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Everything's Brown

Hello I'm here to invite you
To things you cannot feel
and if you push me too far
You might believe I'm real

Teeth scrape beneath the sweater
To when you hate and steal
Or do you think it better
To obsess and not reveal

I know your secret
It scrapes you way down
Everything was clean
Now everything's brown

Don't try to hide it
Know you cannot feel
What you are is something
that I won't reveal

Hello I'm here to invite you
To things you cannot feel
and if you fall apart
You'll pretend I'm not real

You can't erase what you are
So don't even try
and how can I be truthful
When everything I am is a lie

I know your secret
It scrapes you way down
Everything came clean
Now everything's brown

Don't try to hide it
When you dig to feel
When it falls apart
I hope I won't reveal


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Ya, it is love

Ya it is love
if you really care and believe
pain it relieve
all pure and nothing to deceive

life is love and full
how it can be dull?
love to live with full strength
stretch it to full length

No room for complaint
Why to blacken it with paint?
It is worthwhile to die for cause
Live it without making any pause

No one may object
No one can even reject
It is beautiful gift
We must stick without making any shift

You may be pulled to fold
Though it may not be told
Still you make it look very bold
The relation will remain warm and not cold

There is no specific reason
It comes naturally with season
How flowers boom in garden?
It is same with human beings even

We all love to last
There is nothing like slow or fast
Its definition is very vast
No one raise finger or doubts to cast

It is conveyed with beautiful message
It may not think about status or age
It can never end if written in pages?
It matters how you care and manage?

Love dos not represent physical attraction
It has no addition or subtraction
It is purposeful and full of action
There can't be any adverse reaction

It is devotional out come
In any form it is welcome
Even great philosophers have appreciated
Its status is upgraded and elevated

No one can compare it with narrow thinking
It may be considered as own ship sinking
Who can cause severe attack?
It may cause pain and severe ache

What else can be taken as face value?
In all the sense it is very due
We may sometimes wonder without any clue
We have water very deep and blue

You can't go that deep
In sea you have to make a dip
It is full of sorrow
But not completely hollow

We may have enough reason to lament
It may also invite some comment
Still there is desire to make it solid and cement
You will have to rove and make some earnest movement

I respect those who really care and prove
There is no use for action to disapprove
It is culmination real desire
We got to praise it and admire

We seen the impact of bond
It has no limit or gone beyond
How all creatures move in pond?
We must be honest and very fond

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Based Upon Appearances And Not Technique

As if children fighting over crumbs left,
On plates once stacked with cookies...
No one can get near the kitchen to clean it.
Or restore the cleanliness of its presence.
Since an argument has ensued,
As to who should do what with a doing to do...
To recreate the flavor of the cookies once munched.
And who is best qualified to imitate the recipe.
Based upon appearances and not technique or skills.

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How Many Graves Can You Dig Before Your Own?

Too many difficult days accumulate
Like weeds in an otherwise pleasant field;

Every heartache becomes a hammer
And drives depression into the soul like a nail;

Some friends alleviate the sorrow like a balm
And others gently kiss your cheek like Judas;

I dream of a drunken avenue in the summer
Where children play and cars move slowly and sweet
Like a merry-go-round and no one is unhappy.

I want only to toast the departing of sunlight at dusk
And have the moonlight pour my next glass of wine;

I seek to dance for awhile and then welcome oblivion,
I cherish the day when mirrors will no longer take notice of me.

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My Pray

Give me the courage to go outside
With my head held confidently high
Make me face the outside world
Instead of hiding in my room wanting to die

Give me the power to confront and shout back
To those who feel they need to show me disrespect
To pluck up the courage to voice my opinion
To stop being such a nervous wreck

Help find me the strength that I need so much
To eat what ever I choose
To skip the exercise without a care
and not be bothered about weight I want to lose

Please show me how I can start to enjoy life
And be thankful that I live each day
To show me that my depression can be beat
And that it will all go away

I cant get the suicidal thought out of my mind
Im in complete and utter despair
I dont know what else I can do
This is my desperate prayer

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Robert Graves

Knowledge Of God

So far from praising he blasphemes
Who says that God has been or is,
Who swears he met with God in dreams
Or face to face in woods and streams,
Meshed in their boundaries.

'Has been' and 'is' the seasons bind,
(Here glut of bread, there lack of bread).
The mill-stones grumble as they grind
That if God is, he must be blind,
Or if he was, is dead.

Can God with Danae sport and kiss,
Or God with rebel demons fight,
Making a proof as Jove or Dis,
Force, Essence, Knowledge, that or this,
Of Godhead infinite?

The caterpillar years-to-come
March head to tail with years-that-were
Round and around the cosmic drum,
To time and space they add their sum
But how is Godhead there?

Weep, sleep, be merry, vault the gate
Or down the evening furrow plod,
Hate, and at length withhold your hate,
Rule, or be ruled by certain fate,
But cast no net for God.

