Would You Suggest Writing as a Career? (2 Viewers)

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Not sure what you mean, I don't count "numbers of posts" nor do I look at them.

I was just talkin' about this person, let's name him/her 'nickpi' who is posting one 'poem' after another here. And I am glad he/she is satisfied with posting poems and doesn't come around to promote his/her writing or meaning or anything around the other threads.

Btw.: I can't even tell if the poems are good or not. I don't read them. I don't like inflation. And these 'poems' come up like inflation does.
 
You know, emmy, I already let it go. Give peace a chance. I guess you didn't. You must want me to respond, it seems. So I will. Later today. It will make for good reading, guaranteed. And posted by 8pm tonight, EST. Perhaps you can pay-per-view it, god waits for peon to respond. You are, in a word, insecure.

Anyone interested, it will be posted in the Super Bowl thread.
 
like john lennon and bob marley. thanks, scribbler. i've got the next round, when you're in the sunshine state. think grapefruit #17. and all's well that ends well, imo. keep on keepin' on, my BFAM.

(Please note: Scribbler did not endorse this message; and is not held responsible for my writing.)

Pax,

homeless mind
 
september 5th, 2008 (evening) - earning my wings

my wife is a very generous person, we decided to go take our dog (dante) for an evening walk around the block. after walking for ten or so minutes, and cars stopping to honk or whistle at my wife as they drove past, we came across a dirty woman in a wheel chair with one leg. we walk by her with dante and she says something to us while flicking the end butt of a lit cigarette on the ground. neither me or nor wife understand what she had mumbled because of the loud motors of the vehicles passing by.

we keep on walking our route around the block, a fatiguing walk, long enough to exhaust us both out and dante, so he'd be less of an alarm clock in the morning, waking us up with his yelping cries.

on our way back home we come across the dirty woman in the wheel chair again, she is struggling uphill to where we are... a not very deep hill... more a slant, but she see us ahead of her walking towards her. as we get closer my wife and i both grow silent and hold the dog closer to our side so dante would not lunge at her.
"excuse me," she says sounding out of breath,
"could you two help push me to the corner store?"

my first instinct was to hurry up and think of some kind of excuse...
we have an appointment we need to get to.
we have dinner in the oven.
we have an important phone call to answer.
we think we left the coffee maker on, the house might burn down.

then my wife responds in a charitable tone,
"sure," she says,
as i look at my wife standing there holding dante by the blue leash.

so, i walk behind the dirty woman in the wheel chair and grab the black rubber handles and begin to push. we go down sidewalks and over rocks on the ground, at times i felt like she'd easily tip right over or fall out. i tried to be careful while pushing her, but i also wanted to just get the fuck out of this situation, so i pushed her a little faster.

soon, we arrived at a street crosswalk, right across from the store she was heading to, i could hear her mumble something, but i payed her no attention and looked at my wife holding the dog with the blue leash. she smiles at me like i'm some kind of peeved off saint. i think about how i got into this situation and look back over at my wife.

that's when i hear the dirty woman in the wheel chair speak more coherently saying, "i told you to go on the red light, the crosswalk sign doesn't work right, you should have listened to me," in a very cross tone. at that moment i wanted to just leave her there to get across the busy intersection by herself, or just push her out on the green light not caring if a car was coming, but i came to my good sense and just waited for the green light to turn red and continued pushing the dirty woman in the wheel chair across the street.

after we got across the street she started telling me about how hard the wheel chair access was around this area, how she sees my wife always walking the dog around the neighborhood, and how she just got her food stamp card.
"let me buy you a drink inside," she insisted.
"that's okay, but thank you," we both responded back to her.
"but i want to buy you a drink, i'm that kind of person." she said in a crying tone, as if our not wanting her to buy us a drink meant we did something wrong that hurt her feelings.
"that's okay, but thank you," we spoke again... as we let the conversation grow silent.

i was also afraid if we did accept a drink on her food stamp card, that we'd have to end up pushing her back to wherever she started out on her destination. i pushed her up the store sidewalk and to the glass door, she was kinder once there saying, "that's a nice dog, what's his name?" my wife responded, "dante." she misheard and said, "dantel?" "dante," my wife said again, as the woman in the wheel chair poked a finger at our dog's nose and let him lick it.

