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| nothings changed the senates still corrupt & the emporer remains insane, and every day, is a new strain of slaughter, supply lines are less protected, evil on all sides, eye can smell the death on your flesh--creeping in, trapped within the twisting fingers of fear, and all eye see is ewe, that face, those eyes, burning like leprosy, eye can see u there poisoning the air, prostituing Nationalism, and eye want to attack, to rip out your heart and lay you flat on your back, and vomit a world of agony and truth into your throbbing illness of memory...and hate guides our way, eye long for the icy slap of a belt across my back, for the acceptance of death and blind cave war, the giving sleep of depression, the sweet elucidation of savage meaningless agression, chiseled in the meaty forearms of Mother Jupiter and his slave disciples, in the harem tents--outside, just beyond the edges--eye ride, a cycoptic mare in the fires of imagination. feeding my disease, a river of plagues, eye need something to remind me I'm still sinning that pain is important, that wurdz matter, that healing is possible, that eye am not alone ...in this --guard the houses--triple the watch,--Maidens, dig up your sorcery --sirens, sharpen your rocks..ewe will eat my pain again. whatever you need unite messiah ME --Wurdz by Otep Shamaya |
 The Missing Sock Thing.May 27, 2004 7:00 a.m. Related Reading This week's Pieces of You: My mom would ask; "It didn't just get up and walk away on it's own now did it?" My dad would claim; "The dryer ate it." You all know what I'm talking about. That one lost sock. I actually keep a bag full of odd socks with the hopes that their matching others will return one day, even though, they rarely ever do. Now here's a topic that's wide open for some fun creativity. Where's the missing sock(s)? Okay, so I don't like being the buzz-kill at the party, but this whole missing sock craze has got to end. Yes, I like everyone else have my socks eaten. I, with my love of beautifully strange socks, am in denial of my loss of many a favorite pair. my red ones with the gray butterflies, or my gray and purple striped pair, with the pink sparklely snowflakes. Yes I keep them in drawers and bags refusing to give up hope. But I'm becoming rather annoyed by this being the new revived myth of intrigue. I'm sorry folks......but it's the washer that eats them, not the dryer. I'm not kidding. This is not a joke about a washer with teeth.....no. what happens is that they work there ways out and get wrapped around the inside/outside of the washer. I was told this so long ago that I just don't understand why the general public hasn't caught on. It's so obvious and thus such a boring topic. Like asking why your keys are in the last place you look....when everyone knows that the reason is because once you find them you stop looking. Can we please have a new question? Can there please be no more commericals about missing socks? What I want to know is where all my t-shirts go! How is it that there are times I can wear a different t-shirt for at least every day of a month, and the next have only a hand full? Where do the t-shirts go? |
Otep   |
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