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Letter To... From A Classic Archetypal Dope

Now as I account for myself
I know the fight is over
You made me feel if I was worth saving
I was worth having
And I knew as the man flattered to grow
He also learned the crafts of
Clinging on to his sleazy self

When we have to account for ourselves
When we have to take stock of the unaccountable
When we have but ourselves to account for
When all but you and I alone are left
Amid the crowds that hover at my presence
In your eye
Amid the lashing lolling tongues
Amid the squelching claws of distrust
And the deriding press of after thought
What are my lean-throated words
What are my bleating pleas of
When we have to account for ourselves
In the awakening stillness of other judgment worlds
What account do we have for ourselves
But the rabid thirst of a search
When we may have met in this or that town
But in this land and in this continent
This world
This incarnation
This temporal crevice

You in the fresh burst of put-up discovery
I in the aftermath of debunking rediscovery
Time was then held alike that summer
Growing only to fruition in our recognition
My senses were growingly numb from blunt use
Burning when the electric fondling
Dared enter and worry the dusty corners

I saw you then
Not as the strapping dash of bubbliness
Nor as the plaitted innocence of schooling youth
Trundling the scenes of covertly revisited crimes
Forming with others the dutiful good habits
Nor as the tall preening blot of shyness
At the hedge of a group picture
Fronting a personality
Dicing friendship
Simulating elder precepts
Feeling your maidenhood pulsate in reveries
Testing its beat upon hidden hay heaps
Nor as the pure shaft of consciousness
Thrusting into the wake of frightfulness

I saw you
Only as a parcel come to me in mortal need
In a prelatic bestowment of fruits and tins
The salt and pepper of spicy tables

I saw you come to me
In disguise well wrapped and well meant
I saw you come to me
That low day of my life
As a parcel bound in the selfless vines of veins
As the blood of transfusion
As the hope of persistent verse

It was one big inconsumable heart that arrived
Unnamed and unasked for
And I stood and stared
Stared and stood
No longer in unbelief
I did not live from victuals coursing through
I lived and thrived from gorging one
Insuperable unknown heart

From that moment onwards
Not when the fingerless muscles unclasped
The indented bones
But from that moment of knowing
From that very moment of sustenance
That day of human unbelief died unsung
And the depth of human grief buried long
Bestirred a momentous song

It willed within me it were man
Some kindly soul no less
But in surfeit laid aside
The biscuits of distaste

It willed within me it were some organisation
Hurrying to the bed of despair
With the spare crumbs of conversion
The Holy Infant to succour

I willed then it were a friend
From want of excuse to teach
His fooling heart to bleat
Robbed his conscience of a treat

I willed and willed and never
In my thankless memory
Sat the image of my enemy
The fulcrum of my singular division

And when that day I delved my depths
To find the words of irreproachable thanks
I saw you turn and stamp the light
Of my begging steps of penance

I turned, rebuffed
Should I have turned and gone
Away from the stony snarl of thanklessness
Away from all that I saw in that
One inseparable act
Away from my insurrection
From the illimitable doubt of humility
Far away from all the coquetry of cunning

No man was divided more
Between himself and self
Between life and cherished death
Astride on the unwelcome threshold of emptiness

I had come out of dying
And yet the chained stick of fate
Was certain to unravel for me
No less, no more, the vicious sting of hate

And revived with urgency's gratitude
Twice over, reconditely, I was blessed

Did you not notice then
How uneasy I was in the eye of abundance
How hiding from the surfeit of joy
From whose very object I
learned not to cry

And so all through with fear
Fear opening fresh fear
Without respite, without cause
Deft day handling stolen night
Within the walls of our breath
Smarting, whining
Nudging through illusory pretences
Waking and making our presences
Forever shy of ourselves
As if all this were not true
Heart closing on the heart
Excreting gratitude

You have done your part
What more could I ask
Could you then blame me that I fought
Every step of your way to me
For what I was worth to you
I was ready as a knave to soot

And when indeed you took a man to wed
You took a slave and a man to bed

Though we account for ourselves
And whatever we have accounted for
We do not take ourselves apart
And when we have to account for ourselves
between you and me
Then what we have to account for is three
You, the slave, and the man or me

But when we have nothing to account for
There is but one lonesome count

And so you came to me
A thwarted child
and you told me

You.... Me

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At The Hour When Darkness Wins And Light Surrenders To The Edge Of The Sea

on that hour when darkness and
light fought
i take complete time to watch

the usual afternoon when darkness
wins when light surrenders to the edge
of the sea
in dismal silence

it is a very sad view, one can relate and

on the other hand, when light finally gives up
its orange body to the
invasion of the night

when it assumes that fading ball of fire
descending to the abyss of the darkness

behold! there is so much beauty
in its sadness!

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A time for love

there is a time for love
there is a time for hate
i wish there was not enough time to hate
and only enough time to love
there is time to forgive
there is a time to forget
i wish there was enough to forgive
but i will never find time to forget
the one person the made time to hate
and not to forgive and only to forget

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US was always Real

Baby It's Real

The feelings and tears are real

The tingly feelings in my stomach when i hear your name

The moment when were alone and all we know it's just you and me

Baby It's Real

Long lasting phone calls

The laughs, Holding hands

Seconds, minutes, hours seem to feel like forever when i'm with you

Baby It's Real

NO doubts

NO jealousy


Baby It's Real

.....and when i saw you in the altar looking at HER,

knowing I walk away hearing those two words

Giving you one last look

All i know that

Baby US was always real

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Why Do You Think That This World Is Not Interesting?