i opened the store door and she begin rolling in, i saw that she was still struggling through the door, so i gave the wheel chair one last hard push, and pushed it over the bump in the doorway. once she was inside the store and the door closed behind her, we began to walk away, looking at each other bewilderingly.

we began to walk back home, having done a good deed that i never agreed to do, that my beautiful wife agreed to do. she then turns to me and says, "i'm sorry, i should have pushed her, i'm the one who agreed to help her," and for once i completely agree with her.

my wife is a very compassionate person, and i forgive her for trying to help me earn my wings. i probably would have helped the dirty woman in the wheel chair regardless if my wife was there or not to agree to the situation. i'm soft too, she knows that, and i love her for being the kind hearted person she is.

anyways, the next day at work, i call my wife during my break period and she tells me how she ran across that dirty woman in the wheel chair again today, and how she got stuck pushing her to the bus stop. at first i laughed a little, as if karma had had some true significance, then it struck me, this woman was going to expect a free push service all over the neighborhood from us all the time now. that's when i told my wife, "we're going to have to find a new route to walk."
 
when i think
i walk down
genius street

i duck down
verdant alley.

nothing is extraordinary
about genius

it's man
made simple.
 
Poem

the sky reaches for my intestine
and the kitten walks across the floor
and the door ist the moon
and I am an iceberg
and want icecream and pussy
and my green is going
and I can hardly see the stars,
o my god,
the pain,
fuck you.

- Randy Page, Ohio
 
I've always been in awe of Randy Page. He was a real discovery.
 
The problem with prose might be that you can tell just what it is from all the way accross the room. Squared and centered, and excessively descriptive, it will be wanting too much of your time. And you might not know whether or not its worth a shit for a half an hour. And it might be history, philosophy, journalism or criticism in disguise...then you're really screwed. Sigh, prose.
 
Three things I try to remember when writing:

One. Let your writing be grandiose and flamboyant. You are a drama queen, always have been, always will be. Don't try to avoid this in your writing.

Two . Don't over-edit. The more you wipe your ass the more your toilet paper looks like a hand full of shit.

Three. Type in font 20. It's soothing on the eyes.
 
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Poem

snip-snippity-snip-snip-snip,
fuck you.

- Randy Page, Ohio

Hmmm...

I've always been in awe of Randy Page. He was a real discovery.

Based on the above, I would never want to read another of his poems. Ever. I thought it was bad. No... let me rephrase that, I mean BAD. With the emphasis on the B, the A and the D.

But then, what the fuck do i know?
 
Yeah, tossing the "fuck you" at the end was juvenile. Before that, it might have gone somewhere...but it didnt...for me, of course.
 
I thought the whole thing was bad. I snipped most of it just because, well, it was bad. The "fuck you" was bad too but, you know, I wanted to be respectful.

If you took all of the words and rearranged them in random order, it might be better but it would probably still be bad.

The "poem" just cries out "bury me and never let anyone gaze upon my foul countenance ever again."

Never mind me. I have a headache and I'm in a bad mood.
 
Well then I guess you guys aren't big readers of 'The Toilet Paper Review' huh? :D
 
No, I wouldn't suggest writing as a career. But in the words of someone we know,

"You don't choose writing, writing chooses you."

_______________________________________________________

Riding Life Straight Into Perfect Laughter




I always loved your class, Mr. Holland. You always had this very highly-developed sense of humor.

- Mr. Holland's Opus


We were sitting in my pay-by-the-week apartment in the Crime Figure's watch-yo'-step-city. The overhead lights were the kind you'd see in a pool hall, and they hurt my eyes, so I always looked hung-over. Hair a mess from insomnia. Eyes hid with tinted lenses. Body always covered with layers - no heat. Cold feet, cold hands, cold heart - bad circulation. I was having black coffee, with just a spot of cream. And cigarettes.

She was having juice. I don't know where the juice came from.

"Remember Russ? Well my mother kicked him out on his ear and said that I could never talk to him again. So he gave me earrings and said that he would love me forever and walked out."

Where do these people come from? Where do they find me?

