InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Goat is good curried."

MILF HUNTERS BABYYYYYYYAYYYYYYYY. (markovna) wrote,
@ 2025-01-13 17:41:00

Current music:

locked cholos y cholas.

i got a hundred guns, a hundred clips, im from NEW YORK!

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	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:28 pm UTC (link)
	you are my mami. and i'm your future baby daddy! mintybirthcontrol! (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:48 pm UTC

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saportaeduardo, 2008-10-08 02:56 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 04:13 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 05:21 pm UTC

	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:29 pm UTC (link)
	WHAT A WAY TO START PAGE FIVE (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:48 pm UTC

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saportaeduardo, 2008-10-08 02:57 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 04:14 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 05:22 pm UTC

	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:29 pm UTC (link)
	IT'S A SIGN (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:49 pm UTC

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saportaeduardo, 2008-10-08 02:57 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 04:15 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 05:24 pm UTC

	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:29 pm UTC (link)
	YOU ARE HAVING MY JEW BABIES (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:52 pm UTC

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saportaeduardo, 2008-10-08 02:57 pm UTC

	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:29 pm UTC (link)
	THEY WILL HAVE LIKE NO ASS :[ (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:52 pm UTC

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saportaeduardo, 2008-10-08 02:58 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 04:16 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 05:31 pm UTC

	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:30 pm UTC (link)
	BUT I WILL LOVE THEM ALOT. ungh i want to see you waddle. (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:54 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 05:32 pm UTC

	saportaeduardo 2008-10-08 01:31 pm UTC (link)
	so which is worse? my pedo way or my wanting to knock you up way? (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-08 01:55 pm UTC

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markovna, 2008-10-08 05:33 pm UTC

	mcintyrej 2008-10-10 03:11 pm UTC (link)
	Your interests amuse me. (Reply to this)

	mcintyrej 2008-10-13 06:51 pm UTC (link)
	I felt like I should come and comment you with my new icon (Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-13 06:55 pm UTC

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mcintyrej, 2008-10-13 07:00 pm UTC

	eliza 2008-10-18 12:50 am UTC (link)
	(Reply to this) (Thread)

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markovna, 2008-10-18 12:57 am UTC

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eliza, 2008-10-18 01:01 am UTC

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eliza, 2008-10-18 10:42 pm UTC

eliza
2008-10-24 12:06 am UTC (link)

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

(Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:07 am UTC (link)

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

(Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:09 am UTC (link)

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam-
ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
Garcнa Lorca, what were you doing down by the
watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my
Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
close in an hour. Which way does your beard point
tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-
teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
waters of Lethe?

(Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:11 am UTC (link)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

(Reply to this)

	eliza 2008-10-24 12:16 am UTC (link)
	What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? (Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:16 am UTC (link)

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

(Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:17 am UTC (link)

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

(Reply to this)

	eliza 2008-10-24 12:18 am UTC (link)
	Go, little book, To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl, Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl: And bid him look Into thy pages: it may hap that he May find that golden maidens dance through thee. (Reply to this)

	eliza 2008-10-24 12:19 am UTC (link)
	I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you -- Nobody -- Too? Then there's a pair of us! Don't tell! they'd advertise -- you know! How dreary -- to be -- Somebody! How public -- like a Frog -- To tell one's name -- the livelong June -- To an admiring Bog! (Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:24 am UTC (link)

a pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)

o yes to flower
until so blithe
a doer a wooer
some limber and lithe
some very fine mower
a tall;tall

some jerry so very
(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry
(and sally and nan
they tremble and cower
so pale:pale)

for betty was born
to never say nay
but lucy could learn
and lily could pray
and fewer were shyer
than doll. doll

(Reply to this)

	eliza 2008-10-24 12:24 am UTC (link)
	STRANGER! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you? (Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:26 am UTC (link)

A pleasure we do out of love for the other person
We our sharing the sexual experiment with
When the innocent become the sexual

It’s when that passion of love turns into a hobby
Then into an obsession and then that turns into a have to have
You can’t stop thinking about your next fix
You look for it everywhere in everyone
You start having withdraws from it
You wonder how you got this way
So dependent on it to get you through the day
You think it’s the only thing that your good at
The guys keep coming and going like fire
At times when it hurts so bad you cant do anything
You tell yourself no more not another time
But as soon as soon as your better
Your right back at it
You ask yourself
Why you do this every time
You just don’t understand
It’s as if your being sexualy
Taken advantage by your own body

You wanna tear your hair our if your not doing it
The people just keep getting older while your still the same age
Started 2-3 years now it doesn’t really matter how old as long as you get the fix
You have to do it
It is your drug
Your Acid

People have been telling you for months that you need help
The people that know you the real you
This isn’t the real you and you know it
You can feel it
The lying
The addiction
The lake of pride you have for your body and self
It’s not you
It’s like he said right before he left
How does it feel to be trash now that you are trash,
And now you are truly trash.
You are not trash this is not you

You know how this started a young women lost within her broken hearted emotions
You just know you don’t know how to stop it
You now need help
Lots of help
Cause sitting here
She’s itching to do it again
And pleading someone help
HELP! ! ! PLEASE! ! ! HELP! ! !
She doesn’t wanna be like this forever

(Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:27 am UTC (link)

Listening to the music.
Sets my feet to moving.
Making me stand to bust a move.
Rocking out to the tune.
Singing out of key wildly.
Partying with myself alone.
Glad no one is watching.
Being self conscious, feeling old.
Rock and Roll being my passion.
Madonna, Aerosmith and Wham.
My secret passions no one knows.
I feel like a teen again in the 80’s
“Girls Just Want to Have Fun” my theme.
My old cassettes still playing in my soul.

(Reply to this)

eliza
2008-10-24 12:28 am UTC (link)

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts."
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?"
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
"taking off?" asks the motel
clerk.
"yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
back here."
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
oh, it's just
my cat
this
time.

(Reply to this)

	DONT HATE ME DONT HATE ME DONT HATE ME DONT HATE ME DONT HATE ME eliza 2008-10-27 12:46 pm UTC (link)
	(Reply to this)

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