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I would like to work with anyone in the business who wants to give respect back to the Jamaican vibe.

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Judi Dench

I would like to work with Jack Nicholson, before it's too late.

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When I finish playing football, I would like to work with kids and sleep!

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Christina Milian

The actors I would like to work with are Julia Roberts, just because I've admired her work for a long time, well Brad Pitt. I think you know my reasons.

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There are people I would like to work with. It's a bit harder, because I live out in the sticks anyway, and plus being in a wheelchair means that I can't really circulate. So I tend to stick to my own thing.

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Charlize Theron

I guess there are very few actors that I've worked with that I would like to work with again. You never think you'll have that chance and, if we didn't do Italian Job together, there wouldn't be another one that could be right.

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Walk

You and I are out for a walk with the dog.

The night is as silent as a log.

The trees blow eerily in the wind.

The moon is as bright as ice.

Right now I feel the urge to take your hand.

Yuck my dog just ate a slug.

This gives me an excuse to ask you for a hug.

We walk by the houses that are so bright.

Its hard to think that they are a part of the night.

I try to stay close to you as we turn right.

Oh no my dog just saw a bunch of squirrels.

You hold his leash tight to keep the dog from going on his travels.

I feel like I could always listen to you talk.

All of this is what I love about this kind of walk.

Someone just wrote my joy on the road in chalk.

If only you knew how much this walk ment.

I would like to walk with you until the world ran out of cement.

We decided though to walk 4 miles to the end of the pavement.

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Would You Like to Participate With Us

Would you like to participate with us,
During our global meditation?
Many of us are striving for a higher consciousness!
And we are going to do this the first of the year.
At 12noon!

'Excuse me?
A higher what?
Consciousness.
Oh, I'm conscious all right.
Ain't nuthin' wrong with my mind!
Naw...
Ya'll go 'head with that mess!
Since...
That's yo thing not my thing and my thing ain't yo thing.
And you and them that do those things think ya'll all that!
Well..
My feet is on the Earth,
And I ain't got time to waste on nonsense!
I ain't 'bout to raise 'nuthin' no time soon!
I ain't got time to waste on that! '

So, that is a no?

'That's yo thing not my thing and my thing ain't yo thing.
And you and them that do those things think ya'll all that!
You better come down to Earth and be real! '

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I Would Like

How much I would like
to slow the running life,
to stop this crazy race,
to talk with nature heart to heart,
to meet with dreamland face to face.

How much I would like
to stop the meaningless fussy life,
to stop the useless windmills strife,
to give way out of all my doubts,
to clean the sky from rainy clouds.

How much I would like
to give a free way to my thoughts,
to let them dance that magic waltz,
to let my soul a free flight,
to love, to dream at day and night.

Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)

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I Would Like To Apologize As Well

By the way...
I'd like to take this opportunity,
To apologize for all those negative things...
I said about you.

'No problem at all.
I would like to apologize as well.'

You do?
For what?

'For all those things you will regret,
Once you come to realize...
I was there to protect your back.

And now that you've convinced everyone,
My purpose was to feed my own ego...
I am sure you will remember that,
Now that you are in front.
And expected to lead!

By all means...
Do that as you please.
In fact,
What you've done...
Has provided me with relief! '

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Mind Control With The Mind Still Intact

Beliefs can not be turned into truth or fact no how hard one try to.
Most of the time they come straight from the heart.
And as much as many people would like it their not all are the same.
You want clones you must first kill the human soul.
You want absolute control.
You must dominate with nonhuman power.
You must release absolute darkness and let it devour.
Until their is nothing left.
But an emptiness abiding.
Thoughts become so terrifying.
They become non existent unless their not your own.
A black hole to anyone that struggles or fights back.
Mind control with the mind still intact.
That would be quite a feat.
That would be quite an act.

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In Any Language You Would Like It Received

What did you expect to get from me?
Visions of raInbows and lollipops?
Hmmm?
You have effectively lived the life,
Of greed and deceit...
Long passed its deadline.

My hand is not extended to shake yours.
My services require cash!
And more than deserving of it,
I am.

You can no longer squeeze sweet tasting juices,
With delayed promises to pay...
On the 'appearance' of your good credit.
Or delusions of once having it.
And you don't get it!
With or without your bragging...
Your signature here means nothing.

And...
To ease your concerns,
There are interpreters here...
To deliver that message in any language,
You would like it received.
That's how accomodating I have learned to be.

