April 2011
59 posts
“Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives…and to the ‘good life’, whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.”
—Hunter S. Thompson
March 2011
54 posts
I found this poem, written by someone at my school, who I don't know, but I couldn't resist posting it. It's so good.
San Francisco
it occurs to me that I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore
that you wont help me sleep and I won’t find Dostoyevsky interesting because you told me to
that I’m in love with identities who are excessive
who are broke
who are not quirky in a 16th and Valencia post-apocalyptic euphoric kind of way
you wont catch my references
and it suits you
San Francisco
when will you drag yourself out of that bar that wont serve us
South of Market?
“what’s on tap” doesn’t sound so smooth when you say it
San Francisco
why didn’t you go to college?
there’s something nice about
(113 million dollar deficit) knowing
you don’t own a computer
I can’t understand your reluctance to medicate
I wouldn’t want people calling me up at 3 AM for drugs either but-
-okay
they make you too honest
San Francisco
I read bukowski too but I don’t use him to keep alive oppression
when does rainfall count for salvation?
you’re clichéd and I like it
how can you be an atheist but carve angels to your doors?
I don’t believe in God either but I don’t take my mother to church on Sundays
if you heard me talking to myself, would you stop me?
I am 52 Amtrak tickets, 52 cents, and an overcoat
how much are you worth?
you have some self-assessment issues
you’re not alone here and you can’t go on anymore pretending-
I’ve smoked you neatly in a joint everyday of my life for nine years
I practiced rolling in your bedroom
you’re face is shaped like a million crumpled poems
thrown together by the Sunday Times
it would be Monday and you wouldn’t read the Chronicle
San Francisco
why did you call the cops on us?
can’t I sit below the bridge in peace and not have the headlights
in for tea at dawn?
when will you be grateful for our perfection?
us wanting to give up our obsessions for you
us wanting to be drunk down your streets
us having unjustified beauty and distorted visions
and us winding up at your door begging for a cup of coffee too early to be morning
San Francisco
I haven’t finished (in a black eyes and black hair, rockabilly, call home, your parents miss you) my poem yet
But I’m not reading too far into it
GODDAMMMMIT!!!
I lose everything when I’m drunk. I lost my favorite beanie and my favorite white eyeliner over the weekend :’( I’m actually super bummed.
travis, ogletree.: Why I won't donate blood: →
travisogletree.tumblr.com
Two days ago I got a phone call from Blood Source, a blood bank in Redding, CA, asking me how my last visit was, and If I were able to donate more blood because there is such a high demand for it.
The last time I went into Blood Source, I felt very unwelcome. After filling out a questionnaire…
I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Travis. There is no excuse for discrimination.
“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.”
—William Faulkner
I am just a ball of bad decisions.
