Tent the saints of derrivement

I was thinking that it would be a good day to sense the tests of enjoyment..
Or.. to test the scents of deployment..
No wait, to... Tent the saints of derrivement.


I was thinking that it would be a good day to test the senses of enjoyment..
Ultimately that came to

The Damsel of amusement,
The playful Lunar Lady of Lingerie Lactation
The Eternal Ev'e of Extraordinary Elusiveness

Not every time that you skim into the world of an upbeat stride of joyous love will there have to be an awaiting echo of the sounds of authority sirens
but if there ever is, surely, the bramble to either side provides a great covering.

The certain romance that comes along through stories that involve bank-robbing, teeter-tottering on the brink of near societal collapse, simply skipping stones or crossing ridge to ridge upon a fraying slip of rope all push upon an edge of a personal whim fulfilled.

Now, why they are called Sirens, at any sense, is an interesting thing altogether.
Surely they aren't beautiful. Surely they aren't deceptive. We all know the reason. Only when undercover are they deceptive. But unless you have an authority fetish, then no way would you even invite them under your own covers.



There was a woman on crutches crossing the street between the parade
Many thought she was a part of the parade so they cheered
She embarrassingly smiled at the misfire of public gesture
The Elephants did not know that she wasn't part of the parade
Later on the carriages thought the pancake was part of the road.

 -------------------
'Hip to the charm of an ever pervasive cool
The uncool became cool and the cool still remained cool
and the counter-cultural became cool, to a limited  ability
Cool meant, really, being able to buy something
So the only fuckups and scumbags that remained were the
ones who could not be cashed-in upon to dress in the flavors of cool
So they stayed warm
Then everything ate itself
Inside out, with flashing yo-yos
And automatic polaroid filters
and electronic syngerettes
A tribal fire of differentiation
Waging a war of difference
Confidence to be 'weird.' Weird is cool, if affordable.
Just only on an accepted level
because leaving and then entering the self would be
too far out and weird out all of the cool weird hip cultural cool ones
I am the girlfriend of an american G.I. Joe Doll
I am the ever-perplexing dominant of muffler repair ripoff labyrinths
I am the King of supersonic hypocrisy how-to's
The storm that came through the
readjusting of questions and answers
slightly reworked so that the other can feel more comfortable
and less offended by outside ideas'
-Nathan Ninety Seven. Blabmouth Residentials.
 --------------------
I have a poem. I am going to present a poem. This is a poem. Are you ready? Here, here is the poem.

Senator Julie, where is this place?
Why did you put me here? Have you deceived me?
This is foolish time spent
Sitting around watching Kindergarten Cop
Why would.. I just wished to tell you.. bla bla bla.

The springs of vanderbelt rushed out so clearly
from the ears along with wax out of Mr. Briamble's head
As he slept, as he kept carnations from the breeze
Like a joy he did learn from weeping willow trees.
Happy Labor Day, hope your family is doing as well as ours
Love, Always
The Bronsons.

Actually the poem is here.
Hold on, let me find it.
Hey!! I see you trying to leave. Yes it's true not many enjoy sitting through a poem. But how many have really tried to.. Maybe you'll like it... So sit your fanny back down in this chair..

..oh, not a rocking-chair,eh? Not good enough of a chair!? Splinters!!? well, Why I oughta... Alright.. Sit on the floor, then, and listen to this poem.
Comfortable? Okay, Good.


I kept riding my motorcycle down past cheese factories and past breadcrumb towns
Falling in love with a whiteboard eraser can make you do some unquestionable acts
There's a wild confliction that scurries between holy roller vixen and tribal warrior
and somehow the vividly sharp smells of cheese factories did not make that go away

Remembering all of the times we used to pogostick together near the ocean
We avoided the crabs and held hands
We should have held hands after pogoing
but sometimes lessons are funner to learn the hard way.
Sixteen miles away from the cheese
and when the stink faded the memories were able to rush back more quickly

I remember you telling me "I think I exist, I'm pretty sure I exist"
but when we're all so pulled into our own dreams
sometimes it is a vague acknowledgement
Though somehow both of our dreams were able to merge smoothly
Somehow kissing you came naturally
and I remember playing "I left My Pastel On The Bed Cover And Woke Up Blue"
for you on the piano
You would sing to the rises and falls: so beautiful
and fingertips touching became such a subtle thunder
that all of the sorority drunkards screwing like rabbits at that very moment
all added up
could not match the pristine joy of my thumb against your palm
which only meant that kissing
with all the time in the world
amounted to nothing that a memory could recreate
Yet every thought of it brought on such details rebirthed
Donkey Kong with all of the bananas in the world
could not have been happier
and I would burn a winning lottery ticket
if it meant being able to snatch you along with me
and flow on out of that hell hole

As the playdough towns sank after panic
we would simply reshape old buildings into gardens and vines
We would go to the phone company building
and turn it into a submarine
Then push it from the shore
and watch it float out into the forever
and sip smoothies out of crazy straws
and cover each other with yard sale stickers
only to have them peel off
when we skinny dipped in cranberry juice