Wrong, I got it. Granted it's an infomercial for a spinning hairbrush with a plug that weighs about 15 lbs, but 2 grand is rent man, and it's only a day of work. Also, not getting jobs is as much a part of the learning process, as say when they hoist you up to check for bed sores and candy wrappers. It's all part of the process, which I accepted a long long time ago

He must still be at his audition. But when he gets back I'm sure he'll be delighted to read about the special spiritual bond you both share! Though be warned: he might be suffering from a recent bout of "Don't call us we'll call you" syndrome. Oh sweet, beloved Jesu! Why must an actor's life be blighted by a perpetual cycle of crushing failures?

I speak and ponder, yet no answers to my statements and question.. i wonder, if im talking to a wall...

Hmmm... D.A. getting personal. I don't act very British around her other than when I sing and I've yet to sing for her. No to the reading her poetry, and the rest of your statement is just bull shit(No wait lets use Briticism Bollocks). But thanks for giving me a laugh. D.A. other hating you to my utmost I find you to be one of the most one of the best sources of amusement I've ever found. Besides you'd merely discombobulate her.

Goodness! What would Kristie think? The fact that you write "poetry" at all already puts you in the NONCE ZONE... but whimsical love ballads about dreamy, leather-clad hunks in spitfires? Hmm... Do you worry about such things? Of course not. You're perfectly secure in your sexual identity. There's nothing noncey about having a creative outlet... is there? Do you read her your poetry? I'm sure you sing to her. Does she like it? I'm sure she says she likes it. But do you believe her? Even if you do believe her, do you value her opinion? Or is she just another flesh tube to you? Not that I blame you or anything like that. Afterall, what do teenage girls know about music? They're just silly. She even told me she thought you were a bit of a creep for trying to pretend to be British! What tosh! Nevertheless, who wouldn't prefer the real thing. Someone who actually knows the difference between a butter knife and the small sack-like growth hanging between the hind legs of a crushed gibbon. Someone who can discuss, at length, and without embarrassing references to the importance of better education for the working classes, a vast plethora of proposed changes to the LBW rule. Someone who could tell you the supine stem of confiteor without spontaneously congealing into a vast splat of jellied confusion. Someone like me, for instance. Someone like me.

Ouch. Yet again Mistaken for a Girl, But thanks for the suggestions they really are helpfull.

What a good girl for taking good advice. Now that you've cut away the unneccessaries you can go about expanding. Write this thing down on paper. Stare at it. Take it with you. If you here some adjective that just bowls you over or some sound/idea find a spot to stick it in this poem somewhere. Give some ideas about him, for example int he first line you say 'he's planned out...' well after that I certainly would like some small detail about 'him' what's he like? Does he always plan, what has planned before? Did it fail? Is he no planner at all? Bring me into the sphere of these people. I really love the 'taking to the sky' and the spitfire, give some more props here blue sky, goggles. I don't know it's not my poem I'm trying to give you a rough picture of how to work. Really let your imagination take you to that unknown destination. Picture the reality but then let your created truth season things up. Which weapons?

I like your degenerate,illuminati approach, for every toilet bowl, my enemy, needs a roach.

Thanks.

Thanks friend. I hope to one day learn the shape of words. A beautiful gesture to overlook my oversight. ANgst is often here overdone.

Well, I know well enough your not Dark-Angel (cmon.. do i seem that thick to think that you are??) As for what you mentioned, your right about him, I already made my mind to simply ignore him like I would ignore some Christian convertist. I believe what you said of your past, but I was confused as to its intentions. As for boiling up Dhatura and shrooms .. ;) I won't bother doing a entheogenic listing of the shit I've ingested/smoked/snorted. Whats burning in my fucking mind is this comment from your knot: I won't even go into what happened when you dreamed your future because it's just too profound, but I will say it's the Disney land of dejavu. Also I don't know what decides 'chemically' on an internal level whether you astro projected and cruised unseen amongst the present, or whether you "future jumped". Deep in the insomnia that claimed me as a child I would have visions... see.. my mother who caused me and my father lots of suffering (another story) would go insane if she found me anywhere out of bed from when i was sent to it until 9 am or so... so I'd lay there.. staring, without a damned thought.. I'd drift as physical reality broke down.. mind you I didn't astro travel or future jump per se.. but I'd simply observe reality rewarping around me.. and what i saw once in one of these happenings is a chaotic time storm (what ive decided to call it). It looked like a tornado of technicolor dots at first... then the dots became something like telivision screens where i saw places, people, heard talking, screaming, thoughts.. it captured and hypnotized me.. i dont have much remembering of these vision states, but what i do remember is profound enough. I traveled it to the deepest center of its tormenting whirl and saw what i describe as a tree.. laying out perfectly before me I later figured out it was time itself.. i saw my future... and i didnt fucking like it.. so what did i do.. I CHANGED IT, Rearranged it and redreamed the fucking curse. But.. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW OF WHAT I DID LAYING TORMENTED WHEN FOUR? hrmm.. not even my closet friend, not even my blessed father knew of these things.. i sense though that my mother may have had a clue.. but you? you struck my attention at first with your clever comments on other poems i read, delved into your work and found an amazing collection. I usually sense these things more clearly than i did when i followed course twards this.. the whole time i discovered, joined, and posted on this sight, dejavu was more fucking intense than ever, and im wondering "what oh what father time lays before me that can be so profound as to prick my mind" first the ass-mask, it gave me some enlightenment.. but the knot.. was like an explosion.

