Friday, January 06, 2012
I was doing my four miles on the cardio wave machine, when the man came on my Zune and made me happier than being 137 pounds made me by saying:
Why do you do the things you've done
and how dumb would you have to be
to do them again like I know you're going to?
If you're the poet you say you are and beauty's in everything you see,
then how can love exist in a world run by people like you?
Because when there's suffering, you're there.
From southern trees, you hang them in the air.
The world screams out in agony and you don't care,
but should the shit hit the fan,
I just pray.you will not be spared.
FUCK YOU.
I had to listen to that beginning part four times in a row to make sure it wasn't that "runner's high" making me smile. I don't believe such a thing as a runner's high actually exists except in people who are masochists, but I had to make sure. Four miles a day on that damned thing gets me raising my fist in anger at everything I see. My times are getting faster, though, and it helps with my walking until I stiffen up again.
Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse,
Wherein I did not some notorious ill:
As kill a man, or else devise his death;
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;
Set deadly enmity between two friends;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears,
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
I don't think that Titus Andronicus guy was such an asshole. They all deserved what was coming to them.
said Tommy T. at 3:54 PM - #
|
Why do you do the things you've done
and how dumb would you have to be
to do them again like I know you're going to?
If you're the poet you say you are and beauty's in everything you see,
then how can love exist in a world run by people like you?
Because when there's suffering, you're there.
From southern trees, you hang them in the air.
The world screams out in agony and you don't care,
but should the shit hit the fan,
I just pray.you will not be spared.
FUCK YOU.
I had to listen to that beginning part four times in a row to make sure it wasn't that "runner's high" making me smile. I don't believe such a thing as a runner's high actually exists except in people who are masochists, but I had to make sure. Four miles a day on that damned thing gets me raising my fist in anger at everything I see. My times are getting faster, though, and it helps with my walking until I stiffen up again.
Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse,
Wherein I did not some notorious ill:
As kill a man, or else devise his death;
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;
Set deadly enmity between two friends;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears,
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
I don't think that Titus Andronicus guy was such an asshole. They all deserved what was coming to them.
said Tommy T. at 3:54 PM - #
|
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