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I Would Like To Believe That Between Us...

i would like to believe that between us
there is just flesh,
that this is nothing but just a matter of orgasm and
ejaculation, the art of seeking the perfect moan,
the magic of the intertwines,
i would like to believe that this is nothing but just the mere
rubbing of our bodies, Freudian slips, and erotic escapades,
i would like to believe that my love has nothing to do with this,
that this is just a matter of time and that everything will just pass
that like the wind, something will just touch our cheeks
a little coldness and a little warmth
and then there would be nothing left...

but it is not so, now that the wrinkles reign like a kingdom of its
own where age is the queen and silence is the king,
where the children of memories slowly leave us...

i like to say now, love survives and i still love you
for all the coming days of my life.

to you my wife, cheers.

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So You Feel You Do Not Like To Work

something stopped when you said it
could be the clock of my life
or the chimes of some bells
in my fingers
when you said your lines, that you do not like to work
because the haiku
and the tanka are all there like children
waiting to play with you
they want to be written
by nobody but you, just you, like some animated kites
wanting to fly from the strings of your hands
now having air and tails

i feel the same, i see this river bed drying and i am like a dam
filled with water wanting to burst and flood
the earth
with poems
i am this cracking lips and inside is my tongue wet
so wet with this fluid
wanting to spit what i have inside me
but i am not that true
to this calling

the dam is fortified
and my flood did not happen
and my tongue likes to sleep
tired and so afraid
swallowing everything
and so
nothing revolutionary really happens

time can wait,
i need sleep, i need to eat, and i need a little rest and
silence tonight again
with the uncomplaining stars

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It would be neat if with the New Year

for Miguel

It would be neat if with the New Year
I could leave my loneliness behind with the old year.
My leathery loneliness an old pair of work boots
my dog vigorously head-shakes back and forth in its jaws,
chews on for hours every day in my front yard—
rain, sun, snow, or wind
in bare feet, pondering my poem,
I’d look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard.

But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots.

At the end of my day
while I’m in a chair listening to a Mexican corrido
I stare at my boots appreciating:
all the wrong roads we’ve taken, all the drug and whiskey houses
we’ve visited, and as the Mexican singer wails his pain,
I smile at my boots, understanding every note in his voice,
and strangers, when they see my boots rocking back and forth on my
feet
keeping beat to the song, see how
my boots are scuffed, tooth-marked, worn-soled.

I keep wearing them because they fit so good
and I need them, especially when I love so hard,
where I go up those boulder strewn trails,
where flowers crack rocks in their defiant love for the light.

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I Would Like to Describe

I would like to describe the simplest emotion
joy or sadness
but not as others do
reaching for shafts of rain or sun

I would like to describe a light
which is being born in me
but I know it does not resemble
any star
for it is not so bright
not so pure
and is uncertain

I would like to describe courage
without dragging behind me a dusty lion
and also anxiety
without shaking a glass full of water

to put it another way
I would give all metaphors
in return for one word
drawn out of my breast like a rib
for one word
contained within the boundaries
of my skin

but apparently this is not possible

and just to say -- I love
I run around like mad
picking up handfuls of birds
and my tenderness
which after all is not made of water
asks the water for a face

and anger
different from fire
borrows from it
a loquacious tongue

so is blurred
so is blurred
in me
what white-haired gentleman
separated once and for all
and said
this in the subject
this is the object

we fall asleep
with one hand under our head
and with the other in a mound of planets

our feet abandon us
and taste the earth
with their tiny roots
which next morning
we tear out painfully

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Da Bo$$ Would Like To See You

typed by: sonydogg@wanadoo.fr
Dizzle fizzle! Da bizzle! (Boss!)
Tha bling! Tha bling! (Ah ah ah!) [echoes]
Yeah... Uh uh
It's 2002 [echoes]... And whatchu gon' do? (whatchu gon' do?)
I'ma boss up... Ironically speakin' (uh), or it is generally speakin'...
I'm the ambassador, better yet, the PROFESSOR, of G-OLOGY (of G-ology...)
Just bossin' up right now...
Uh uh... Tha Boss would like to see ya (yeah... yeah)
Tha Boss would like to see ya
Bugsy! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Gotti! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Capone! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Soprano! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
DOGGY! First Black with a casino! (Ah ah)
Tha Boss would like to see ya (who me?)
Yeah, I ain't takin' orders no more (Huh-uh!)
Boss Boss... [echoes]
Uh.. I'm tha Boss (ahh!)
It's my house (my house), and I (and I) leave here (yeah, I'm tha Boss)
It's my house (my house), and I (and I) leave here...
Tha Boss would like to see ya (who?)
Bugsy! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Gotti! Tha Boss would like to see ya... (who? who?)
Capone! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Soprano! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
DOGGY! Fist Black with a casino (ah ah!)
Boss, boss, boss, boss, boss, boss... [echoes til end]

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What Would You Like

Tell me you name, tell me your sign.
Please tell me that my mind is right.
I just want to take you to my home.
Where we can talk by a fire all alone.
There's just one thing that I need to know.
Could you ever be there when I woke up,
Or will you be just another and be gone?

