Mining

Been extracting gold
From each others souls,
Though something more precious
Then stones.
When the walls came tumbling down,
It was be buried alive or get out,
Half of me ran, half of me stayed
And I'm so tired trying to dig myself out.
So I'll leave that piece of me in your mine,
wondering if he is still alive.
Wondering if he is still finding gold
Fragments in the hard core.

I must scout the rocky terrain alone
Search for a new place to dig,
Knowing I won't always find gold
But exhilarated by the hope.

The stones I've carried for you
I must set aside
Knowing only time can erode,
Break them into little pieces
To understand better
What to look for,
What constituted my gold mine.
Examine the weakness of the rocks
That caused it to fall apart,
To help in the crumbling,
To prevent a relapse of collapse.

Those castles built of sand
Are easy to make, and easily break.
Gold is malleable in its purest form.

I still carry gold for you
Hard to spend, hard to share
Hard to make you aware
I want to move past
The trinkets of our past
But every twinkling eye sets
An inkling in my eye of the weight
I carried for you.

I'm apprehensive
This will make cents.

No easy way to explain,
What has been lost,
And the cost to my sanity
If I cannot plant in me
The fact I can live without you.

Dig till I break a sweat
Dig till my hands are blistered
Till my knees are bloody,
Till the lights are barely visible,
till the sky is my ceiling
And the hole is my home.

Safety and security,
Absurd as it may be
Brought when I am strong enough
To be on my own.








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Dear Mr. Zimmerman

Hey bob Dylan 

I feel your pain 

This modern world

 Can really be pain 

And the hours we sweat

 To the dollar we make

 Natures gift

Is all society takes 

Bends it whim and will 

Through the modern age

Hey bob Dylan 

I'm singing your song

 Because nostalgia is the only thing 

Saving our souls 

Now they know everything 

About you and me.

But they can't see the souls the encapture 

With greed 

It is built to big for us defend ourselves

Hey bob Dylan

 They have posters of you

 And movies 

And billboards 

And famous dead people

 Have posters too 

In the subway cars streets and bar 

And stores 

We can't help but to want more.

Hey bob Dylan

 The cause is to far away 

The cure has but silent words.

The greatest trick 

The devil ever pulled

Was making them think

 He didn't exist 

I'm not a Christian 

But I realize the real meaning of this.

Hey bob Dylan

 I'm lost you know 

My Estella was Ice 

Carrying old flames.

I offered her my insolence 

And I deserve her scorn.

 Come in she said 

I'll give you

Shelter from the storm.

Hey bob Dylan

 I can't play guitar 

And my harmonica and me

 Can't hold a tune.

Say hi to Guthrie and lead belly, 

Lennon and Cash 

And Dylan Thomas to. 

I could only hope 

To inspire 

One of you. 

Hey bob Dylan

 Is what we have 

Really worth saving 

The pictures in dust 

And the CDs rust

 Our world is Biodegrading.

 Will my debts have me hung,

In an economy 

that's always failing, 

In these times of change?

Hey bob Dylan

 The ice bergs melting 

Add fresh water to the ocean 

Lowering its total toxicity

 And we cant put our faith 

In what we know 

Can destroy us.

I do not feel that good

When I see it around me 

And realize 

We're the disease.

From Nowhere

      I was riding my bike down the highway, the sun was warm and I had no destination. It was a nice day; cool breezes ran off the lake, the corn fields were knee high. Then came a feeling, I am not sure to this day why I followed it. Just a feeling I guess that led me here.

 

        At an unmarked gravel road I turned my bike, spotting it as my best opportunity to take a quick naked swim in the water unbothered. As I neared the tree line, I felt in luck, no cottages seemed to lie in this place. Not until I was into the trees did I notice a large red building, two brick stories tall, hiding under a flurry of untamed ivy. There was a hand painted sign over the door proclaiming this to be city hall. Half the windows on one side of the building were smashed, and had been boarded over quickly. Just the look of the place haunted me. I got off my bike to take a look inside. It was locked. I walked around until I found a window near the back of the building low enough for me to peer through. Many of the other windows to this room had been smashed, inside looked dark and dirty, broken bed frames lie strewn all twisted amongst themselves, only recognizable by the few stained mattresses that lie in the corner. I walked back around to the front of the building. "City Hall" was the question on my mind.