everything has a reason, that is the tenet, nothing happens by random
that is a restatement, perhaps an accent, and emphatic stress for those who still doubt.

every reason explains itself, whether you know it or not, they have mouths and minds.
though they do not speak to you, or think of you, they think, they speak. A premise.

the fire tree blooms today, and there is fire all around the wildlife part. Warmth is intentional.
Fire for summer. Warmth on a hot day. There is a reason. The petals speak for themselves.

an old pedicab under the mahogany trees, the driver pedals its way on a dusty path.
a child wearing an orange shirt sits restlessly wanting to jump screaming. Noise in stillness.

the trees are shedding off yellow leaves and the ground accepts a good cover. There is no sound.
the grasses are starting to wilt and the moss on the pebbles are dark brown. Time to die.

the joggers are here feeding an activity to this oval the silence of which is finally broken.
Summer. This is rest for most. The holy week and time to reflect. Meanwhile the sun shines

on top of the world, the clouds are cottony and so white. The wind blows on my face.
There is a reason for everything. That is tenet and i know nothing happens by random.

I scribble some notes on my mind. Stating what is not spoken by the sun, the trees, the mountains, the joggers, the dusty path, the child in orange shirt. The pedals squeak and

I am watching and listening. There are too many reasons wanting to be written. Anger, and
pain and bliss and company and solitude. Why do you think that this world is not interesting?

Are you not amazed with what we still do not know? Did i not tell you the color
of the daffodils? Or that the man pedaling its way under the mahogany trees
is an old man feeling so useless and that the child in orange is his grandson?

Life need not be what we think we do not have.

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Patrick White

You're Not Mad Enough

You’re not mad enough to understand my poetry.
Suffering hasn’t twisted you into strange shapes
like a hangman’s apprentice
practising knots with your spine
or driven your innocence out into the desert
like a scape-goat for the sins of others
until you had mastered their evil
and become a great devil
condemned to do good
as if it were the most exquisite torment
of the damned.
You’ve never stood like an exile
at a sleepless window
and listened to the night rain
speaking in a foreign language.
Your electrons have never
been bumped out of their orbitals
like the photonic refugees
of a radioactive element
with half an afterlife
that can see in the dark
and last for millions of years.
What tongue-tied tuning fork
of a pygmy atom
like the emperor of Austria to Mozart
seeing a galaxy
or hearing a symphony
indicts a cosmic conception
beyond the diminutive perception
and bent event horizons
of a black dwarf
for too many stars
too many notes?
You cant taste the new wine
until its been poured
into the same old dirty cup of a mind
you’ve been drinking from
like the bloodless goblet of the moon for years.
Long breath
short breath
dont they both go on forever
like poems you cant measure for a straitjacket?
You want to make haikus out of hurricanes.
You want to time the wind
when it blows your house down.
You’ve sat down among your peers
at a designer seance
and studied literature
as if you were communing with ghosts
who had the decency not to show up in the flesh.
And you may have climbed
to the top of the world mountain like a postcard
but you’ve never come down from it
like an avalanche of rocks
you rolled away from your tomb
like the vernal equinox
as if Stonehenge were built by Sisyphus.
And whats it to me
if your attention span
is a flea on a hot-plate
and you’re in the habit
of drinking spit
from everyone else’s mouth but your own
or jealousy makes you celibate
everytime you catch me
French-kissing the muse at her wellspring?
You’re a goldfish in a shark bowl
a shore-hugger
with a spineless guitar-pick for a fin
afraid of the dangers
of being swept out into the deep night sea
by the rogue karma
of getting caught up
in your own undertow.
You’re more at home
among dead starfish and washed-up things
in the slums of shallow tidal pools
than the palatial spaces
of more gifted myths of origin.
Literati in the corpus delecti
of the great dead
forensically parsed
by the grammar of maggots
it must be scary for you
to try to imagine
anything you cant prove
like the singularity
at the bottom of a blackhole
or the creative potential of dark matter.
You may be armies of lice
in the Golden Fleece
living like stars with tenure
in faculties of sunlight
but who among you
knows how to sow
the teeth of the dragon?
If I keep faith with my calling
by following it like a salmon
all the way to the sea like a river
and back to the mountains to die
why should I listen
to the fingerlings on a fish farm
about flowing the wrong way
without checking the depth of the water
to see if Im in too deep?
I cant get enough of the stars
but you look at them like a blackhole
and think they’re overdoing their shining.
I’ve never regretted trusting or loving someone
in some interglacial warming period
when the trees come back.
And I’ve never killed a thing I ever loved.
I swallow the darkness of separation
knowing its the poisoned mushroom
of the emperor-clown’s last act.
I taste the fact on the fork and concede.
I take more than my own death
out into the desert
and I mourn without accusation
the empty cup of the moon
at the dry lips of its dying mirages.
Its just the way the rose haemorrhages
when it gets cold.
Its just the way a paper boat
is kept afloat by its own themes
all the way down a river
that doesn’t care where its going
because its only destination is anywhere.
And what decent fire lies to its flames?
And I’d rather be loved than right
most of the time anyway
so Ill take the blame upon me
and you can sleep tight as a lifeboat on the Titanic
and Ill just drift south with the icebergs
hoping that at the first sign of your solitude
you dont panic
at the way things are going down
and way way too overboard.
You put pen to paper
like a pharaoh builds a pyramid
only to wind up
like a mummy in a museum under glass.
But the first thing I write off is me.
I dispossess myself of thoughts and feelings
like a serpent ditches its skin
tired of being the fall-guy for sin
or the ocean gets its waves off its back
as if they didn’t belong to anyone’s mind
when the wind reads whats written in sand
like a lifeline on the palm of my hand
that bends round the heel of my thumb
like an ongoing question of when.
You have to become no one
if you want to understand
the mindlessness of being a human
and the only way to express it
is to say it without a mouth
hear it without listening
and see it without eyes.
Anyone can write a decent poem
but how many can walk on the dark side
and let the poetry write them
without squealing for death
to make their last breath
the whole orchard
in the blossom of a haiku
that might read like a fortune-cookie
but breaks just like an egg
that got the word out
like a bird afraid of the sky
there’s no more room at the inn
for the stars to follow the magi like a hearse
wreathed in laurels and flowers
like the dead blessing
round the bend of a live curse.
You cant live like a maggot
and write like an eagle.
And though its not a grace
thats easily acquired
by verse lamplighting at night in the woods
to attract the muse like a doe
to your moth-bound lucidities
baying at the moon
you hope will mistake you for a wolf
even the darkness has enough taste
not to try to pour the ocean into a teacup
that hasn’t been washed out first
like someone with a filthy mouth.
All your dainty revisions
were the personal decisions
of someone addicted to plastic surgery
like the bride of Frankenstein to Botox
trying to deconstruct her face.
But me?
I had no choice.
How can you revise space?
Or take anything away from zero?
You try to keep order in your life and work
as if you were building Rome again
from the ashes up like Nero.
And I dont know why its so
but insight after insight
flashing through me like sun swords
through the back of a lunar bull
though its been painful
has sustained my life somehow
like the brainchild of a compatible chaos.
And I may have been treated madly by poetry
and speak in tongues
like a lunatic in the rain in Babylon
long after its bricks were broken
and the last eclipse had spoken
its last word
about free choice
being gerry-mandered out of the absurd
but you’re as well-versed
as the soft lip
of a Georgian sheep dip
thats just found its voice.

