the world

I told her to look up. Given the choice, I say, always look up. With my finger I traced the outline of an upside down elephant and his misshapen trunk. In between her gasps and sobs she said she saw it and wondered if I saw her dinosaur to the left of my elephant. The clouds were on the move so I lied, worried that I would miss it anyway. "Oh...yeah" I said and she seemed satisfied. The game had momentarily taken her mind off of the fact that she couldn't breathe, but she was back at it again. "I'm going to die. And I just keep thinking about how my dog died, and about how my grandmother died five years ago..." She wanted something from me. I laid back on the hot, prickly grass that poked my arms and neck like needles. "Look at them...one second an elephant, the next a dinosaur, the next..."

If you give anything time, it can be something else.

"And you, you have all the time in the world."

get out to get in

The woman behind the words is a recovering dependent, finding solace here, in these lines and pages.

Replacing one with another, I don't think they call this progress.

Lost between worlds living all loving none and when it stops all that remains is edges frayed

Finding comfort in consistency of this and that though there is nothing comforting about THAT consistency.

Wanting to test how much they care(at the risk of never finding out). Instead,

I sip my bourgeois brand of tea coupled with a reduced-fat coffee cake and wonder, just how commercial will life get?

His voice is therapy sought. Singing the pieces back from the cracks where life touches our fingertips.

We're all living fictions.

the writer, unknown,

has placed it in

an unflattering light.

tryna find the words...

Mark Twain once wrote, "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug." You can imagine then the vast difference between the right word and the absolute wrong wrong wrong word...lightning and a flicker so minuscule that it might not even exist.

Poor David Guetta illustrates this struggle most prominently in his hit single, "Sexy Bitch." He sings:

I'm tryna find the words to describe this girl
without being disrespectful

The right word is difficult isn't it? Especially when you find yourself in circumstances that evoke such awe. All descriptions seem to fall short but us writers, that doesn't keep us from tryna...I mean, attempting.

The frustrating piece as an audience member is when it's blatantly obvious that the author has settled for something cliche or in this case really ridiculously unnecessarily offense. Guetta sings the struggle and concludes with this refrain:

Damn Girl!!!

Damn, you's a sexy bitch, sexy bitch!
Damn, you's a sexy bitch!

Damn Girl!!!

Writer's block? Laziness? Insight into the pig-headed mind of this macho-maniac? I'm not quite certain. What I do know is that this singer/songwriter requires a little assistance complimenting a woman from one of my favorite friends, thesaurus.com

Substitute out "Sexy" for any of the following:

adorable, alluring, beautiful, beckoning, bewitching, captivating, charming, comely, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, enticing, fair, fascinating, fetching, glamorous, good-looking, gorgeous, interesting, inviting, looker, lovely, luring, magnetic, mesmeric, pleasant, pleasing, prepossessing, pretty, stunning, taking...

Substitute out "Bitch" for:

girl, lady, lass, female, woman...

Combine and sing:

fascinating woman, captivating lass, lovely lady, charming girl...

To claim something as difficult solicits evidence of attempted endeavors. If the desired result is more than a slap in the face I would suggest some major editing (to perhaps more than just these lyrics).

And Guetta, just so you know, girls won't be flattered if you note that there is such an apparent contrast between them and your neighborhood whore. If they are then I would wonder if there actually is.


New add to the shit list: all who ask to be called Mr. Flintstone. (see Lil' Wayne).

never is the less (the less you have nevered)

i'll tell you a story
though not mine
i'll tell it just the same
made up places, faces and pains
but all truth, nonetheless.
i'll tell a story
though not yours
i'll tell it just the same
made up names, dates and frames
but certainly fact, nevertheless
(never. the. less. haven't you come to expect as much)
i'll tell you this story
though not ours
i'll tell it exactly the same
made up motives, emotions and
yet certainly that's your shoe size

i'm positive of that.
when it's not, it always is

tell it like it is
find me in the knot.

find me.

retell this story with a different color brick
if you give anything time it can be something else

i am not the dough meant for the cookie cutter

pushing and pulling just to fray the edges

kneading what it all really means

is to justify that

the inability to solidify

has purpose.