 

           I got back on my bike and continued with my ride into the woods, I came across a clearing where fifteen or so crudely constructed log cabins sat strewed in no particular direction. It was filled with strange silence; I found it odd but let it be. At the edge of what was the community lies a steep twisted road that led down to the sea.

 

           The bike was picking up good speed, when about halfway down the hill, my front tire caught on a large chunk of broken glass. The tire blew out, I struggled to keep control, a split second later the rim of the wheel dived into a pot hole and bent sideways. I flew over the bars into a pile of brush, and as my luck would have it, a thorn bush. For a moment I lay there in complete shock alternating between pain and anger. How I cursed those aluminum rims with vigor. I unhitched the front tire and threw it deep into the woods. I began to walk back up the hill with the broken bike.

 

          I had meant to bring my cell phone with me that day, but in my thirst and hunger for sun, I had left with ten bucks and the shirt on my back. If I could find a phone, I could phone my cousin in the next town to pick me up. we would have a few beers and laugh at my misfortunes. I never did get that beer, I never made the call.

 

           Sweat pouring off me; I came back up into the clearing. Looking in windows, nothing too spectacular, old beds. A big old television with turn knobs and minnows swimming in place of picture tubes. Then I found what I was looking for. Inside one cabin lies a telephone.

 

           The cabin was in disrepair and inside the dust was thick of years lying. The door gave easily, inside was warm and filthy, thick dust covered everything, from unwashed dishes to the uneven floorboards. One thing struck me as odd, lying on the floor looked to be a child's toy, hand carved and broken. The place was pretty creepy so I made haste to the telephone, an old black turn dial, i picked up the receiver.

 

             "Can we help you?"

 

          I almost shit myself, I swung around to face two poorly dressed, blond haired, mid-thirties, examining my every mood. In my shock I dropped the phone, never sure if it worked. I bent over and set it back on the receiver. He was probably thirty two, his eye lids were held half mast, his hair had been cut amateurly to shoulder length, his grin was stretched but friendly enough. She was another story, darting green eyes, skin tanned and pulled tight over her bones. She looked to be almost forty except for the perky breasts which were quite apparent through her white rag of a shirt.

 

            "Ya, I was just going to make a phone call." I sounded so dumb. I felt dumb.

 

          They explained to me that none of the hydro was working, and the only place to get ahold of anyone was to go to the city hall. Reluctantly I followed. He carried my bike for me, and she seemed particularly interested in politics and government, she picked my brain over countries and histories of adopted governmental policies. She seemed really interested in communism and its set of ideals. I started to relax a bit.

 

               When we got to the "City Hall", the man turned to me and asked me if i wanted something to cure my pain. Politely I declined, citing that I must phone my cousin. Then he said something I wasn't expecting.

 

             "Are you sure you wouldn't like to smoke some marijuana?"

 

                Next thing I know I'm sitting in the "City Hall" library, on a pile of mattresses, right, talking to these people who are my new best friends, right, and I'm asking them about all sorts of stuff and she is talking all this weird shit about revolutions and pilgrims and pyramids and orphans and just weird messed up stuff. He has this big grin on and I could almost swear his eyes were closed.

 

             "Hey man, you wanna see the grow room, the telephone is down there too..."

 

               So I'm Like "okay guy, lets do that then and i wander kind of trippy and i pass some other people and shake hands and everyone is my friend. There clothes are all outdated, but i was sure i saw a newish pair of reeboks, anyways.  We get down to the cellar and he's like

 

             "Wanna make the phone call now" and I'm like

 

             "Ya sure, whatever, probably take a while to find the place" and then I walk into the room an I walk over and pick up the phone,  the fucking telephone, the fucking telephone that doesn't work, and they closed the door, and i don't know how long i have been in here and i don't think i can last much longer in this padded room. I hope you don't find this in my state.

 

                                                                                            Rick Hartman 1979 - ????

 

My head is totally fucked because I just found this scratched behind a loose panels. Now this isn't a joke any more. It has been 9 days, Those people out there are seriously crazy. This is as real as that crazy tight skinned bitches dirty bmx t-shirt. Good thing I always carry my laptop.