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Bend And Not Break

I catalog up these steps now
Decisive and intentioned
Precise and pattern specifically to yours
I'm talented at breathing
Especially exhaling
So that my chest will rise and fall with yours
I'm careful not to wake you
Fearing conversation
It's better just to hold you
And keep you pacified
I'm talented with reason
I cover all the angles
I can fail before I ever try
Try to understand there's an old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away so
Wont you hold me now (I will not bend I will not break)
Wont you hold me now (I will not bend I will not break)
I am feeling agile
I can bend and not break
But I can break and take it with a smile
And I am so resilient
I recover quickly
I'll convince you soon that I am fine
Try to understand there's and old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
Wont you hold me now (I will not bend I will not break)
Wont you hold me now
Just hold me close to you(Won't you hold me now?) just hold me close to you
Just hold me close to you(Won't you hold me now?), just hold me close to you, to you
And try to understand there's an old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
So wont you hold me now?
Wont you hold me now?
Now, now, now, now, now

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Its Not Over

I'll say what you won't
Why because your afraid
Their just ratings
Their just of those people your hating
Faking for the sake of entertainment
That is what you become
Sellout by what they want
Look at me as I flaunt my you know what
I just honestly don't care
Let my words hang in the air
Let critics come
For ill be waiting
Ready for the debating
When it begins
And words flung
I'll expose every flaw I got
This is what I've been taught
With honesty I'll undress myself and show the world
Then I'll say now what did you prove
be careful with words you choose
because I have nothing to lose
I've already fallen so far from grace
I've done so many things with disgrace and distaste
But when I believe in something
I won't give up when under attack
Here let me turn around so you can dig your claws in back
What that's not how you expected me react
Well stereo type that
I've been held back for to long
And now I've been given wings
I'm so ready to soar
Even as I'm licking my wounds so sore
The war of the worlds
Some are out to destroy
I'm out to stop you any way I can
With a mission of the damned
With my blood soaked hands
I done more then my share of hurting
But only if for the greater good
Never stopping and question if I should
I've come to far second guess myself now.
So when I take duck my head and bow
Its not over
Its not over

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Not Only Can They Squeeze Blood From a Turnip

When a society's entire financial structure,
Is based upon a failing system...
Already built upon the hidden talents,
Of those gifted with deceit.
And those institutions are given cartoon names,
Such as Freddie and Fannie...
There are going to be problems.
Ones without realistic solutions faced.
At least not honest ones.

And now trillions of dollars will be borrowed,
To pay for their failures.
If a society is already suffering from an economic crunch...
At who's expense are these fresh lies being told?
Those embittered by an abrupt awakening,
From their delusions?
Or those sold on the bottomless pockets,
Fed on having 'great' aspirations?

My mother once said to me...
'Boy, I ain't got no money!
What do you think I am?
A turnip?
You can't squeeze blood from a turnip.
Nor is there a money tree outside!
I do not have money for you and your sister,
To have lunch today!
And you will get over it! '

I wish my mother was alive today!
She would be amazed to see...
The things being done,
At DisneyWorld!
They are creating remarkable fantasies.
The people leave the grounds totally conditioned,
To accept anything they are told!

