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Saturday, June 9, 2007


The Catalyst, chaptor four (don't worry, this one's wicked short)
I think somewhere around mid-night, that night, I wrote this in my zombie-like state of sleep deprivation to make sure I didn’t forgot today and, well, just because I’m weird. Very weird. NOW LET THE CONFUSION AND SARCASTIC BABBLING/RHYMING BEGIN!

Reunited with a choke-hold ,ransomed without any gold.
You pretend you what it means, I’ll pretend it has a meaning. (Oh, incoherent poetry for the sardonically seething!)
“A barren womb,” “an abandoned tomb,” “This haunted room…”
It’s the same story with a different cover, but we’re only judging the book by it’s publisher. After all, the pages are too frayed to read and so is the author.
And, well, I admit and I confess: none of this really makes sense. It’s true, I know. Yeah, I know this.
But, it’s never what you show, it’s how you show it.
So give me a dream and some sleep, I’ll give you a master-piece.
Give you a dream and some peace, I’ll get me some sleep.
And, yeah, Mr.MadHatter of the Webzines, I know all about and your “secret dream.”
Well, aren’t we just bursting at the seams to cause some intrigue? And, whatever happened to “seen and not scene” ?
So Mr.Incoherent poet writes under the influence of Melatonin? But, of course, you ain’t telling.
Associating with theatrical fakes and wearing chronic head-aches. You look for the hidden meaning, and I’ll pretend there is one.

Uh-huh. Incoherent poetry, gangsta. And, for anyone who cares, after finishing this, I instantly collapsed then and there into my half-finished pile of home-work. The estimated time was 12:31. School’s at 5:00. And I have to wake up for it at 3:58. You do the math.

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