 

                                                  

 

                                                                                                                                        

    IkE/2004

Tragos de Spatziergang (tragady the walking)

>In the winter

>a man walks out of the trees

>sets down his gun

>pulls down his zipper

>and leaves a vibrant yellow on the fresh snow

> 

>he does up his zipper

>picks up his gun

>and continues to walk through the woods

>he comes to a line of tracks

>slowly he begins to follow them

>he walks for an hour,

>following the tracks carefully,

>and arrives back to where he began.

> 

>beside his footprints,

>and the tracks

>is now another set of tracks,

>he carefully follows them

>watching carefully for direction,

>after half an hour he turns around

>raises his gun

>and shoots me.

What is love, dear?

The man turned to his lady and questioned, "What, dear, is love?"

            "I don't know," she replied. "I should suppose it has to do with chemical reactions, fate and timing. Theirs has to be a fair share between laughter and despair. Theirs must be the chaos of two burning hearts poured forth into one beautiful, shared idea.  Certainly one would require both respect for others and themselves. Trust would be another keystone forming their ideals of love. In no case whatsoever can a relationship grow anything but sour over undisclosed perversions, submitted feelings and withheld inclinations. Verily, more then all this I believe love must be believed in, in order to be ascertained. Surely if either party cannot believe in the splendor of love, it would die like a greek god, believed only to be a myth that old ladies whisper of well celebrating decades of union. It seems as time progresses, as well as the lives living said time, there seems to be clutters of ill informed information. "Love is dead," seems so callous and disregarding to the human condition, and yet when it is spoke and repeated and believed, it becomes as real as love could have been. Unfortunate it is for those who are so afraid of the concept of love that when it comes to them, they are so afraid of it's pain that they cannot except the wonderful passion, hope and beauty which it can inspire.  And as to those who have fell victim to false hope and promises, who feel cheated by there emotions, one can only pity that they are so trapped inside the past that they cannot except a future, no matter how superior or changed from their last encounter. Furthermore common interests play an important role in the shaping of a relationship. If partners can't form compromise or share opinions then the relationship may develop into a bland ménage of quiet waiting and sudden outbursts; whereas those who have similar interests and ideas may find themselves lost in conversation for years. Lastly, and most importantly, is communication. For a truly successful love to develop, communication must be truly free and honest, no secrets hid and nothing worth hiding. No judgements….

            He turned away. 

At The Station

Sitting in the station,

Here again, gone again, to return again.

 

Every time like the last,

Like the next,

World without end.

 

Looking at life I smile,

All the precious earth at my feet,

Swarmed so thick with air

I breathe freely

Such relief.

 

Step out of the city, back to country lanes.

Step back to the nurturing nature

To refresh my soul

To relieve my brain.

 

Oh cold city,

Your cement face

Stone arms

Tied to you and sinking in the quarry.

Oh cold city,

You exhaust men.

 

So glad to know I can survive

Need a few days free from striving

Or strife.

A few days to remember I'm nice.

 

Sitting in the station,

Here again, gone again, to return again.

I say farewell, but so soon we meet again

Oh cold city, your shiny mirrors harden the individual,

By making all men equal in greed and need

What have you given him

But unfulfillable desire.

 

And my desire is filled

Because I choose to be simple

There is ample for me

Because each day is a new luxury

I lust not,

For she is all I need.

 

 

The river runs beneath the train

The hills are clotted with trees

The clouds are large and changing

Riding high above the breeze.

 

The sun is warm, inviting

The grass is soft sweet green

I think of your eyes and realize

Maybe your thinking of me.

 

What joy to love and be loved

What blessing, what bliss

I can't fin d words for this feeling

So upheaving

In the clouds and trees

In every clod of earth

The harmony of nature rings true

This is the beauty of you and me.

 

Oh, that we should wander through green valleys

Chase each other in unfettered delight

To know no wet in the rain

But be warm, weak and dry in each others grasp.

 

There are surely mountains to climb

Paths that lead us back and forth

Holding hands with a universe flying by

Creating a universe, a reality between us

Ours to cherish and glorify.

 

To take you where you've never been

To go with you where I've never seen

To share something new, like the world has never known

Like time and place and the human race have not allotted

Every day is new, it is always the first time.

 

Each kiss magical splendid and individual,

Each caress born soft and new

Each moment we move forward

Each moment I want to share with you.