If you can hear me,
Not only can they squeeze blood from a turnip today...
A dollar can be produced from thin air!
I haven't seen that yet.
But that's the latest rumor.'

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And The Money Kept Rolling In (And Out)

Che: And the money kept rolling in from every side

Eva's pretty hands reached out and they reached wide
Now you may feel it should have been a voluntary cause
But that's not the point my friends
When the money keeps rolling in you don't ask how
Think of all the people guaranteed a good time now
Eva's called the hungry to her open up the doors
Never been a fund like the Foundation Eva Peron

Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling on in rolling on in rolling on in rolling on in on in

Would you like to try a college education
Own your landlord's house take the family on vacation
Eva and her blessed fund can make your dreams come true
Here's all you have to do my friends
Write your name and your dream on a card or a pad or a ticket
Throw it high into the air and should our lady pick it
She will change your way of life for a week or even two
Name me anyone who cares as much as Eva Peron

Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling on out rolling on out rolling on out rolling on out on out

And the money kept rolling out in all directions
To the poor to the weak to the destitute of all complexions
Now cynics claim a little of the cash has gone astray
But that's not the point my friends
When the money keeps rolling out you don't keep books
You can tell you've done well by the happy grateful looks
Accountants only slow things down figures get in the way
Never been a lady loved as much as Eva Peron

Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling on out rolling on out rolling on out rolling on out on out


When the money keeps rolling out you don't keep books
You can tell you've done well by the happy grateful looks
Accountants only slow things down figures get in the way
Never been a lady loved as much as Eva Peron

Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling rolling rolling
Rolling on out rolling on out rolling on out rolling on out on out

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You Don't Know My Name

From tha day I saw you
I really,really wanted to catch your eye
It's somethin special 'bout you
I must really like you
Cuz not a lot of guys are worth my time
OoOo baby,baby,baby
It's gettin kinda crazy
Cuz you are taking over my mind
And it feels like......
You don't know my name(I swear)
It feels like
You don't know my name
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
I see us on a first date
You doin everything that makes me smile
And when we had our first kiss
It happened on a thursday
OoOo it set my soul on fire
OoOo baby,baby,baby
I can't wait for the first time
My imagination's runnin wild
Feels like......
You don't know my name(And I swear it baby)
It feels like
You don't know my name
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
[Alicia talking]I'm sayin......He don't even know what he's doin to me......I'm feelin all crazy inside......I'm feelin like........
Doin one thing i've never done
For anyone's attention
Take notice of whats in front of you
Cuz did I mention
You're about to miss a good thing
And you''ll never know how good it feels to have
All of my affection
And you'll never get a chance
To experience
My luvin
Cuz my luvin feels like.......
You don't know my name
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
(And I swear it feels like)
You don't know my name
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
Will you ever know it?No,no,no,no,noWill you ever know it?
[Alicia on the phone]I might have to just go ahead and call this boy. Hello....Can I speak to,to Micheal......oh hey,how ya doin...I feel kinda silly doin this but uh...This is the waitress from the coffee house on 39th and Lennox.....Ya know the one with the braids.....Yea well I see you on Wednesdays all the time....You come in every ednesday on ya lunch break I think...nd you always order the special with the hot chocolate......My manager be trippin say we gotta use water but I always use cream and milk for you cuz...I think you kinda sweet...Anyways you always got on some fly blue suit and ya cuff links are shine'in all bright......So what you do...oh word.....Yea thats intresting...Look man...I mean...I don't wanna waste ya time...I know girls don't usually do this but I was thinking maybe we can get together outside the resturaunt one day...I look a lot diffrent outside my work clothes...I mean we could just go across the street to the park,right here...Wait hold up...My,My cell phone's breaking up hold up...Can you hear me what day did you say...oh yea Thursday's perfect
And it feels like
You don't know my name
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
(Baby,I swear it's like)
You don't know my name
It feels like
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
(And it feels like)
You don't know my name
It feels like
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)
(And I swear on my mother and father it feels like..)
You don't know my name
It feels like
(Round&Round&Round we go,will you eva know)

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Marketing skills in the college of CATs, Crows and Bitches, VIT University!

Once we sail away from home, we begin to crave for our existance and independence, mostly financial. Some of the parents also feel in the same way, while some like mine think that I have not attained enough maturity for handling the green money. I had to shed a fortune amount of tears to finally fulfill my craving for monetary independence, This was accompanied by initiation of my journey to VIT Vellore.