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

I take one look at you and my heart can't stop smiling.
It begins to display on the outside and my lips curl up.
Looking at you from across the void I can see my life with you.
You take a glance at me and can't help but notice to.
I walk around the corner and fade out of your sight.
I love playing this game.

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

You chase me around the corner at the end of the aisle.
And we both meet each other eye to eye.
My hands behind my back.
Can you guess what I've got in mind.
Oh I think you'll be suprized.
You look at me and begin to smile.

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

I see the moonlight fall across your face as you sleep.
I take one look at you as my fingers gently stroke your cheek.
You breathe in and breathe out and stir awake.
Looking up at me and smiling all the while.
I bend down and kiss you ever so slowly.

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

My lips want to take in every taste it can.
My fingers what to rub your smooth skin.
My eyes want to see all your love dep inside.
And no matter how hard I try.
My mind can't comprehend the beauty within.

If I bought you a dozen roses would you fall in love?
If I wrote you that special love poem would you kiss me tight?
If I took you to a lakeside of of a romantic dinner would you stay the night?
Would you like the candle's flickering lights?
Would you like the expressions of my words rolling off my tongue?
Would you come be with me even though the night's young?
Would you like the kiss that takes the breath away deep within your lungs?

Would you want to be with me through the rest of your life?
Would you want to be with my heart through the beating might?
Would you want to grab my hands and love me through all the bad time?
Would you want to hug me in the anger of emotions and try to fight?
Would you stand within my heart and dance in the spotlight?
Would you like to be with me through the whole night?