 

My reality and yours entwined

In dreams awake we play

And poets speak and cry and mourn,

For that which between us has been borne.

And fools, don't realize it's the only thing worth anything.

Post Apocalypse

There I sat in the office. My leather chair musty with the years of disuse.  It was nice that things were finally getting back to normal. The apocalypse was a cruel time for all of us.

Well, it turns out there is a God, and he fucking hates us.  He drove war machines across the world, unfathomable chaos descended upon man and his very free thinking mind.  All the billions of explosions actually caused such a fantastic change in the temperature of the earth that most of it just died. Great forest became engulfed in flame and disappeared under the watchful eye of cattle; the cattle became as dead as their foraging grounds. Famine rolled its way up to the low middle classes in my own city. In those who could survive the famine among the lower middle class, most of them became ill from the toxins that dead bodies and unhealthy people produced. It is said in one part of the country a plague started in a small town where they had been burning the bodies of the recently famished.  Bell boys, waitresses, telemarketers, nearly sixty different people buried on top of people who had lived off the charity of man. The blood ran into the water reservoir.  They couldn't quarantine it. It escaped and raped and destroyed lives left and right. The weirdest thing about the plague was before you died, you would burst into sporadic Hysterics. You would laugh suddenly and uncontrollably, and then slowly it would overwhelm you into panic. The disease was a microbe much like salmonella, and so light that it floated on air, unlike salmonella. Like A humming bird to feeder it would crawl its way into the sinus then burrow itself into the mind. One head drinking off the adrenaline gland while the other head went strait for the serotonin. The two heads would fight each other when they were full of their mental chemicals. When the two heads split it would kill the host by flooding it with mixed signals.  No Zen Buddhists are have heard to have suffered, but many soccer mothers SUVs flew off roads. It could live in a host for days, probably the most ordinary days of anyone's life, unless you liked cocaine. Cocaine users got it worse then anyone. The chemical reaction between the cocaine and the microbe led to its evolution into a gruesome worm. The worm would make not only the split into two entities but also crawl its way out the ear as the laughter began, causing deafness, migraines, and the worst slowest death possible. I had a long book to write in me, but no one to read it.

O

He l''ked d'wn at his watch and knew that he w'uld be late. He didn't care. He had spent 

his wh'le life being c'urte'usly early 'nly t' find himself waiting a little l'nger.The day 

was seas'nably c'ld and dreary. The N'vember rain was quickly turning the fresh sn'w int' a 

sludgy gray slush. The smell 'f r'tting leaves and car exhaust wafted thr'ugh the air.The 

sidewalk was slippery.

Suddenly he slipped 'n a wet patch. His feet flew up fast, s' fast he 

didn't have time t' prepare a safe landing.

 His head hit the gr'und with a dull thud; 

everything went black. 

When he w'ke up it was dark 'utside. His face and fingers ached; his 

cl'thes were s'aked with the water 'f the dirty gutter in which he had landed. The back 'f 

his head ached, as did his neck.  He sl'wly pulled himself t' his feet. He felt unsteady, 

His knees w'bbled beneath him. He was s' 'ver whelmed by the pain and exp'sure t' the 

elements, he puked int' the rain filled street, watching the v'mit wash al'ng the surface 

'f the water and slide int' the st'rm sewer.  

He l''ked d'wn at his watch. H'w l'ng had he 

been 'ut? But he c'uldn't read the watch face in the dark, that's when it first caught his 

attenti'n.

Where are the streetlights? Where is the traffic?  H'w did I spend all day passed 

'ut in the gutter with n' 'ne n'ticing 'r caring that I was there?

He dug ar'und in his 

p'cket, fished 'ut a cigarette, a lighter, and his cell ph'ne. The ph'nes face pr'claimed 

it t' be 2:37AM, and he had tw' missed calls. Lighting the cigarette with a shiver he 

dialed his v'ice mail.

First message:  "Hey, I'm really s'rry, I'm running ab'ut fifteen, 

twenty minutes behind, I'm c'ming but I will be ab'ut twenty minutes late, h'pe y'u get 

this message, see y'u in a bit. Peace."

Sec'nd message: Hey, maybe y'u didn't get the 

message I left, shit, anyways, well whatever, we'll meet up again s'me 'the..." 