Finally the wait is over. With some wonder at God's immaculate management quota and a polite courteous bow to my parents I can announce to the world at large, that this indeed is a fabulous time to gain financial freedom. Yes, green addiction, here I come.
When I hold my monthly allowance of 8000 bucks in my hand I feel all powerful(even if it is for a day) and thank all mighty, above that my parents, who do not feel that the global meltdown should have a bite of my share too. So as all of us, poor VITians are caught up in the trap of college expenditure. We know that however much we have in hand, it always seems to slip out, akin to sand flowing out of a trembling wrist.
So as it was my first pocket money I was expected to stretch out the entire amount of Rs.8000 for full month without sneaking in a rupee or two from my ATM in return for my innocent rabbit like tune, I throw at parents with some sly intent to my dad. So like a proper accountant (though I don't exactly know what he does, LOL) I will try my hand at organized financial handling and decipher the cryptic ways in which my money leaves me.
The first, foremost and the most arduous task is of getting to college, which involves more than just getting up on time. Since I live in F block, and had previously decided that I will walk down to my college every day(which only God knows why….) I have a scenario where the timing is not its best shape. I have to wake up every day at 6am, thanks to my promise of taking bath every day and then heading to the college. Due to a confusing (in) flexible system, better known as FFCS, my classes were scattered all around the globe. Running from SJT to main building became my daily routine, god never graced me ever and I was always late, kicked outta class everyday. imagine what catastrophe, running in the campus like a burnt ass dog and everything flushes down the gutter, when mam sucks your attendence.
Coming to the topic,
shelling out the bucks system started when I hired an auto anna who used to carry my ass every day, from SJT to MB, at 200 bucks a month.
So in all I spend about 400 bucks on my travel monthly(add 200 bucks more cuz I seldom walk from hostel to SJT) ,
I got to think about food, another necessity. Now, the necessary food according to my mother is the wholesome lunch I am supposed to have. The food court-waala serves quite good stuff, which repels me from mess everyday and I've to live my life with a bunch of friends ordering stuffs that satisfies and sometimes spoils my stomach.(pun intended) .
So around 3k bucks spent on food per month
And now comes the entertainment part, a raghuvindra movie ticket costs50, which is apparently cheaper than I could ever imagine, but don't attract yourself in the positives, the travel charges to the theater is fucking 100 bucks, so 200 bucks on travel every week, therefore 1000 bucks straight away on a wooden seat theater experience.
Comes the Chittoor and Pondicherry trip once a month, straight away loss of 5000 bucks, topic change(Mom keeps an eye on my facebook, so no beer bash experience shared)

How can I forget those scary numbers I see in the ever in phone bills,1000 bucks, no,2000 bucks, hell's Zero always, Man, I'm a VITian, I use a pre paid sim card, preferably spending 2000 bucks a month on roaming calls(yea, I love a girl back in my city, love hurts in every phase of life lol) the right to speech should surely be banned…. what say?
Other expenditure includes buying fancy shampoos twice a month(add 400 bucks to it) , body wash, twice a month(yeah, I take bath regularly, hard to accept, but true: p) , shopping, shopping for the one I love(ugh: /) , mid night maggie almost everyday with a bottle of pepsi and what not!
These are my hard and painful marketing views.
How about a penny for my thoughts?

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Hongree and Mahry

The sun was setting in its wonted west,
When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose,
Under the Wizard's Oak - old trysting-place
Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.

They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not;
For HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
A rival, envious and unscrupulous,
Who thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps,
And listen, unperceived, to all that passed
Between the simple little Village Rose
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

A clumsy barrack-bully was DUBOSC,
Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tact
That animates a proper gentleman
In dealing with a girl of humble rank.
You'll understand his coarseness when I say
He would have married MAHRY DAUBIGNY,
And dragged the unsophisticated girl
Into the whirl of fashionable life,
For which her singularly rustic ways,
Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),
Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),
Would absolutely have unfitted her.
How different to this unreflecting boor
Was HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

Contemporary with the incident
Related in our opening paragraph,
Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselves
That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;
(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Were sent by CHARLES of France against the lines
Of our Sixth HENRY (Fourteen twenty-nine),
To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.

When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Returned, suspecting nothing, to his camp,
After his meeting with the Village Rose,
He found inside his barrack letter-box
A note from the commanding officer,
Requiring his attendance at head-quarters.

"Young HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
This night we shall attack the English camp:
Be the 'forlorn hope' yours - you'll lead it, sir,
And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt.
As every man must certainly be killed
(For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men),
It is not likely that you will return.
But what of that? you'll have the benefit
Of knowing that you die a soldier's death."

Obedience was young HONGREE'S strongest point,
But he imagined that he only owed
Allegiance to his MAHRY and his King.
"If MAHRY bade me lead these fated men,
I'd lead them -but I do not think she would.
If CHARLES, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'
I'd go, of course - my duty would be clear.
But MAHRY is in bed asleep, I hope,
And CHARLES, my King, a hundred leagues from this.
How know I that our monarch would approve
The order he has given me to-night?
My King I've sworn in all things to obey -
I'll only take my orders from my King!"
Thus HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Interpreted the terms of his commission.

And HONGREE, who was wise as he was good,
Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,
Round flapping hat, and vizor mask of black,
And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.
He passed the unsuspecting sentinels
(Who little thought a man in this disguise
Could be a proper object of suspicion),
And ere the curfew bell had boomed "lights out,"
He found in audience Bedford's haughty Duke.

"Your Grace," he said, "start not - be not alarmed,
Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.
I'm HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
My Colonel will attack your camp to-night,
And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.
Now I am sure our excellent KING CHARLES
Would not approve of this; but he's away
A hundred leagues, and rather more than that.
So, utterly devoted to my King,
Blinded by my attachment to the throne,
And having but its interest at heart,
I feel it is my duty to disclose
All schemes that emanate from COLONEL JOOLES,
If I believe that they are not the kind
Of schemes that our good monarch would approve."

