poets and stuck in the middle

I'm writing this post in between looking at so many Tumblr pages. Tumblr is more addicting than PCP. Okay, so I've never done PCP (not that I know of!!! could've been slipped into a drink of mine once upon a time! we'll never know for sure! who stopped the rain! creedence clearwater revival did! all of your dads love CCR, don't they?), but I bet if PCP is addictive, it's at least slightly less addictive than Tumblr.

I can't believe that my fingers know automatically where the keys on the keyboard are. Are my fingers god? Is god within my fingers? Does the entire UNIVERSE exist within my pinky finger? How many fingers left until we reach Babylon? God, that does not even make sense. How many cents does it take to reach a dollar? If we're talking about pennies, then 100. One hundred pennies. One hundred penises, floating through (cyber)space. Wanna cyber? I kid. No one cybers anymore, mostly because the hot lap tops that are placed on our laps (aka our GENITALS) have made us sterile and bored. We are more into mirrors than we are into skin-on-skin.

That last paragraph. Uh oh.

Poetry will always always always win my heart. If you know and appreciate poetry - like, you live it, feel it, let it seep into your fragile bones - I will fall hopelessly in love with you.

I already have! I have sorta kinda maybe fallen in love with a certain poet. I can't tell you who it is! Not yet. But I need to work my magic in order for this southern charm to bite my hook.

I'm goddamn tired. Goddamned or goddamn? God doesn't mind if we say "goddamn." Language is such a "dangerous weapon." Want me to explain that? Then buy me a drink and force force FORCE me to leave my room and I will explain it.

In the meantime, I don't know why I came here tonight.