The message 

cut 'ff with the s'und 'f a large crash.

Wh' was this pers'n he was supp'sed t' meet? 

He 

c'ntinued t' shiver. He walked briskly sm'king his cigarette gingerly. He  w'ndered at the 

fact there were n' h'use lights 'n. 'nly after a c'uple bl'cks walking did he realize he 

had n' idea where he was. In fact, he wasn't even certain wh' he was? He searched his 

p'ckets f'r I.D. but failed t' pr'duce any. He pulled 'ut his ph'ne and l''ked at the list 

'f names within. N'ne 'f the names seemed familiar, s' he decided t' call Adam.

N' service.

Amanda.

N' service.

Amy. 

N' service.

Blake.

N' service.

He sat d'wn 'n the c'ld wet curb, put 

his head in his hands, and began t' cry. He felt s' al'ne and scared and l'st. Wh'ever he 

was.

Girl

You've got it backwards.
Don't you know you've got your outside in;
You're much too penetrable in such soft skin.

spy vs spy

in the now
the anti static,
forever, moving forward.

Brother

You've been stressed up
Dressed up to nines
Messed up by lines in sand
Crushed broken shattered
Holding hands.
Let go.
Don't let the scars affect the blood flow
Don't be a clot, don't stop
Everything in your being
Will try to stop you from bleeding
But your heart beating
Pour faster
Braced for disaster
House of cards windstorm warning
Get out of the way of the run away
Train storming through your veins
Vain attempts at sanity
Planting feet greedily
You need compassion
Accept you're needy
But don't hold on to anchors sinking
Drown down *ed around
The smiles and laughter
Over the surround sound
As the eyes that love you most can
Easily tear holes through
Your skin,
Have to know when to let it out
How to let it in.
The world gushes and rolls
We are stuck to Teutonic flows
Pulled apart and smushed up daily,,
Railed by the stale disposition
Our own decisions carve incisions
Through space and time
And the time we share
Can't compare to the time apart
Broken heart fist plaster walls
Tumbling madly the sanity falls
By the wayside
And we get stuck
Trapped within
With our fears laughing madly
At us
And the justice we seek to
Speak of
Reeks of entitlement
Like we're owed a steady flow of
Happiness from the world
Like we should be able to govern it.
But no,
We've been raised on idle TV
Idly buying into idols
And philosophies that success is guaranteed, taking for granted we can get all we need.
But every seed planted doesn't grow
Harnessed by our environment
By the lack of opportunity
If not the lack of trying
Lying to ourselves to say we're not lazy
Dreaming of pushing daisies to skip the denumont,
A climax unforseeable
Not able to relax and agree
That it is better to be then not
Trot horse blinder caught in the race
The chase
To put value to faces and
Come up cherubim aces
Laced with all our
Frustrations that won't
Can't
Ever go away
Until we let go.
Let it flow
Cry honestly,
Then.


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Old Friend

We used to sit out
For hours
After the lawn was done,
Talking about warplanes
And raccoons and cars.

A cup of tea
And a donut
A stockpiled kitchen
And a smile

Lottery tickets and the tinge of smoke
Layered on everything
From years of being to old
To change.

There in the musty kitchen
Court TV and
Condensed milk steeped tea
Dads oatmeal cookies.

You loved animals
Hated the neighbor
Quit smoking and handed me
The final pack.

When his wife passed
He remembered their youth
Fishing out in boats

When he lost his license
I knew his days were numbered

Knocking on the door
Bill's not here anymore
Resting in peace
I hope.

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tractor one ninja zip

in the state I am in. 
not fun.

under a big fucking rock

the taste,
hard to say.
lovers block.
hard to stay.
who gives a fuck.
steeping in the rain of May.
under a big fucking rock,
this is where I lay.
waves of discomfort,
scrapped dreams,
too short to sort.
nothing is ever what it seems.
sort it out mate..

before it's too late.

there is only so much you can take. 
before you break.

Sunshining

Rotten from the inside
With coffee and cigarettes,
Morning time cleansed
With habits that I'll regret.
Looking at the sunshine
Unprepared for the days ahead.

Looking at the skyline divided,
I feel fine
Give me a 360 skyline, and I'll find
My peace of mind

Chewed nail stigma
Choosing paths never well defined
Wading through a jungle
Getting hung up on loose end vines
Staring at the landscape
Never knowing what choice is mine.

