Highway Robbery - A Poem

Here’s a poem. Which is awesome. Because poems are literature. Which is a word meaning ‘literally words’. And almost everything truly great ever said ever was said in words. Except all those rad speeches made by Mumbler The Great of Macedonia. Who everyone found super motivational, until the one day someone finally stood up and said ‘I’ll say it, I don’t know what he’s saying, do you?’ And everyone in the room let out a huge sigh of relief, followed by ‘I thought I was the only one’ collectively sighed by all present. And it was ON that bubble of air formed from that very collective sigh, that the first Hot Air ballon managed to reach the stratosphere for the first time, killing all on board, cause oxygen tanks hadn’t been invented yet. But it was those hero’s accidental death that in part LED to the invention of oxygen tanks. Yes. All because of words. 

Highway Robbery - A Poem 

Samantha, a future actuary, was literally born DURING a highway robbery. 

‘This is highway robbery’ yelled Samantha immediately after taking stock of the situation. 

‘Woah’ Said the highway robbers, well ghapsed, well, no that’s not right either. Um collectively sighed? No. They ‘woah’d’. That’s what you do when you woah. Why doesn’t that word properly exist yet literature? You dick. Well I’m making it happen. 

‘Woah’ they woah’d. Kapow!

As they lowered their guns.

And climbed off their horses.

‘She was just born this moment and she can already talk?’ They said in deep southern drawls. Southern being the most popular drawl of the era. Although apparently it would soon be misused in Macedonia for speeches. Which is why drawling is no longer popular now. 

‘You can have her for 10 gold bars’ replied Samantha’s mother. 

‘10 gold bars!’ They yelled, I mean drawled, loudly. 

‘TEN gold bars?’ They reintegrated. Having forgotten the word ‘reiterated’ momentarily.

‘TEN GODDAM GOLD BARS!’   

‘Why that’s god damn a regular back road fair price!’ replied the highway robbers. 

It was an unsatisfactory conclusion for word play lovers everywhere. Some were so mad they called this whole endeavor highway robbery! Kapow! 

The end

 Thank you words.

The Best Day Of My Life Undertaking – therefore and existence

Today was the best day of my life, and as I write these illustrious words I have come to a time in my existence where I have noticed something about what is going on in the actuality of reality and come to an awesome conclusion based on the events which took place today. Before I come to that though I should mention some of what happened during my day.

-       I ate some delicious food and found it to be delicious.

-       I bought a second hand book of poetry and found it to be poetic.

-       I played some guitar and found it to be guitarlly.

-       I walked to the local shops and found them.

-       I had some frustrations and found them frustratingly.

Yes that’s right, four out of five things today played out exactly as they should have based on the pattern as developed above. And yet, yet, the one that fucked up was the only one where I literally ‘found’ something. And yet the things I found where things I already knew existed, and where they were, and who owned them, so I didn’t have to hand them into the lost and found.

Yes that’s right, the actuality of reality I came upon today is obvious – the words ‘actuality of reality’ are an awesome combination, and nothing is really ever found, and therefore nothing is really ever lost, and therefore I am right where I was meant to be. Woah.

The poetry of the best day of my life - broomy

Another classic shopping list from me. 

Milk 

Soft 

Zit 

Deo

Or is it? That's like poetry man, you can tell cause it's not enough words per line to be prose. Oh plus cause it's so profound. 

Milk - white, motherly, pure, apart from the delicious hormones, product of cheese and ice-cream, fun to let get really old and hide in someone's room, you know a prick that is, you wouldn't want to leave it in a nice persons room, maybe a nice person who deep down is an asshole, but that's a judgment call, curdable. 

Soft - like skin, love, rose petals, the way if someone was gonna punch you, like you couldn't get out of it, you we're definitely gonna get punched, well this is the way you'd want them to punch you, depending on whether or not you're going to punch back, or else you'll start a precedent you're not going to want to hold up, at least if you want people to think you throw a decent punch, touchable. 

Zit - gross, pusful, ugly, you'd kill your aunt to avoid one, even if she was nice to you, I mean it's not your super immediate family, and I'm not saying you'd have to murder her, this is like a magic world where you can swap zits for relatives, I'm sure some dark lord of the night does the dirty work, unless you really want to, but that's probably going to create a whole different transaction, you may have to cop a blackhead still, or maybe a back zit, but if she offers a coldsore DONT take it, untouchable. 

Deo - some random abbreviation, waste of fucking space, stupid. 

Yep, It's poetry man. Awesome poetry. 

Yet found in a random trip to the store, where I was going to buy what? Stuff for a spell? What am I a fucking witch? 

Ready to take requests?

