September 1st, 2005
|anithradia||07:23 pm - a post inspired by a post in order to inspire other posts|
If this community keeps popping up in flists enough, it has to get active sometime, right? Right.
Here's what used to be a sonnet (and what mr_quackenbush insists still is), which was actually written at the bequest of the aforementioned pser whilst he was busy corrupting me. As in we were having an IM conversation Saturday. The poem is named "Saturday" (a moment of minute creativity). Just wanted to see what you guys think of it!
sky mottled gray, grass shag carpet
air creeps in & warning
i'm stuck by the phone scripted marionette
no phone call
skinned knees but the bandaid box is gone
this house on stilts has lost stability
it tilts in tumbles on the lawn
splinters in shag carpet bleed dirty feet
down down soak grass grows red patches
i laugh and laugh in the madgirl's uncooked meat
tapeworm my inside it unattaches
my fingers i dial somehow
three rings you answer I hang up now
Is "flists" a word?
"i laugh and laugh in the madgirl's uncooked meat"
Very strange imagery, kind of sticks out. Creepy, I kind of like it. I also like tapeworms.
I also am a horribly negligent mod and feel very badly about it.
it is quite all right, i was like that all throughout this summer.
flists is a combination of "friends" and "lists".
i didn't coin it, someone else on my ... ah ... flist, did.