Looking at the skyline divided,
I feel fine
Give me a 360 skyline, and I'll find
My peace of mind

For what it's worth
My little space
On a spinning earth,
I just spend
My days paying
Thanks to chance.

Looking at the skyline divided,
I feel fine
Give me a 360 skyline, and I'll find
My peace of mind.

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all is fine, all will come to pass.

all will pass.

Countryside Suicide.

Discontent

Dark heavy feeling
Up between the brows,
Supposing the prose
Might reveal why I frown.
Grown weary of waiting
For the next start,
Weary of wanting
And striving in part.
Wearisome pacing,
Poised with no where left
To run.
Stand my ground
Till I overcome what's got me down,
Drowning in quicksand
Need to lie down,
Even my weight.
The struggle is to bring
My feet even keel with my head
To spread my weight evenly,
Consistently,
Not be beaten by the crippling,
Knee high sands of time.
Hour glass filling and I'm not
fulfilled not fulfilling a days work for daily bread.
Led myself to a desperate corner where I don't know what I want,
So would be happy with any chance
Even if it may not improve
My circumstance.
I struggle with the fear that in this weakened state,
That I may accept too soon,
Having waited so long,
Get it wrong, and only frustrate myself further.
Unfurled and fury against
My incompetence,
The broken cog in the clock of my existence,
But time goes on with or without me.
There is futility
In stating my case,
One so oft begot
In this human race,
Where we strive but end up stranded
On the islands of our own making;
Forsaking the shrouded path
That led us to such place.
To afraid to lead and to tired to chase,
afraid of change and strangers, scarred and barred from that which we should willingly embrace.
Face down in the gutter, sputtering endlessly to myself,
Knowing the face of depression
Has many eyes and stories,
And I live a privileged life
I shouldn't worry.

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Spoof

Discussed

Pleeeease son
This shit be easy peasy
Enough to please ya,
No squeeze and all lemon aid
Being paid my dollars(literal 10)
To teach seniors how to scrawl with the mouse keyboard and all

I'm making no money,
Be ad words
Not ad sense,
Not paying bills
Just thrilling it up in rankings
Hell who knows how many click accidental
Odds favor the more eyes
The more one might savour the sight
Kids going bored to bed every night
Hitting a hundred eyes in Ukraine
Who wouldn't crane their necks to see
If I walked down the street,
Don't be beat down
Trod on
You got more promise then I got truth
I ain't feeding lines like Don Juan
Telling truths like the big one,
Funny you think we're making cake money,
There ain't no icing
We be licking dry batters
In wife beaters
Setting it out hoping the world will see us
Make it half way
Playing with words
Blurting absurd
Making no money, funny we bother
But my brother see, it is
Funk and funny to be
In these times
Where we can bust out lines to make a stranger smirk,
On another continent and be content
Even if we can't prove any one is reading it.

Study hard, discard your doubts
You'll be the better batter
When we've all struck out,
Sticking necks out
Whether hit on or shit on
The world spins round,
You can do it, see through it.

P.S. if you want a free ebook, click ebook above, open one, download it
Do what you please, check out MonkmanMedia.com
For music, check out nonnegativearts.com
For art, welcome to discussions, repercussions
From the heart.

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On 2012-04-05, at 9:45 PM, Dios Astro wrote:

yoO guys no how to rock this ad sense thing so hard,

it makes me wanna just go and go sleep xD

i guess it must be the hard work,

i'mm a have to check the google ad joint

soon..

and as for the chinchilla.. well.. a friend

told me about it, and then i heard a song

there, with a boast about the chinchilla flubber

and...

jeez i don't know whether to laugh my ass

off or throw up..

i'm not as ad savvy as ya'll gentlemen, so

all i could do for now is sit here and watch

ya'll play until i could get savier...

i guess the old saying was when your

friends can, especially over you,

especially when its good for you, and

you don't really know how, then.. well..

six pense(pensative) non the richer

xD

100 bones flyin' my way

sounds nice, but, hearing about ya'll

making some cake money on it,

sounds fucking fantastic!!

;}

On Tue, Apr 3, 2012 at 2:11 PM, monkman. wrote:
We are all generally ignored, all we have to do is what we do. Just love life and post when we can.
Eli is on to something. And it works. Pretty cool too.