All right, all right every body, I've reached the time of the night, and the section of the show, where I am ready to take requests.

Now I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking that this means that I'm out of ideas, and that I don't have the ability to plan out a full well structured set, and that I'm some kind of fucking loser that needs his audience to plan his show for him, and that obviously I suffer from some sort of lack of confidence in my own artistic output to the point where I need to make up excuses to recite other peoples artistic output, but as requested from you, so it doesn't look like I have any doubts in my mind about what to do, but rather that I'm so happy about my direction in life that I'm happy to give the glory to others ok? I’m right aren’t I? 

Well fuck you, because I don’t want you to think that. Not for one second. I am not that narcissistic. I don’t need to be in complete control all the time. I don't always need to be both the performer and the writer. I am well capable of doing covers while still satisfying by own artistic desires. I mean for example I also like to show off my epic ability to memorize other people’s stuff. Memorization is a genuine skill. So don’t you dare accuse me of taking the easy road by doing something I didn’t write myself. I mean, I want to honor other peoples stuff, and I can’t honor it unless I also perform it brilliantly, which will require me to have memorized it well, there is a lot of skill in these talents, and that’s why this is still MY show, and why it’s still my name on the marquee, even though I am now planning on doing material I did not write, but it’s still mine, ok? So no accusations please? Ok. 

I mean this is live poetry people, and there is no fucking room for insecurity in this game, so why would you accuse me of being insecure about the fact I am going to turn to words written by another. Us poets are blessed with both confidence and respect for our fellow artists, well at least I am. I am very blessed in both those departments. The request part of my show has nothing to do with a lack of confidence or respect, and definitely is not a sign I possess any insecurity, because I don’t.

I mean check this out:

Surprised was the desperate man
Awed by the sweet opulence
Like a handful of virgin sand
He had no lack of self confidence

Yes motherfucker, I JUST improvised that poem now! Or did I? Maybe it's the most famous poem ever written about sand, yet you don't know, because you don't know anywhere near as much about poetry as me - that could be the Mona Lisa of poetry for all YOU know. But I know, cause I know this game.

Just for the record, that was me. I just improvised that; it wasn’t even like a poem I pre-wrote. But you probably, given that I am explaining to you how there is nothing wrong with doing a poem written by someone else, guessed that it was actually the Mona Lisa of sand referencing poetry, so as far as your knowledge of poetry goes I've proven I'm the Leonardo Di Vinci of poetry - so don't you dare judge me on taking requests rather than continuing on with my own pre-planned stuff. And don’t you accuse me of having doubts about my ability. Most poets, as you now know, aren't as iconically brilliant as me, and I'm trying to give a leg up to the strugglers for god sake by performing some of their poems, as requested by you.

I mean check this out:

I was in Iran that afternoon
I never even entered the saloon
But I was parched
Maybe my car was poorly parked

Well known genius who will be honored for ever? Or something I just improvised?

I'll give you a minute to think ...

Wrong!!!

It was BOTH!!!

So fuck you for suggesting I shouldn't take requests – I mean seriously fuck you. Plus, again, that was an improvised poem, right in the moment, so not even as good as I can be, if I have time to structure, and choose my words carefully. And it was still brilliant. So I've already PROVEN that I can improvise epically brilliant poems that will be remembered forever, so why would taking requests undermine that? My stuff is excellent. I am not trying to avoid it at all.

I mean, wait:

Empty like an empty vase devoid of flowers
Or like a powerless man who's devoid of powers
Or like, like an unshowerd man who hasn't had a shower
If I lived up high I’d hope it was in a tower

I mean that's utterly genius, and I literally just came up with it, like on the spot - so I don't need to take requests - I choose too. I think every line of that rhymed too. Did anyone remember exactly what I said? I should record this stuff as I say it into this microphone, you don’t want to forget genius stuff that you improvise in front of an audience. And yet, of course I already have plenty of stuff I’ve written to fill more than a whole show. I am not reaching for material at all.

So come on, yell out a request or two. Not that I need you too. I could fill the rest of this show with my own poems easily. EASILY.

You know what? I’m sensing a lack of enthusiasm from you people, for yelling out requests. You can't think of a poem as good as my poems to request can you? That's what's holding you back isn't it? You’re thinking ‘sure this guy is very secure in his own abilities, and yet also wants to honor other poets by showing off how well he can memorize and then perform their poems, and this in no way signifies that he has any lack of confidence in the poems he has written himself, which he is choosing not to recite, to instead take requests, but I just can’t think of any poems by anyone that are better than the ones he just improvises on the spot, let alone how good they may be if he took the time to sculpt them in poetic perfection?’

