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I Like Your Old Stuff Better Than Your New Stuff...

And where is the lotion,
So smooth and so sweet?
It's in his right hand
Beating his meat

Off the top of my head everybody... that's right... yah...

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<P:\>erson\Guy.exe -PersonGuy *pERSONgUY.cfg
http://www.personguy.com

oh, 'twas a blistering shame -
to a shitty day, the ironic cap
a downright disgrace to my name
sitting in math class, my pants filled with crap.

at lunch time I had a cheerful little grin
and a side of chili fries
now panic had set in:
the stink began to rise

a bead of sweat collected on my head
did they know? could they smell?
“why the hell did I wear shorts,” I said
as a moist little nugget fell

I know - a handful of dump
paints quite a foul scenario
still, I swept up from thigh to rump
and wiped it all over miss mary jo.

This message has been edited by whiskey@throttle on January 11, 2001 at 10:58 PM

men
walking to the moon
as birds watch
but cannot feel their essence.

another trip or ten around
the sun over,
marked off by one teary-eyed soldier
in an tireless cadence.

the passing of
years
is the passing of
coffins.

and the weathered old gravestones
topple over unnoticed
as the parade of faces
fades away.

while those coffins
lay rotting
and the dead are forgotten
through the turning of the years.

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kuru
'dancing is the vertical expression of horizontal desire.'
-robert frost

This message has been edited by kuru on January 12, 2001 at 03:06 AM

I spy with my little eye
The sun shining brightly
The clouds rolling by
The last days of winter
Now seem so far away
And everything looks green
When it used to be grey
And I've watched the change
Like the changing in my mind
And I chased the leaves
Like the words I never find
Like the people I knew
Who I sometimes see today
Some still bright like fire
And some faded away

I turn on the radio
And someone's playing a song
I turn on the news
Hear what's going on
I turn on my back
When I'm full of beer
And I turn off the news
When I don't want to hear

And I've seen a girl who looks so very sad
Nothing left but a memory of all the times she's had
And I've seen a man who looks so sad inside
Nothing left but the memories from which he cannot hide

So I learned to fight
With a Weapon Called The Word
And I learned to raise my voice
So that I'd be heard
And I learned to fight W
ith a weapon called the word
And I learned to raise my voice
But I've never been heard

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-- incubus
As I chase the leaves like the words I never find ...