I'm going to follow that advice and try it out.

I'm still rocking maintence on the site. ( custom donate button for eli's ebook page and bleed poetry. )

About to promote a bunch of things for the music and code everything.
While trying to find a job, without crumbling and sweating pounds.

Just have fun with it.

send us the flash animation when your finished :)


Sign up for google ad words with email address
Go half way, don't buy anything
Walk away
Wait till 100$ cred comes your way.
Phone them for setup help, or read carefully and do it yourself.

Much love,

Dinner's on.




On Tue, Apr 3, 2012 at 5:09 PM, Eli Thomson wrote:
YoOo Diooo,

Don't be disgruntled
I advertised,
With free cred
Got another lined up.
Besides in the stats,
It's your shit eaten like candy, tootsie roll
I'm generally ignored.
First impressions of the site
Are monkmans five
And your chinchilla pop.
Post up in non neg and I'll send some google ad
Your way. And tell you how. Can't wait to see your creation
Wish flash worked on iOS phone work station.
Much love brothers,

Sign up for google ad words with email address
Go half way, don't buy anything
Walk away
Wait till 100$ cred comes your way.
Phone them for setup help, or read carefully and do it yourself.


Please visit www.bleedpoetry.com, thanks.

On 2012-04-02, at 11:36 PM, Dios Astro wrote:

wait//

damn auto shit...

E

it's kinda fucked up yoOo!!

E

gets all the goodies yoOoo

xD

On Mon, Apr 2, 2012 at 11:35 PM, Dios Astro wrote:
yoO

E

it's kinda fucked up you

E

gets all the goodies yoo

xD



On Sun, Apr 1, 2012 at 11:43 AM, monkman. wrote:
Hey E,

Have you seen your growing stats?
Please tell me your tricks to directing that traffic!?

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Non negative arts

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Welcome Stranger.

Just keep putting it out
Into space
In a world of chance
You glance into a strangers place.
A little earth
Our feet hold on to
Spinning constantly,
Hard to consume
The vastness.
We are connected
Pixel to pupil
A dot in your existence
Fleeting.
My heart beats like yours
Though we never meet
Though our opinions vary
On how to deal with mortality.
Moderation is the key
To a healthy morality.

Please visit www.bleedpoetry.com, thanks.

Journal Launch, October 2008

One epic night!

KONY WEEK

It is propaganda. The cause is worthy. The video is obvious schlock to pull heart strings, but people are generally deaf unless you can bleet something to get the attention of the sheep. Do I agree with their tactic, not really, do I hope they catch Kony before April 20th, absolutely.

I think Kipling was referring to White Mans Burden as the burden of work being put on foreigners shoulders, not our guilt which is the late 20th century by-product of accepting other races as equal. The Christian groups should have to fund and take care of this problem, their damned missionaries created the monster.

Win hearts, win minds, all forgiven... Right? We save those Ugandan children, they have our backs next time there is a war in Africa, right? They are already trained as soldiers, so that's handy. I better walk away from this before I cross a line.
No, we are being asked to donate money, or at least propaganda in favor of bringing down an African warlord, I hope they catch him before April 20th when people are expected to litter our cities with stickers and posters. Trash to get rid of trash seems a bad policy. Killing the guy would be easy, it is bringing him to trial which these bleeding hearts demand. Personally, give him the same stick Gaddafi got up the ass, turn the kids against him.cant see how an army of 300 armed children couldn't bring one man down if they were so inclined. That's where the conundrum lay. Are these children happy in Neverland, fed rhetoric and gospel, blissfully ignorant of their nature. Not sure who the last line refers to, it umbrellas a lot of people on both sides of the Atlantic.
Glad you found all the flaws, never read the rebuttals to accusations and are contented on one side of the coin. "A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."-Paul Simon. If I've learned anything in life, it is there is no black and white, and anything you believe with certainty can be torn apart quite flawlessly if some one wants you wrong. I'm pro choice, if you want to help, think you can make a difference, go for it. I guarantee change will come, what that change will be however is beyond the scope of any one mans vision.

Why knock?

I aim to please
In a world where
So many people seem
Pleased to aim.

Please visit www.nonnegativearts.com, thanks.