Wow. That’s what you are thinking isn’t it? Wait, you know it occurs to me that this means I'm officially your favorite poet! I mean if you can’t think of a poem you’d like me to perform that you consider better than those ones I just improvised, then clearly that means I am your favorite. And not just of this era, but of all time, because I just asked for requests, not even for contemporary requests, or within a familiar genre. Aww man, shucks, that's awesome - you guys rule,

Wait, people. Seriously that makes me happy. You know what? Instead of taking a request now, why don’t I improvise something for you, like special just for you guys:

You are all really awesome
Like a diseases free possum
You all love me so much
I want to drive a car with a clutch

Yes, I did! I just improvised that RIGHT now, for you! You’re so welcome, and you know what? I've learned something today; you people don’t want me to do a request section of my show. You just want me. And I’ll honor your wishes. I may never, even take requests again. Thank you all.

And that’s all the time I have left sadly. I hope you liked my show? You did didn’t you? Come again one day please. Not that I need you too, I’ll sell tickets regardless, I’m sure. So I assume you’ll all rush out to buy them to avoid missing out. Wow. A sell out. Thanks.  

Good night.

Follow the exit light.

Wait, I didn’t even mean to make that a poem. Wow. I AM good.

For need

I'm feeling perfect
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice

Things not to text to strangers

Here is something that you should never text message to a stranger

I want to rip your clothes off
and pull you into me from behind
fucking you in the ass
deeper and harder
hearing you scream
as you think of the Tasmanian logging industry
my vodka infused natural lubricant
will overcome every doubt
in your moistest of brain juices
like the aggregate of every bull
and every Paris Hilton wanna be
like an orgy in a vat of duck fat
You'll be dripping with sweat
like a Persian monkey on steroids
and I want to catch every drop
in a bed pan
and watch you sponge bath yourself with it
like a menopausal old woman in a nursing home
You don't know me
but we already share the same STDs

And now a poem by Dave


The beginning of time
The end of innocence
The beginning of pressure
The end of presence
And the little girl is told to hurry
Up and not be a child anymore
So someone like me can take advantage of her
And just moments later
Just snippets of time
And she is too old already
And its moved onto after
And I feel it too
I really do
Cause its too late for me to
Choke in a bathtub
Or to put a shotgun in my mouth
In a wilderness shack
I’m already beyond that
And I haven’t even begun
But I still want to make
A red stain on a fresh white sheet
And I still want to force the overwhelmed
Into a crumpled heap
And my hands and my eyes
Threaten to expose my desperate disguise
I’m empty inside
The beginning of everything
The end of the wrong path
The beginning of gold walls
The end of the relaxed past
I feel it too
But I need to

In this moment

I'm a gypsy
I'm a dreamer
I need to explore
I need to runaway
I need
I need
To be free
Why not just
I don't know
What to do
When I need to do it all
When other people's problems sum up my goal
When my mind stays confused
When I still can't sleep
Or move forward
Trapped in my body
Discover
Oh no
Is it happening again
Why aren't I there still
Doing what I don't want
But not knowing answers
Just look at me
In my embarrassment
Building from it
Not wanting to repeat it
What's next
Please what's next
May it be right
Finally
These perceptions blind
Finally

Please baby, let me be your elixir

Forgetting, what went on?

In the morning

Don’t let go of me

Flirting with home

Not sure how to make it happen

Can’t be fucked with obstacles anymore

Where is my impulsive possibility?

I know what I don’t want

But I don’t know what I need

There will be happiness

There will be sadness

I will be chasing

But there shall be no elixir for me


Coincidentally on this day that I research the word 'elixir' Kirstie Alley has launched a new weight loss drug which she is calling her 'Elixir' - her perfect cure for fatness.


Ah we can only dream, but I couldn't bring myself to make fun of her for it. I was a fat teenager and still have horribly fluctuating weight, and it's hard.


But in news of more importance, officials have said that recent developments in the war in Afghanistan have caused significant setbacks to both the Taliban and Al-queda


In related news Kirstie Ally's last trip to the buffet officially eradicated an entire breed of pig


Oh damn, what happened? Can I simply not control myself?


By the way, while researching Elixirs I made some surprising and startling discoveries


- Death is now considered the leading cause of chronicle scary no longer living in that alive sense syndrome. If your eight year old daughter is sleeping with a guy named ‘death’ it’s officially time to worry.


- If you have a neighbor with a barky dog, here is what you do. Go to ....Korea...., eat a dog, race home and burp real solidly in the dogs face. It will either stop barking or burp your cat back in your face.