"I haven't heard from him since last Saturday," she frowned.

"Naturally. That's 3 to 5, statutory rape. Not that I believe in that..."

Not that anyone ever listens.

"This royally sucks... I miss him so much. But when I move out..."

When did you get a job? How did you even get over here?

"He promised me that he would move in with me as soon as he found out where I lived."

Who is this guy, J. Edgar Hoover? This always happens, with under-age relationships, and it never comes through. If old men's promises meant anything I'd be at an OTB right now in South Carolina, and probably really missing my family. Or in a bar not missing anything.

I just looked at her and blew smoke out the side. I looked down and she reached out, pathetic, for an answer. To her this was real.

"You want my advice?"

A pause. She knows me, she don't know me that well, just enough to know I've got a few screws loose. A few cards short of a poker game. A few balls less than shootin' straight. A few ants short of a poetic afternoon picnic. A few ounces short of a full swimming pool. A few pints short of a stocked bar. A few lines off of 20/20 vision. A few nails short of a sturdy foundation. A few cigarettes short of a pack. All that and then some.

I spoke, groggy, rambling. I unwittingly told her how to be me.

"Start chain smoking. Develop a healthy drinking habit... and an unhealthy narcotics one. Check yourself into rehab about 2 or 3 years after that. Write a book, almost get it published and have them revoke the contract right after that. Become bitter and highly develop a sense of dry humor. Develop a general disdain for people, and you'll feel comfortable. Grow a sac, get a job, start hating life, bite a bullet, find poetry, fuck god, and live your life."

She ran out crying. I laughed. It was finally quiet.

I want to be a child psychologist. Specializing in children of addicts.
 
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I LOVE IT.
I think if you ended it at "I unwittingly told her how to be me." it would be better.

That last paragraph, that summation, is all already said much better above. So chop it off.

Just the opinion of a welder.
 
Hmm, my father is a welder/steamfitter/etc.

I feel as if I chop it off something from it will be missing, something sick from it that I'd like to be there. Also, I feel like if I put the "unwittingly" line in at the end, like I'm patronizing "the audience", like it's somewhat cliched. I don't know why. But I appreciate your review and time to do it, I post in this thread from time to time and people rarely if ever review it (not speaking ill of anyone).
 
The audience doesnt matter. So be sure not to ever let THEM have any say.

But of course, you know your work. And, as I'm new here, I look forward to more.
 
Never mind all that, what we really want is some more Randy Page... or maybe his very gifted progeny, Randy Page Jr.
 
The audience doesnt matter. So be sure not to ever let THEM have any say.

But of course, you know your work. And, as I'm new here, I look forward to more.

Maybe it's just that I think it's patronizing in general haha.

Thank you hon :)

