Litkicks Message Board Archive

what a world, what a world

Posted to Utterances




oh cruel fate why do you lick my legs like the mud crusted dog from my dreams? the hour is growing dim and ive become nothing more than a mean spirited drunk with no redeeming social value. but i cant complain about what i do. its what i do that makes me who i am. we can no longer pretend to be spectators in our lives any more than we can eat ghosts. its been fun posting on this site. ive met many nice people. and probably pissed off a couple of nice guys too. but thats life and i make no apologies for living in this town. in this country. in this bee hive hair-do world. someone keeps kicking my back to push me forward. it seems ive outgrown my welcome in some of the darkest recesses of my mind. so this is farewell to all those who have written such nice things about my writing. you all will never be forgotten. while i on the other hand should be shut out in the basket of rememberence. no one who knows your name will fall to his knees waiting for your return. the sun fades off in the trees and the darkness slowly returns so i must end this last letter from a despot of control and boiling thought kettles before i change into the snarling little albatross that my mind is growing accustom to being...

goodbye literary kicks...



what a world, what a world

Posted to Utterances




oh cruel fate why do you lick my legs like the mud crusted dog from my dreams? the hour is growing dim and ive become nothing more than a mean spirited drunk with no redeeming social value. but i cant complain about what i do. its what i do that makes me who i am. we can no longer pretend to be spectators in our lives any more than we can eat ghosts. its been fun posting on this site. ive met many nice people. and probably pissed off a couple of nice guys too. but thats life and i make no apologies for living in this town. in this country. in this bee hive hair-do world. someone keeps kicking my back to push me forward. it seems ive outgrown my welcome in some of the darkest recesses of my mind. so this is farewell to all those who have written such nice things about my writing. you all will never be forgotten. while i on the other hand should be shut out in the basket of rememberence. no one who knows your name will fall to his knees waiting for your return. the sun fades off in the trees and the darkness slowly returns so i must end this last letter from a despot of control and boiling thought kettles before i change into the snarling little albatross that my mind is growing accustom to being...

goodbye literary kicks...