- It turns out in a world where racism is tolerated if you find yourself in a battle to the death with a dragon you MUST have tequila to get it up to pork some slut


- Turns out cuddling a pillow is a poor alternative to the real thing - a sex doll. A girl would be nice too, but you have to be realistic


- Alcoholic snotty tissues doesn’t make them right, unless there are a lot of hard to approach cute girls at the party (this one doesn't even make sense to me, but I trust my research)


- I know its tempting but avoid licking babies burning from artificially created lightening strikes, its dangerous (ahh a return to sanity).

Everyone is talking about talking

I was having a talk with my friend about talking the other day, oh we talked the talk the literal talk that is, the different types of talk - small talk, monologue talk, vagina talk, happy talk, sad talk, gopher talk, pillow talk, chalk talk, sweater vest talk, you know all the popular talks with the youth.


It was only after talking talk for a few hours that we both had the same thought ‘we should talk to some people about doing a tour of talks talking about talking’. After all everyone talks, it’s the best way to you know, tell people stuff and ask them stuff.


The talking about talking tour went great; it was the talk of the town. One headline proclaimed ‘everyone’s talking about talking about talking’ and another proudly stated ‘the talking about talking about talking article about the talking about talking tour has become the most talked about article of the year!’ (admittedly it was the author of the original 'everyone's talking about talking about talking article' who claimed it was the most talked about article of the year, but who were we to complain?


Success was ours. But we grew restless. We had a talk one day and we were like ‘all we’re doing is talking man, and talk is cheap according to an old cliché which is clearly false because people are definitely talking about how the talking about talking ticket prices are far too pricey, you know, just for a couple of dudes talking’.


Don’t get me fucking wrong, people were listening, hell yeah people were listening, no one would have been talking about the talking about talking tour if no one was listening, but still they had a point, we were just a couple of dudes talking.


So we decided to do something about it, and we formed a band. After a long talk we christened the band ‘Fleeting Forever’ and we were sure soon enough people would stop talking about the talking about talking tour and would all be talking about Fleeting Forever.


We wrote this song.


It’s my head


I never asked you to come to me

I don’t even know your name

But when I’m feeling sad and down

You’re always somewhat to blame


Why do you always tell me I’m not good enough?

Why do you always put me down?

Are you trying to be tough?

Does it make you feel good?

To see me here in despair

Why do you spend so much time with me?

When you don’t even seem to care


Stop talking to me

Stop talking to me

Why can’t you leave me alone?


I’m afraid

I guess I’m afraid of myself


The pessimism you plant in me

Is not what I deserve from you

You could help pick me up and make me feel good

But that’s not what you do


You choose to try and influence me

To say and do things I don’t want to do

The risks I take to satisfy you each day

Always leave me in despair

But you still follow me

To here and to there

And its clear that you don’t even care


Stop talking to me

Stop talking to me

Why can’t you leave me alone?


I’m afraid

I guess I’m afraid of myself


I’m afraid of what you’ll do to me

I’m afraid to hear your voice

I guess I’m afraid of myself


And we played it for a few people, and they were like, ‘what the hell is wrong with you, you depressing fucks’. So we had another crack at it, and wrote this thing.


Dirty river bed


I’ve made a big mistake

I didn’t think I was capable of such stupidity

Am I getting too complacent?

Have I been going for too long?

I’ve made a big mistake

If only I could tell

The difference between night and day

Am I getting too privileged?

Have I just been talking so much?


I made a big mistake

And it set me free

For one more day

So what am I going to do?

What sin can I commit to attest?

I don’t want to look in the mirror

I know I’m not looking my best

I may be laughing

But I’m laughing at myself


I’m getting ahead of myself

Showing up at the airport a day early

I’m getting behind myself

What more do I need to confess

Maybe everything is falling apart

Maybe I’m just learning

To look at the mountains reflecting

Rather than the dirty river bed


I’ve made a big mistake

I always thought reliable

Was the best I could achieve?

Am I getting too different?

Am I starting to disappear?

I’ve made a big mistake

If you want it done right

Why don’t you just do it yourself?

Am I getting too much knowledge?

Have I spent too much time in class?


I’ve made a big mistake

It seems I do still have idiocy left in me

I know I’m not the greatest

But that’s no reason to stop trying

I can’t give too much effort

I can’t move too far away


I’m getting ahead of myself

Showing up at the airport a day early

I’m getting behind myself

What more do I need to confess

Maybe everything is falling apart

Maybe I’m just learning

To look at the mountains reflecting

Rather than the dirty river bed


And we played it for a few people, and they’re like ‘seriously what the fuck is wrong with you guys, you depressing mother fuckers, plus that isn’t even structured anything like a song’.


So you know we kind of gave up for a while.