lips and trying to spread sunshine in and out and over and under and doing it again and again…and cut to next scene..
Inserting the tampon oh so carefully, she melts through an extremity of variety. Once in while this chameleon may be known to find the little something that can and will divide. But, my eyes..it’s the clapping of the feet and the squealing of the lesser of the two (shelved items)..
We cross paths in order to find what we all need in the pussy-lined papers that only the corrupt mavins will sign.
I think I’ll find a way to avoid the substance and shelf the va-jay-jay for a bit…or at least until I find the way to my primordial clit.
For some reason I’m on a past loves lost topic list. I suppose the whole Valentine thorn-filled holiday has me perspiring thoughts. I wouldn’t turn away a kind thought, but I certainly wouldn’t administer having one day out of the year to make all the single folk feel less than. Pack me up and call me listless if I ever base my life on what someone gives me on such a clueless thought..Of course, I’m not sending back the boxes of chocolate I have received either.
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Jen Juice 