"But how," said Bedford's Duke, "do you propose
That we should overthrow your Colonel's scheme?"
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Replied at once with never-failing tact:
"Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.
Entrust yourself and all your host to me;
I'll lead you safely by a secret path
Into the heart of COLONEL JOOLES' array,
And you can then attack them unprepared,
And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed."

The thing was done. The DUKE of BEDFORD gave
The order, and two thousand fighting men
Crept silently into the Gallic camp,
And slew the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;
And Bedford's haughty Duke slew COLONEL JOOLES,
And gave fair MAHRY, pride of Aquitaine,
To HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.

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How It Strikes a Contemporary

I only knew one poet in my life:
And this, or something like it, was his way.

You saw go up and down Valladolid,
A man of mark, to know next time you saw.
His very serviceable suit of black
Was courtly once and conscientious still,
And many might have worn it, though none did:
The cloak, that somewhat shone and showed the threads,
Had purpose, and the ruff, significance.
He walked and tapped the pavement with his cane, 10
Scenting the world, looking it full in face,
An old dog, bald and blindish, at his heels.
They turned up, now, the alley by the church,
That leads nowhither; now, they breathed themselves
On the main promenade just at the wrong time:
You'd come upon his scrutinizing hat
Making a peaked shade blacker than itself
Against the single window spared some house
Intact yet with its mouldered Moorish work—
Or else surprise the ferret of his stick 20
Trying the mortar's temper 'tween the chinks
Of some new shop a-building, French and fine.
He stood and watched the cobbler at his trade,
The man who slices lemons into drink,
The coffee-roaster's brazier, and the boys
That volunteer to help him turn its winch.
He glanced o'er books on stalls with half an eye,
And fly-leaf ballads on the vendor's string,
And broad-edge bold-print posters by the wall.
He took such cognizance of men and things, 30
If any beat a horse, you felt he saw;
If any cursed a woman, he took note;
Yet stared at nobody—you stared at him,
And found, less to your pleasure than surprise,
He seemed to know you and expect as much.
So, next time that a neighbor's tongue was loosed,
It marked the shameful and notorious fact,
We had among us, not so much a spy,
As a recording chief-inquisitor,
The town's true master if the town but knew 40
We merely kept a governor for form,
While this man walked about and took account
Of all thought, said and acted, then went home,
And wrote it fully to our Lord the King
Who has an itch to know things, he knows why,
And reads them in his bedroom of a night.
Oh, you might smile! there wanted not a touch,
A tang of . . . well, it was not wholly ease
As back into your mind the man's look came.
Stricken in years a little—such a brow 50
His eyes had to live under!—clear as flint
On either side the formidable nose
Curved, cut and colored like an eagle's claw,
Had he to do with A.'s surprising fate?
When altogether old B. disappeared
And young C. got his mistress, was't our friend,
His letter to the King, that did it all?
What paid the Woodless man for so much pains?
Our Lord the King has favorites manifold,
And shifts his ministry some once a month; 60
Our city gets new governors at whiles—
But never word or sign, that I could hear,
Notified to this man about the streets
The King's approval of those letters conned
The last thing duly at the dead of night.
Did the man love his office? Frowned our Lord,
Exhorting when none heard—"Beseech me not!
Too far above my people—beneath me!
I set the watch—how should the people know?
Forget them, keep me all the more in mind!" 70
Was some such understanding 'twixt the two?
I found no truth in one report at least—
That if you tracked him to his home, down lanes
Beyond the Jewry, and as clean to pace,
You found he ate his supper in a room
Blazing with lights, four Titians on the wall,
And twenty naked girls to change his plate!
Poor man, he lived another kind of life
In that new stuccoed third house by the bridge,
Fresh-painted, rather smart than otherwise! 80
The whole street might o'erlook him as he sat,
Leg crossing leg, one foot on the dog's back,
Playing a decent cribbage with his maid
(Jacynth, you're sure her name was) o'er the cheese
And fruit, three red halves of starved winter-pears,
Or treat of radishes in April. Nine,
Ten, struck the church clock, straight to bed went he.

My father, like the man of sense he was,
Would point him out to me a dozen times;
"'St—'St," he'd whisper, "the Corregidor!" 90
I had been used to think that personage
Was one with lacquered breeches, lustrous belt,
And feathers like a forest in his hat,
Who blew a trumpet and proclaimed the news,
Announced the bull-fights, gave each church its turn,
And memorized the miracle in vogue!
He had a great observance from us boys;
We were in error; that was not the man.

I'd like now, yet had happy been afraid,
To have just looked, when this man came to die, 100
And seen who lined the clean gay garret-sides
And stood about the neat low truckle-bed,
With the heavenly manner of relieving guard.
Here had been, mark, the general-in-chief,
Thro' a whole campaign of the world's life and death,
Doing the King's work all the dim day long,
In his old coat and up to knees in mud,
Smoked like a herring, dining on a crust,
And, now the day was won, relieved at once!
No further show or need for that old coat, 110
You are sure, for one thing! Bless us, all the while
How sprucely we are dressed out, you and I!
A second, and the angels alter that.
Well, I could never write a verse—could you?
Let's to the Prado and make the most of time.

