Ugh, what was that?
Something isn't quite flat.
Squishy against my knee,
Just beneath the table.
I have no doubt what it could be:
A piece of gum with no label.
It really is disgusting.
My job isn't cleaning.
I'm not taking care of it,
I might catch ill.
I just came to sit
And get my fill.
It's only rubber though,
Any germs would be now through, -
Or at least, so I hear.
Heck, I could eat this gum!
Why would I hold fear
Of a little thing so dumb?
But on second thought, even so, -
That's pretty far to go.
What would I gain?:
"A treat before the burger joint"?
Even without the pain,
There's not much point.
Post-Inspiring
It's odd how something can make you so happy that it isn't until it's gone that it inspires you. You become so blissfully blind, that nothing else means anything; but then once it's gone, it's everything.
It seems as though the only thing of importance and beauty is the subject of your desire. There is nothing that compares to it: No images, no sounds, no order of words, nothing that comes close.
Because there is nothing to portray love, it is the purest emotion. "Love" hardly means anything, it does not provide any relevant sensation. Yet the feeling it represents has overwhelming power.
Kissing, touching, sex: These things are all wanted because of what they represent. But not everyone truly understands it. Sometimes people lust for these things, but that is a fool's love; a fake emotion. People feel lust because they want what sex represents; for a moment, they believe they are in love.
But lust can only describe love as well as pictures or words. No: Love is so much bigger, there is beauty to be recognized that can only be felt from genuineness.
When genuine love is realized, it's representatives develop inherent beauty. It is to be observed and savored. It cannot be chewed, it simply happens. Love is self perpetuating, self creating. It cannot be stopped, analyzed, or imitated.
When your love is there, but you've nothing to spend it on, it still cannot be stopped. An outlet is needed. You can draw, you can write, you can sing, but you know it isn't what you want.
What you want is your lover. You need that person; they are the only thing that will quell you. The only thing you need. Your love target.
It seems as though the only thing of importance and beauty is the subject of your desire. There is nothing that compares to it: No images, no sounds, no order of words, nothing that comes close.
Because there is nothing to portray love, it is the purest emotion. "Love" hardly means anything, it does not provide any relevant sensation. Yet the feeling it represents has overwhelming power.
Kissing, touching, sex: These things are all wanted because of what they represent. But not everyone truly understands it. Sometimes people lust for these things, but that is a fool's love; a fake emotion. People feel lust because they want what sex represents; for a moment, they believe they are in love.
But lust can only describe love as well as pictures or words. No: Love is so much bigger, there is beauty to be recognized that can only be felt from genuineness.
When genuine love is realized, it's representatives develop inherent beauty. It is to be observed and savored. It cannot be chewed, it simply happens. Love is self perpetuating, self creating. It cannot be stopped, analyzed, or imitated.
When your love is there, but you've nothing to spend it on, it still cannot be stopped. An outlet is needed. You can draw, you can write, you can sing, but you know it isn't what you want.
What you want is your lover. You need that person; they are the only thing that will quell you. The only thing you need. Your love target.
Man Practice
No one seems to get this one. So I guess I'll leave a little note:
The men are having an 'oh-so-manly' pissing contest. The man on the right practiced, and no longer has to go.
There you go.
Shpuddabum
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is a really really really really really old story I wrote. I don't know how well it's written, because I haven't looked at it since I wrote it. But I'm sure that it is worth putting on this blog. In the future I will have more stories, in fact I already have some written, but I'm gonna see if I can get them published in a fancy magazine or something first.
If I find any other old stuff, I'll post that too. Or if my new stuff gets rejected. Then you can see that as well.
Shpuddabum, a turtle known to a small group of friends as the fastest turtle alive, was currently leading the pack of a small friendly neighborhood race. Although, "Leading the pack" implies that the pack was close behind him. Honestly, it makes more sense to say second place was leading the pack. Shpuddabum was far, far away. It only took a moment for good 'ol Shpudda' to finish the race. He spent more time waiting for the others than he spent racing.
When all the other racers finally did arrive, they were astounded by how ridiculously fast Shpuddabum was. They knew he would win, but it was how fast he was that astounded them, not his seemingly infinite winning streak.
On their way home, they passed a flyer mounted to a post. "The International Awesome Super Race of Trendyness" it said. Below that it stated; "starts in 3 minutes over there!" Nobody questioned how a flyer can tell you how much time is remaining before an event starts, but Shpudddabum's friends told him to enter.
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