Nay 'twas nothing, but it has slowed his output of the same exact recycled medley over and over again from a daily occurance to a weekly, which atleast keeps me saner. I do it to him and miggy another child lyricist that would bore you retarded, but I've parodied about five or six altogether. here take a look. I'm telling you I get a hoot out of it big time, and read them with friends drunk or stoned and we literally gag tell collapse. i'll send you my versions, you'll have to find there's on your own to compare, but my titles are normally similiar to there's or the exact opposite so use that hint to help you find them. http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=53278 http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=49662 http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=53188 http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=52967 http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=52905 have fun!

Now, as for me, the above piece is as honest and autobiographical as it gets. Meant to hand over to various interviewers of underground music and papers I'm associated with to leave me alone, and just print that. Because, some people are just impossible to sit in a room with for more than ten minutes. well everyone I know, practically. So if you don't trust the information, go boil the Dhatura root and add some shrooms and see for yourself. Bye, I'm off to an audition, toodles.

contd. as promised. a) He's been doing it longer, better, and more consistantly than the both of us put together, me making up 80% of that combo if not 90% because any real poet could tell at a safe mile that you're still as unsure of your footing and style strengths poetically as the sun will rise in the morning. That alone is all he needs to make your life a poetic hellapaluza. About 9 months ago I was so obsessed over his ability to shift weight, press, let off, poetically duel that I would take his work folded up carefully out into the mainstream with me and force people to read it out loud back to me, out of the blue, shopping stores, post office, churches, restrooms, lol. Granted, when you're having a discussion with a well respected director of films or a producer and or fellow artist, and they say something that causes you to think of Dark Angel's poetry, that could well be a sign of some deeper more seriously rooted issues, but I trust my older mentors when they say. Yep, he's real good. In fact I think I've seen him only once mispell a word or have a typo, and I was not fully convinced it didn't happen purposely, and that's his entire collection of poems, comments, and debates, and to the casual poet that's easily snubbed as irrelevant old world poetry hang ups, but i'm talking about over a hundred thousand words here easy. Sure some would say I'm as careless and radical with technique, subject, and style as it gets, but that shit will only take you so far if smack dab in the middle of your latest masterpiece, one eve, as you're reading outloud to your guests after a fine dinner and your pipe. you find "And it was there's to begin with all a long" You think , "how'd i fuckin' miss that shit" And You see you have some good ranks and comments but no 9's or 10's? Hmmm bingo, the mature poet has all the time in the world to do it right once with no worries. While the young street poet is serving up eggs benidict still in a shell and calling it the breakfast of the future. 3. Form, now, I know what I'm good at because I've put myself to mastering structures as of late. This is the spine of all good poets my man. Vilanelles, freeverse, haiku, ghasels and many many others. Why, because as a songwriter myself by origin I figured out quick you have three minutes to say some clever shit in a different way that you practice infinitely, and hope you can work magic. Coincidentally, those structures mentioned above use that same back bone of poignant precise compression to work on the reader. Making them what they are damn fine styles. Work the hell out of every structure (style) you can find, even the ones you suck at, because you won't suck forever. Unless, you're not that quick on the uptake. contd. again

No, no joke, I'm exhausted. i've been writing about 6 to 9 thousand words a day for almost a year straight and my hair and nails have started smoking and glowing for no reason. So i'm either possessed, or tired and hallucinating, or both. What would you like to know about me? Well, before we discuss me, first, let me give you some advice. 1. I am not dark angel so don't ask if i am. 1.5 i am not mr. pig so don't tell me i am, please. 2. be careful because he(da) does have the language and talent at his disposal to run circles around you, so don't set yourself up, or me for that matter, in the process of you tripping around poemranker and getting to know the inhabitants. Lord knows some of our battles have left me vastly depleted and plum bonkers, not to mention lasting days on end, all hours, each second, every weapon the mind can contrive being hurled. I have met, counting on one hand, in all of my travels awareness levels to the extent of what he's capable of and let me glimpse, and let me tell you I've moved around, So since I'm in the middle of completing a new manuscript, I won't be able to help you, and you will be beaten like a 4 move chess opener with a nauseating new brass buzzer. I know that kind of sounds weird and all, but all i'm saying is I'm one of the most bionic minds and imaginations you'll ever come across. I never admit when someone's got a few up on me, because it's almost non existint in my spheres of movement, but then, one day that all miserably changed. The day I barked at that arrogant bastard, bot talk about stepping on a wad of hot gum on asphalt in August, Jesus, if I'd of known, I would've fucking just slept in that day. He Drove me fucking nuts for a bit sure, but the conflict forced my writing to anny up, and you know what, it did, and fast. So do yourself a favour watch him tango, you'll learn more than you think by telling him you can too. All silliness aside, I've studied his every move, and it simply boils down to a couple of facts. comment contd.