Poison environment

Poison environment
Sludge lungs
Coffee burn tongue
Silica air
Caulking fingers
Sawdust eyes
Overheated
Depleted strength
Running nose
Aching back
Diarrhetic bowels
I won't tell you I'm not okay
I won't waste my breath
Stay in school they said
And I laughed.

Check out www.monkmanmedia.com

Hearts to Souls...

Oct. 21, 2:34AM

Lewis

And now you're all I see,

Cos you're in every memory,

Full and plump with possibility,

Navigating your big old sea,

You're on everyone's mind,

Just almost all the time.

And now you're all I see,

Cos you're in every memory.

How can we possibly,

Leave you to our memories...

You're more alive even now,

Than most of us will ever be.

Bar

Bar high, bar low
The minute minute you realize
You should have went
Back at the bar.
Waiting sedated as
The subway comes to pass
Glasses full emptied
Into the system
One way tract.
Contemplating honestly,
Truth is the gift
Of the nothing left to lose
The omnipotent nothing
Middle path truth
An acceptance of existence
A beer strained youth.
A hunger of the not getting
Any younger
The thirst of the worst is coming
Humming as we hem and haw
Over the wars that have been
The struggles to come.
As the words flow I know
This is just a distraction
From something I should have done
Back then
Back when
Facilities were available to me.

I cannot get mad at you, there is only myself to blame...
I cannot allow myself to become my own obstruction.

We are kinetic beings, sitting on so much potential.

broke

broke, but not broken.

Are you a poet
Or autobiographer?
To vain to be philosophical.
Stuck in your skin
Pen scratching words
With meaning limited
To the scrawler,
Deaf to the human condition
Holler echoed in every alley.
21st century sin
Single minded blinder trotting
Through the world,
Troughed what's been taught;
Omnipotent idiot narrator
Afraid to step out of his skin.
Born and bored
In a inherited reality,
Tech savvy and aware of
How quickly things are obsolete.

Business Note

It is better to sell five sandwiches at a three dollar mark up then no sandwiches at a five dollar markup.
Keep it simple,
Don't confuse.
Don't abuse the price gun,
Always someone to undercut.
Don't fool yourself on value,
Keep your shit tight
Counters wiped,
Cash out of sight.
Value and values,
A little virtue may make the sale.
Stay stocked and fresh.
Take good advice.
Realize most rich got there by saving and slaving and hate to be ripped off. The poor will only buy expensive things if they think someone will notice.
Fads that lack form or function whither quick.
Any one who tells you they are giving you a good price, could give you a better one.
It is okay to reach out over the ledge and grab, if you stand on the wrong side of the ledge be prepared to take a fall.
People hate being stereotyped, I think you see what I did there.
Realize you are not an island, people can and will change if you are drastic in your own changes.
Smile. Wash your hands.

Spun back aground.

Today

Living is living up until the moment it ceases to be. Do not spend your life trying to identify the moment your subconscious awoke anymore then you can conceive your conception. To claim you spend your whole life dying is to end before you begin. Begin to live, death will be instant, no matter of the joys or suffering you may experience before hand. Accept death as an inevitable painless transition, as you will not be around to remember it. Then live.

Trained

Woke up with the sunrise
In Lucknow.
The paper and tea sellers
Call down the aisle.
A night of rest broken by the roar
Of snorers,
3 tier AC
Floating through India,
Surrounded by the smell
Of sweaty feet.
People brush against the curtain
Peek in to see;
Barge in searching for
The number of their seat,
Throw on the lights recklessly
While my baby tries to sleep.
In Lucknow our berth emptied out
I've come down from my perch,
To wish her sweet dreams.
Four more hours to journey,
But I'm much to tired to sleep.

Lifted

I always get lifted

up to get

thrown down..

Which is sad..

your just mad

you can't match this.. .;

regardless of all your classes,

all your masses, and eyes

that consider you well

with dark glasses.. .

Your just mad cause

they smile with you

and none of them

care, or give a *

about the pain you

bare..

your a false witness..

Your mad cause you know in

my heart I don't give

a *.. and that

for someone like you

is rough.. When

you turn your back

and your friend says

Hi,.. let's how this

relationship according

to you will go bye..

Bye... . .

The meanings of time.

Goa adieu, hello Jaipur.

Play by play.