Cheesy proclamation of the year

Approximately every five to ten seconds someone in the world dies. This number is not an exact measurement and not purely scientific. Certainly, tragedies can kill millions at a time.

But you are not one of these people. At least not right now. But you will be. Everyone eventually is. Your five seconds of fame will come. How long has it been since you've started reading this? Twenty seconds? There goes two more people. I wonder who loved them, who is crying right now for them. Not you, of course. You're alive.

So live.
Share.
Smile.
And love.

And when your death comes, pat it on the back and joke, "Don't worry about being late. I had a hell of a time."

he bought a new cd
and we kissed the whole way through,
all 70 minutes of it.

the music of adolescence,
of learning to love,
of making mistakes.

but i didn't wait
like my mother told me to,
how was i suppose to know?

i didn't get pregnant
or syphilis or aids,
in fact i didn't get anything.

not even an i love you.

i have a quiz in the morning and i should probably go to bed. i need to get a good grade on it. if i get many good grades in my classes i can get a piece of paper. this paper will get me a job. the job will put food on the table. who will be sitting at the table? maybe it will just be myself. maybe a friend if it's a weekend (probably not). most likely just my parents if they want to visit. it might even be thanksgiving, or Christmas. My birthday? i shudder at the thought.

but back to the food. it's sitting on the table. i need it to survive, but i need money to buy it. i get this money from my job, which i got from my piece of paper. but what else do i need? laughter, happiness, joy, excitement, titillation? lov...

i got the piece of paper from good grades. it's why i went to school. it's why i'm here now. get up. eat. get good grades. eat again. sleep. fill in the gaps with nonsense, but not the college experience. not meeting new people. not broadening horizons. not overcoming my embarrassing level of shyness. no, i must never do that.

i must never.
a fool,
am i.

food

http://sizeofworldse.ytmnd.com/
http://endofourworld.ytmnd.com/

S. laniceps

From the Kingdom of Plantae,
magnoliophyta Division,
Class magnoliopsida,
Order asterales,
Family of asteraceae,
Genus saussurea.
the flowers that never reached the wedding.

the curvature of the thigh
as it meets the buttocks
and wraps around hips
that flow into flat stomachs,
which lead to breasts of many kinds,
is most exquisite.

yet corrupt i am not,
for i love the art of a beautiful body
as a poet loves a perfect sonnet,
intact, precise and with no excess;
or as an architect loves the Pantheon,
such perfect a structure none dare match.

yet art exists in many forms - not all beautiful to be sure -
but who is to blame one for admiring, as a poet, or what more?

There are many roses in Sarajevo,
commemorating those dead and gone.
A reminder, marked on the streets,
where someone unfortunate stood.
The red roses are the saddest,
severed limbs and opened heads.
Blood is spilled, then spilled some more,
on to the open streets.
Run quickly if you can,
for even if the snipers miss,
the explosive mortar shells
need not be as accurate.

---

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarajevo_Rose
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Sarajevo

All you try
is all for naught.
All you dream
is all for naught.
Give it your all
(for naught).
Your life,
is all,
for naught.
Not.