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

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Patrick White

Impoverished Like A Loser With A High IQ

Impoverished like a loser with a high IQ.
It’s a darker discipline than art
to learn to love what you must live.
The aristocratic penury of a poet
who keeps giving it all away
as if generosity were a form of protest
against the sock puppets of common sense
whose mouths move like empty wallets
when they speak of the lives they’re living.
We lived from rented dump to rented dump
and beautified the yards
with gardens we dug
and flowers we stole
from a better neighbourhood six blocks away
until it came time for the landlord to sell them
and we moved on to the next lunar landing
when I was a boy
and maybe that’s why
I’ve always seen things
as temporary ever since.
I give to people as if they knew
what I know
that everything we have
will be taken back soon enough
and you can’t keep what you won’t give away.
Life for example.
Or light. Flowers. Stars. Children. Poems.
More seeds in the autumn
than there are in the spring.
And because I’m so aware of time
I see so much eternity
in their tears and their smiles
everyone always seems to me
myself included
half ghost
and half mystic shadow
of the lucidity they could be for awhile.
I’m always urging brown stars like Jupiter
to shine a little harder
to open the other eye
of its three hundred year old methane hurricane
and greet the sun at midnight
like a peer of shining
that could set carbon and oxygen
on the spiritual path to us
like blind pilgrims on the way
to a shrine of eyes with liberating visions
that are released like doves
to look for land
by people who understand
they’re walking on stars.
But you’ve got to see way beyond that
if you want to get a fix on who you are.
You’ve got to walk that extra mile
in someone else’s moccasins
if you don’t want to underestimate
the size of the universe
and your place in it.
Your brain may be three pounds of starmud
but your mind
is the intangible of intangibles.
Light upon light
you can’t catch up to
or run from.
And whatever that light illuminates
enhances its awareness
of how things can change
just by looking at them
but when it turns back on itself
to enlighten the source of its shining
everything is dark and clear and imageless
without thought
without feeling
without witness or metaphor.
And if you thought you were poor before
think again.
When Lazarus returned to life
did he leave the dead anything?
I’m counting cans of beans in tomato sauce
like acephalic feet in Horation odes.
I’m reading the I Ching
with the fascistic rods
of brittle spaghetti sticks that break
like the false dawns of misfortune
as if they were the fragile wing bones of birds
spread out like the delicate skeletons of Japanese fans
that consulted the wrong stars
to escape the winter that overtook them.
Maybe I could drill holes in them
and unmarrow them like a syrinx
just to lighten the mood of the music in Sparta.
Or make a prayer wheel of birds
and blow them clockwise
to lift this jinx of a galaxy
turning the wrong way
like the German version
of Madame Blavatsky’s Aryan swastika.
The ubermensch too has underwhelmed himself.
Pipe dreams.
Napoleonic schemes in civilian dress.
Arks in an ice age that don’t float.
Fly-fishing in glaciers that move like the Hoover Dam.
Mood rings of climate change
challenging the adaptability of man
to survive his own works like Atlantis.
You can sing about the sweetness of the honey-bee
on twelve grain whole wheat bread
but when there’s nothing in the house
but an emaciated mouse
in a cupboard that echoes like the Grand Canyon
you eat like a praying mantis.
You eat your brain.
You eat your heart
for the food value of your enemy
to give you the courage
to stand up to your genius like a warrior
offering a blood sacrifice
to the prophetic skulls of your ancestors
who said you’d end up here one day
if you kept on going the way you had to
if you were to make any sense
out of why you were lost.
Born too stupid to be a cynic
and tell Alexander to get out of my light
I let my right eye
that could only see
the value of things
like an incorrigible positivist
grow larger than the negative one
that only looked at the cost.
Even when I looked into things
and saw that nothing had an identity
and all was emptiness
and interdependent origination
I didn’t become a balanced nihilist
and think the glass was half empty
but saw how the dark abundance
in the hidden watersheds of the plenum-void
spilled over the rim
like fountainheads of bright vacancy
that bubbled up and were blown off
like wavelengths of sea foam
into nebulae and galaxies
and the white-maned horses of Neptune
by the winds of time and space
blowing on the coastal tides of consciousness
like a lover on the skin of the moon
when he returns to her like an atmosphere.
And I may be a shipwreck in the Sea of Shadows
living penumbrally on the memory
of some spectacular eclipses
and magnificent supernovas
and a handful of first magnitude stars
I’m still trying to arrange
into a new constellation
to explain my myth of origin
but I’ve forgotten more about
the occult science of shining
and how to go divining for water on the moon
than all these blind star-nosed moles
trying to burrow their way through wormholes
into a heaven they don’t even know they’re already in
will ever realize in light years.
I may be the grasshopper who fiddled
too long throughout the summer
to keep things dancing
at a field party I was always the last to leave
and even far into winter
scraped his legs together like firesticks
trying to catch flame and thaw the ice.
And I suppose I wouldn’t be in this mess
as my friend Willie P. Bennet used to say
if I could have learned to take my own advice
but when I saw
how the ant mulched its heap of formic acid
into the hill tomb of an organized society
like Surabachi Mountain on Iwo Jima
and smelled how it reeked of stinging nettles
I thought it’s better to play a blue violin
on the stern of the Titanic going down
than it is to try and overrun Asia
like my Mongolian ancestry suggested I should.
People too lazy to work get jobs
and retire like watch fobs.
People without a calling
a passion, a summons in life
that demands nothing less
than everything all the time of you
and the total sacrifice of all other options
because there are people who are born
to choose the sea and not the lifeboat
who prefer to disappear into the sky
than stand at a window
that’s only a wingspan wide
and wished they’d learned to fly
thirty years earlier
instead of wearing out the carpets that could have.
Better to fail radiantly
than eclipse everyone with success.
And when you’re lying on your death bed
how are you ever going
to commiserate with your ghost
when you see clearly
you’re going to be reincarnated
as smog over Los Angeles
for not burning white hot enough
when you were given two lungs for bellows?
The brass ring might be a ripple
worth reaching for
like a life preserver in a storm
but the dark ore cries tears of silver
like the new moon in the arms of the old
when she sees how everything
it shines upon like base metal
and September fields of flowing wheat
turns to gold.
The winners do their crying out loud in crowds
and everybody wonders why
and takes their wound on as their own
and listens to every viral syllable
of what they had to sacrifice to heal.
The Mithraic bull bleeds money
like Jesus on the cross.
And twelve days later only half meaning to
undramatically backs into
an overanalyzed suicide
and then rises like the circumpolar star
of a music legend that never leaves the set.
Elvis Presley is alive and well
and reviving in Tweed Ontario.
Anywhere your ghost wants to go
the world is a seance that wants to know
why you left one foot sticking out of your afterlife
as if you were buried
somewhere between shore and a lifeboat
in the undertow of the providential tides
that pulled you under.
But an impoverished loser with a high IQ
who’s given up
trying to unionize himself
like a cult of heretics
that don’t think that any sacrifice
is too great to radicalize
the square roots of Rubik’s cubes
circumambulating the Kaaba
like shepherd moons
is already haunting the kitchen
looking for food left out to attract the dead
back to the living
as he weeps alone in his apartment
for everything he’s missing.
And the stars outside howl in the distance
like the eyes of a lean wolf pack
lit up like the lamps of a search party
they’ve rounded up
to go looking for him
all through the long hungry night
like fellow appetites on the food chain
as his heart bleeds out like a magic bean
in tomato sauce.
An impoverished loser with a high IQ
who upheld the value of things
like a meteoritic cornerstone
grounded in the quicksand of the cost.

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I would love to work with someone like Kevin Spacey as he could pass on what I need to learn.

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I don't like to work with assistants. I'm already one too many; the camera alone would be enough.

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