Bantering with Octagons

[cybergirly]

It's best to take the dayglo purple rifles side. They are possible to argue with, but it can become messy. You must have a yard stick to clean up after them.

Poetry is but an octagon without so many sides. Much like a square is really a circle within a square.

 

[cymbidia]

Oh My!

Poetry.
Octogons.
Fucking.

Evolution, baby. Accept it, roll around in it, and be drop-kicked into a new way of life or remain rigid and be passed over.

Life wants what it wants when it wants it.

You can own a sweater or a dog but you can't own thoughts, at least thoughts that aren't yours. Thoughts spin and glitter and take on life apart and aside from what you've intended. Plans and needs dictate beginnings. Life, though, scrawls the adventure in looping staccato bursts of sensation, defining and dividing and divining little itsy bits of meaning from each participant.

Get out of the shallow end of the gene pool.

Take a plunge into the infinite possibilities contained within the worldocean of words and thoughts and reasons and illogic.

Fucking.
Octogons.
Poetry.

Relax!

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Octagons fucking poetry

no wonder mine are so screwed, and maybe ask the silent sigh, sigh, silent sigh, into the night.

Make it feel good make you feel alright

O h yeah

 

[cybergirly]

Yeah I've heard that too. Only when the wind blows, can you hear the dancing of the gnomes. Singing in silence is best left to the tree-top dwellers.

 

[sigh]

singing silent sighs into the night
is a dillinger delight
or is that fright?

talk the banter of octagonal idiocy and that's cool
oh so cool
so cool it's chill

chill Will fucks ice for a thrill
but his boner freezes
and the ice sleazes
oh, if only looks could kill

still,
it's better than nothing

hey dill,
chill Will still will kill
so
thrill
me
now

 

[Dillinger]

Its summer no chill. But perhaps a thrill. Who knows. I'm cool. Its all in good fun even under the sun. Damned if I'm not fucking rhyming again! Geez.

Hey where's that week old hamburger? I think I've just figured out how to make a time machine out of week old hamburger meat and sofa cushions. At least it will be a comfy ride!

NO ONE EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!

 

[rubymyst]

the heat of the summer
the chill of the grave

Now,
nearer an end,
the cold fire
sheds no light,
and I am still,
once again,
as
in the beginning,
so much
a child
frightened
by the night.

 

[cymbidia]

No light sheds on the peanut shells littering the hippopotamus hide sheltering the fragility of my littlegirllost abandonment. And why should it? Ultimately we are all alone, dust on the wind of change, time, love, and loss. Twirl and whirl then, scream and shout, live and love, and throw great handfuls of nonsense into the skies. Nothing really matters; honor and dignity do a poor job of keeping a body warm at night, that's for sure.

 

[Dillinger]

Canned yams. Its always the fucking canned yams. And I knew it, I new it. But did anyone listen? No.

Now the peanut fire is chilly and wet.

 

[cybergirly]

Fire ran down the mountain, covering the chili with a cold wet ease. Why do the words wrap around as they do? Making no sense, no sentence structure to speak of, rambling. Is it just me?

Words fail me, or perhaps I fail the words. Searching, unable to just let it come. Perhaps I've waited to long. I try not to think, just to do, but when I think about it, I end up thinking anyway. What kind of a solution is that?

 

[Dillinger]

No solution is the best solution unless you've got liquid solubles that bubble and froth like something from one of those mad scientists in those old black and white movies.

 

[cybergirly]

It would be so simple if we could see things only in black and white, like a sea turtle looking up from the depths of the river. Watching the colors ebb and flow makes my head spin. Red and yellow, purple and green, too many to colour, to many to retain. Orange being the worst of all, yet also the best. Much like a lemon, with a sweeter zest.

 

[Dillinger]

Zest for life like a magic carpet ride, cruising along reading Hesse, and strung out on too much milk and cookies. Life's like that. Lots of jello and lug nuts.

 

[cybergirly]

Nuts are but tape to hold together lifes bolts. Some like cashews you may want to keep, while others like peanuts may make you weep.
Rhyming wasn't suppose to happen, but some how it took that turn, it was called for by the timing.

Irony is not only ironic, but at times moronic as well.

 

[Dillinger]

You know what I always thought was moronic? A high colonic.

I mean really. Yucky poo!

Eternity is the time it takes for everything to happen at least once. Therefore I guess someone has to suffer a high colonic. Actually, when you think about it, if EVERYTHING has to happen at least once before the end of eternity then everyone would have to suffer a high colonic. In fact, if you REALLY think about it, every creature that ever lived or ever will live will eventually have to suffer a high colonic. Hmmm - evern worse, all matter, regular and anti, will have to suffer a high colonic.

Such is life.

 

[sigh]

eternity is the time
of all times
and there's lots of time in eternity
to find time to waste some time

it's eternity, after all

wake me at a half past eternity
so i'll not sleep the universe away

 

[Dillinger]

Away and avast ye maties and ye gilligans and ye others who will someday experience a high colonic. The universe is waiting and it waits for no man yet it is waiting so what's up with that anyway?

 

[Svedish_Chef]

the universe is bored.

You are the only man I know who dreams his landscapes in paint

 

[Dillinger]

The universe is my canvas. The paint is many and varied. I post on this board not to be bored but everytime I do my COCK becomes hard as board. Ah well, the time dwarfs are coming soon and will probably unleash the Jabberwock and Bandersnatch and then all hell will break loose. I need my parka.

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Look out, its going to rain.

Time here is an instant, but life is forever, love is eternal and I am here to stay.

 

[cybergirly]

I would like to go, but I fear I must stay. Sometimes though I feel I would be better to compare others to leaves falling from the mouths of trees, so complicated and yet so simple. Shall I come or should I stay, would the trees even notice?

 

[cymbidia]

The trees watch as i go or i stay or i move at random, always following a trail of breadcrumbs through the dense darkness. Leastways, that's the way it feels; fuck the reality.

 

[Svedish_Chef]

Fuck the reality
Save the fantasy

Keep it alive
Keep me going

Sway, my way
I need to know all about you

What dreams may come.
Something wicked this way comes.

 

[Dillinger]

Shakespeare, Bradbury. Same difference. What scares me most is Tim Curry jumping out a sewer in clown make up. Makes me want to hide in a tree.

 

[cybergirly]

Bradbury burned books by the seashore, as jackets went up in smoke, people wept into their snowcones. Laughing, crying, dancing, dying, no one noticed the difference.