/ completely ignoring Randy Page :p
 
At The Cal

The day was January 24th, 2009, and I had booked us a room at the California Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, this was the same place where we first happened to have met a little over a year ago. I told my wife about booking a hotel room for us at our old place and she was happy. The previous week before the booking, my wife just started a new job -- making only $7.50/hr doing tedious tasks and listening to incompetent trainers. I figured she needed to get away from it all, so did I.
I've been collecting unemployment since Christmas time due to the current recession and my job no longer needing me to come into work. I can't say I've done too much between then and now other than going to the sports book to place some bets, drink beer, clean the house, watch the dog, and fill out a few applications here and there for jobs I didn't want. Still, the fact of the matter was that it all had to change sooner or later, it was a trap, the 40 hour work week, before it was easy to find a job to get stuck into, a working-mans routine, society liked it when you told them that you did something rather than nothing, but now with the current economy, more people were doing nothing.
The day begin as usual, we decided to stay at the house until close to check-in time At the Cal, so we did our last minute things before leaving. My wife did her workout routine, while I had a beer and cigarette outside. We were both looking forward to staying the night at The California Hotel, we've both been feeling stressed out, taking life too serious and forgetting to enjoy each others company. I put a change of clothes in the suitcase, while my wife packed her clothes, high heels, and the other necessities like toothbrushes and toothpaste. It felt like we were going on a long vacation and leaving all our troubles behind.
We loaded up the car and got inside to make the five minute drive downtown to the California Hotel. On the way we decided to pick up a bottle of Spumante to drink and celebrate in the hotel room. I could tell by the look on my wife's face that the emotions and memories of our first time being there were overwhelming her. We parked the car on the 3rd floor of the parking garage and begin to walk into the casino lobby where the hotel check in desk is located. As we got closer my heart began to pound faster...
"What's your last name?" The hotel clerk asked me.
"McDougall," I responded.
"Thomas?"
"Yes, that's me."
My wife stood to the left of me as I showed the clerk my ID card and credit card for the billing. He began typing the information into the desk computer and printing up the room receipt and shoved the room keys into an envelope and handed it to me.
"Your room number is 2226, we hope you enjoy your stay at the California Hotel," he said politely.
"Thank you," I told him back.
We grabbed our bags off the floor and began to walk towards our hotel room. My wife lead the way saying,
"Our room is over here, just follow me."
So, I let her lead me through the maze of compulsive gamblers and casino slot machines. We arrived at the elevators doors and pushed the button waiting for the elevator to descend down the shaft. Ding! It arrives and we get on and press the button to our floor. We arrive on our floor and get out, looking around at the new but familiar hallway, we walk down the long path looking for our room number, above us are mirrors and we look up and stare at ourselves for a second then keep walking.
"This is our room," my wife says.
I pull the key from the envelop and slide it in the key slot, we see the green light come on and hear the door click and unlock, turning the knob, we walk inside and begin to look around the room. It was a little different than our previous room, but had a familiar feeling, it had two beds, like the first time we stayed there, even though we only ended up using one. It also had a better view out the window looking down towards Main Street. We didn't bother to unpack our stuff being that we only were only staying one night, we figured we'd just change out of the suitcase. We put the Spumante in the mini fridge, along with some bottles of water and a tall can of beer. We then kiss, kiss, and kiss. It felt great being there and being together. This was the place where everything began, this is the place where I feel in love with my wife.
We climbed into bed, wasting no time, and began to undress each other, I kissed my wife on her neck and began to touch her body. We made love. When we were done we laid in bed naked under the blankets just holding each other and kissing. It felt good to be with her, life felt good.
"I love you Thomas," she'd tell me constantly.
"I love you too Val," I'd tell her back.
Every time I looked into her eyes they seemed to be full of love, they looked at me like her heart was melting.
I asked her if she was okay and she said,
"I'm just happy!"
After the sex my wife was sleepy and I was hungry, I hadn't eaten anything all day. So, I told her that I was running downstairs to the casino to pick-up some food and that she could rest for a little bit until I got back. She looked up at me with her eyes half closed and said okay. I put my clothes back on and checked my back pocket for my wallet like I always do, it's a habit I've had ever since I lost it last year at the pool hall. I kissed my wife on her mouth and told her that I'd be right back. She kissed me back, saying, "I love you too," while laying naked in bed under the blankets.
As I walked out of the elevator into the casino lobby, it felt like I was really on vacation, away from it all. Everything seemed brand new, the neon lights, the people, the bad Hawaiian t-shirts they were all wearing, the sound of people hitting jackpots. I walked through the casino to this take-out food place and got in line. I ordered the tempura shrimp with onion rings and two egg rolls. The cook dropped my order and smiled presently telling me to pay at the cashier. I walked to the cashier, a short Hawaiian girl who didn't understand when I told her my order, I repeated myself two more times, she finally placed the order and took my money.
When I got back to the hotel with the food, my wife was still in bed with the television on. I put the food down on the table and went over to her to give her a kiss. She got out of bed and sat with me at the table to eat the food. It felt good to be with her, I leaned from across the table to kiss her while her mouth was full of food, she kissed me back. I took out the bottle of Spumonte from the mini-fridge and poured us both some into the hotel room plastic cups. We made a toast to our being together forever and our love for each other and drank from the plastic cups.
"What do you want to do?" I asked her.
"We can walk the downtown strip and get a margarita at the Fremont casino."
"We can do that," I told her.
That night we walked down the downtown strip arm in arm, kissing along the way, life was beautiful with the canopy of the Fremont street experience as our tunnel of love.
We walked into a bar we've been into a few times and found two seats at the end of the bar.
"We'll have a Budweiser and a margarita," I told the bartender.
"Can I see some ID?" he asked us.
We showed him our ID's then he went to get our drinks. As he went to get our drinks we talked... about everything. My wife stayed close to me, she was very beautiful and I felt very lucky to have her as my wife. I held her close and rubbed her thighs as we talked. We drank our drinks slowly enjoying each others conversations. The night was long and belonged to us. We drank and talked for about an hour before we left. We had plans to go down to another restaurant called Triple 777, where we planned to eat some sushi rolls.
AT Triple 777, we were seated at a more intimate table where we could sit side-by-side next to each other. My wife loves sushi and went directly to the sushi menu, I browsed the items but decided I wasn't too hungry and to split her order. She ordered three rolls, our favorite being the Unagi roll. I decided to try something new and ordered an oyster shooter mixed with a shot of tequila. The waitress who took our order looked at me when I asked for the shooter, asked me if I was older than 21, I told her, "Yes," she thought about carding me, then placed the order without checking my drivers license.
 
