so c’mon guys, put away your penis for a minute and write something poetic and profound, or funny, or serious
a poem about life, love, and freedom of thought, let your fingers talk on the keys
a poem about boobies even…if you want
I wish I hadn’t said that now
Can’t say it without
a younger time,
a younger Dad.
'How do you scare a hive?'
enthusiasm over mirth
he’s not him
life now is hard, bitter, cruel.
years are stones piled on
I will become
what he is not
"I’d like to see the promoted Schick cliff diving GIF on my dash again!!"
— No one, ever.
"Our love is like the border between Greece and Albania."
— International Small Arms Traffic Blues
-the Mountain Goats
I believe that this instinct to perpetuate useless work is, at bottom, simply fear of the mob. The mob (the thought runs) are such low animals that they would be dangerous if they had leisure; it is safer to keep them too busy to think. A rich man who happens to be intellectually honest, if he is questioned about the improvement of working conditions, usually says something like this:
‘We know that poverty is unpleasant; in fact, since it is so remote, we rather enjoy harrowing ourselves with the thought of its unpleasantness. But don’t expect us to do anything about it. We are sorry for you lower classes, just as we are sorry for a, cat with the mange, but we will fight like devils against any improvement of your condition. We feel that you are much safer as you are. The present state of affairs suits us, and we are not going to take the risk of setting you free, even by an extra hour a day. So, dear brothers, since evidently you must sweat to pay for our trips to Italy, sweat and be damned to you.’
— George Orwell
‘Down and Out in Paris and London’
And it confuses me. What sound does a boob make and how loud?
I am… curious.