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50's And 60's Weird TV On Channel 3

I think I must be seeing things
Before me stand the four of kings,
They shuffle when the Bishop brings
Annette upon nine raven wings

And Beanie rides a sea serpent
And wonders where the yellow went;
I go to pay the next day's rent,
Where have they taken my new tent?

The bandstand kids look like Dick Clark,
Turn on the lights, I'm in the dark,
I'm standing in Grand Central Park,
A worm has caught a purple lark

And Kookie has run out of combs
So rents out rooms in old maid's homes,
He has B.O. where ere he roams
So buys some spray and sells his tomes,

To your friend Ralph, yes you know who,
The one who should be in a zoo;
He sells used cars upon the tube
To each and every simple boob

And if he gives you stomach ache
Then Alkaseltzer's what you take
And Bufferin too if you're a rake,
Thus hath the Johnny Carson spake

Do I need a cigarette?
A camel says before me yet
‘yes, Luckys is the brand to get,
Be a he man, don't you fret'
‘there must be worser ways to die
So buy brand X, give it a try';

Just then another bird walks up
And asks me what I feed my pup
Then puts a nickel in my cup
And tells me I am full of crup

Of where I am, I'm unaware;
Why are the people all so square?
Who is standing over there?
He says he's here to take my fare
But I'm not going anywhere,
Besides I feel my pockets bare

‘Well then I guess you must have paid'
At this I start to get afraid,
I think my mind will start to fade,
Then Hogen's Heros make a raid,
Upon my sensibilities
And now it's clear why each eye sees
So many people climbing trees;
It aint because of hungry fleas

As Tarzan swings upon a rope
I find I start to give up hope;
Jack Webb has started smoking dope
So now the crooks no longer mope

And Perry Mason kicks a judge
But finds the law will never budge
Unless big business gives a nudge
To Popeye selling ice cream fudge

At this I really have to rush
To our old john so I can flush
So far away this vacant mush
Before my teeth I start to brush

Then Josephine comes to my view
And says ‘I want to talk to you
Have you scrubbed your sink anew?
Your mop I think needs some shampoo'

I said ‘I think you are the plumber
And no one else was ever dumber
You've put me on another bummer'
My feelings start to get much number

Matt Dillon chases Jack LaLane
Around a roller derby lane
I think I need some more cocaine,
So please don't ever come back Shane

I try to walk another street
When me and Walter Cronkite meet;
He says he thinks the news is neat
And starts to talk about the sleet

I run away as fast I can
When Brinkley and the other man
Say ‘good night Peter, good night Pan'
While Tinker Bell is on the can

A dog starts crapping up the yard,
He must have eaten too much Pard
But watch out, here comes Pat Boone, bard,
He's taking steps without regard

I find a jackass facing me
And ride as far as far can be
And find myself beneath the sea,
But now Lloyd Bridges faces me

I think he must be on a hunt
To find a mind that he can stunt;
He says ‘they're sitting all up front
And you can hear them as they grunt'

Old Ironsides rolls into view
And says he's looking for a clue;
I close my eyes and say ‘me too'
'cause something seems so much askew

I better buy some brand new specs
'cause Mickey Mouse is rated X
And everybody's doing sex;
Ben Casey gives the VD checks

Hey, Milton Berle is throwing rocks
And Elvis Presley's chased by flocks
Of girls in teeny bopper socks;
Please help, I'm sick, I need two docs

A weirdo asks mewhat's my line
If Ricky Nelson drinks my wine
And Lucy is my concubine;
Paola's great if I get mine'

I'm looking for a place to hide
I stick my thumb out for a ride
When Jackie Gleason pulls up beside
If two squared's four, can you divide? '

‘Of course I can, I've been to school
And I am not nobody's fool'
I feel I am a molecule
Just floating through a vestibule

So Jackie says ‘you are a kid
But older than a pyramid,
Too bad you're not a phallic squid;
I say, ah, can you spare a lid? '

Some girls are wearing panty hose
They shave their hair which overgrows
And spray away their bod's B.O.s;
I want to fade inside my clothes

Some kid is spraying Clearasil,
He wants to make his pimples nil;
He paints his breath with chlorophyll;
I'm in the dream of someone ill

I'm fleeing but I feel a goose,
Behind me grins a guy named Bruce,
His velvet miniskirt is puce
Why can't I even call a truce?

There's Billy Graham on a binge
His holy words do make me cringe;
If nonsense were a door with fringe
Then Billy Graham would be the hinge

I hear some Wallace words unkind
How has our race so soon declined?
His thoughts should be in shit enshrined;
Thank god my eyes are color blind

The Beverly Hillbillys pace the street
The crowds are lying at their feet
While Petticoat Junction joins the fleet
And Green Acres makes it complete

I guess I know that something's wrong
I haven't yet met old King Kong,
They say ‘he went back to Hong Kong
For that is where he do belong'

Now I'm pausing in the gloom
And watch the reruns they exhume
They still do stink, I smell the fume;
To run away I must resume

Here comes Mitch, he's singing songs
While Lawrence Welk, he beats the gongs;
I need to buy some racing thongs,
Instead they sell me three Ding Dongs

Behind me now there grows a tree
While Howdy Doody bends his knee;
I haven't lost my sanity,
I'm merely tuned to Channel Three

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