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I've always been in awe of Randy Page. He was a real discovery.

This is killing me. Pick out Screams from the Balcony, and flick to about page 260, please...

the_penny_drops.gif


:eek:
 
something to do

there's nothing to do tonight,
i placed my bets on the basketball games,
small wagers,
a couple winners - more losers.

no luck.

my wife is working the evening shift,
when i was single i'd just drink a bottle of whiskey
to help pass the time.

but i have to pick her up in five hours,
and my eye sight is already going bad,
plus i don't need a DUI.

i used to masturbate when i had nothing to do,
but i don't even have the urge to do that anymore,
my wife keeps me happy.

the dog is laying upside down on the arm chair in the living room,
i turn on the radio,
the speakers are turned loud and vibrate the floor,
he jumps up and looks at me sideways.

i tell him sorry and pet him on the head,
then i turn down the radio,
sit down at the laptop,
and write this,
we'll call it --- something to do.
 
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Biting the hand

I always thought poetry was written by people
at the bottom of the social scale
But here's a lawyer writing it
And another one works
for the government.
The scene has been infiltrated
And turned on its head.
They write well, of course,
These educated ones:
But it's hardly an accomplishment,
is it - in being able to
from the off?
There's a feeling of sterility:
they just haven't suffered
They just haven't been stymied
or in a bad enough fix.

I'd wish them ill
But it wouldn't do any good.
 
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Kurt

Straw-hair screams
lamentations and joys.
Distortions loom and
obscure,
afflicted winnings
bite
to the degree
that
a mouthfull of
sweet success
departed my head,
through the back,
crimsoning said straw,
as I left my sonic mark
in another,
the last,
effort
wistful
of the rugged real
and sorely plaid-en'd
remembrances
left on the stages
and in the hearts
of far, far too many.


thats my poem about him...whos next?
 
O.K., english is not my native language, but today I felt inspired to write my first poem in english about feelings I have when things get sort of rough...

SWINE COFFIN

Smoke too much
Think too much
Drink too much
Coffee and tea
Still I can't see
Burn me out
From the inside
Running amok
No place to hide
Making me feel
So uptight
Calming down
Myself tonight
The mess of today
Took me away
To places I've been
Too often before
Another stranger
Opened the door
I had locked by myself
You took me away
But I wouldn't stay
You ruined my day
So please go away
I'm thirsty for life
Not struggle and strife
Am I wearing a sign that says
"More stress, please!"
Too many dramas
Knocked down on my knees
I need to sleep
For more than one year
My frozen eyes
Shed no single tear
I had locked that door by myself
 
A rhymer for you all about my one and only.

Steel

I like mine of ferrous breed,
alleviates all aches and needs,
replaces every cult and creed.
If I was steel I would not bleed

Hammer-spanked it might comply,
radiant taffy's touch will fry
some flesh, but utter slight a cry
you wont, 'neath Steel's most judging eye.

Beaten, battered, bruised and burned
I limp towards beer no lesson learned.
For wife and kids a buck was earned,
and for myself some steel's been turned

into yet another weighty abomination.
 
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