Its pronounces Zi-on, but I guess it doesn't matter (I'll talk about that later : D).

HEY NEF, I haven't seen/talked/heard from you in agesss, how are things?

Tom, I'll reply to your post tomorrow, I've read it but only skimmed, I just got back from the theatre, (Richard III), and am tired as, but from what I made out, there are some good things to talk about.

Im going to watch Richard III the play at some threatre in the city, wasnt it any good xion?

It wasn't as good as Richard II...

What's a Richard

In short, Richard is an android sent forward through time in order to help us learn the ways of the Aztecs. He's one hell of a machine with a talent for tomfoolery. You won't know whether he's coming, or going, and in either case you won't be able to help but laugh. He'll bring a tear to the hardiest of eyes, a smile to the most solemn of faces.. and will pick up the pieces when you're having a hard day. He's what the Flintstones never had, and what the Jetsons could only dream of. Watch out, for Richard the 3rd is coming to a theatre near you!

A few short poems (unedited and very quickly written in the given moments), you will notice a vast stylistic difference Gonzo , and I guess you'd know why.

what dark dreams linger in the minds of men
in those slippery nights without the smell
of smoke and timber to warm the blood.
Whispers of forgone and forcome,
The sweet and serenious song of
melted colours.
Our hearts lose their memory, and the taste of
strawberry and scented grapes that
burst like hot candles on the tip of tongues,
They wander through our black corridors and roam
Our empty streets.
But morning comes, and the feel of grains under our fingers becomes but wooden,
And we forget.

------

There's always something broken in the wind.
Tthe glazed and cracking air
Tthat we beat against for rags in lighted day,
To hear those songs and speak it all away.
Too see each seperate drop and bounce our eyes
At falling acorns.
All else for scorn, theres too much for
Bricks to hold or screens to see.
We live as a feeling, and touch all the trees, and feel the soil
On our fingers, and think to feel and fold to foiled folly.
Bbut such sweet folly.
Let it all burn to ash. We are too warm.

Thanks again Ryan.

Slippery nights without the smell? Hmm..

'Whispers of forgone and forcome,
The sweet and serenious song of
melted colours. '
Again, hmmm.....

'Our hearts lose their memory, and the taste of
strawberry and scented grapes that
burst like hot candles on the tip of tongues,'
I guess everything has a sexual connotation if you look for it!

'They wander through our black corridors'
HAHAHA.. I feel violated!

No, thanks again!

Man, im pumping out poems like crazy these days, this relationship is so inspiring? motivating? There's nothing better than being irrational.

Yes, that irrational way has something to do with being young. I remember feeling like that, as if the world was my oyster, for having her as mine. Little did I know she was Jezebel incarnate. Oysters and women.. ah, no. I'm unsure if that feeling is something that comes again and again, but I feel that it's something to do with innocence and once you get your heart raped once, it hardens.
It's interesting to think about the differences in the way you approach life when single as compared to taken. As you get older, I think it's more can't live with or without.. for you become an emotional cripple. Still, this could just be me.

I'd like to see more of what you've been writing about women/love/life. It's wonderful to get attached to something/one, even if it hurts like hell upon removal.

Some of its quite private actually, and yes world oyster etc. is a good feeling, but for the past year-ish ive felt pretty satisfied with myself and who i am and etc. , my identity has been satisfying to me. Also regarding heart-break etc. don't blame it on just women : P, you know about the guy who broke my heart. It isn't only women, its highly applicable to both sides. I've taken a shift from psychology and the concept of truth being focuses in my life to identity, existence and morality being the major theme that pervades my life at the moment, which is interesting. Hmm, many interesting things happening i believe, too much to really be able to just type up and display to you.

Hey Ryan!!!! can you make us a poem about the Bee? bentan77 wants to hear it badly, a good poem from a talented person, only you can do it.

Err, why exactly a bee, whats the context?

ben's signature is a bee and we're paying respect to the bee by creating the bee poem

1buzzing bombast
singular defense
dead to the world
make no sense

2to bee, or not to bee
that is the question
such an insignificant life
a lowly profession

3hexagonal room
on a hexagonal block
dripping with honey
but what of my cock?

I don't understand poetry.

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzzz bzzzzzz
bzzz bzzzzzz bzzzzzz bzzz
bzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzz bzz
bz bz bz bz bz bzzzzz

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzzz bzzzzzz
bzzz bzzzzzz bzzzzzz bzzz
bzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzz bzz
bz bz bz bz bz bzzzzz

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzzz bzzzzzz
bzzz bzzzzzz bzzzzzz bzzz
bzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzz bzz
bz bz bz bz bz bzzzzz

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA this is epic, one of the best

whre's xion's?

either studying or studying his GF.

Thanks

I apologise! I've been really busy recently, with a number of things, how is life everybody? I feel like writing something really long about stuff that's been happening with me but I'm too lazy. So far I've got a mind block with writing as well, I'm stuck with "In the day, we marry the sun, but at night the moon is our mistress" and um "The truth tempts us to its droughted kingdom, where we drown of thirst." And also I have this thing going through my head about curtains as well, my minds kinda flipping through things, that seem semi-disconnected in terms of what I would want to do, so its difficult.

The bee king bentan77 will enlighten you with his insights on daily routines.

We no longer have any respect for the night, so perhaps it's safe to say she's our mistress. I don't have much respect for daylight either .
I would liek (how it should be spelt) to write but I have no time. I'd like to hear about your life, RYan. Mine's pretty gay at the moment. I've been digging up vines, concrete and other assorted goodies. My body is sore yet I have the urge to go to gym.. and will be as soon as I finish this. I ran a marathon last weekend. It was intense. It's so psychological.. beautiful! The pain for me was incredible due to the fact it was my first and my hymem was 25 years strong. I now feel free, clogged no longer from excessive restraint. It was funny because the marathon was for Muscular distrophy, and for a few days after I walked like someone with MD... It was funny, in a way similar to the feeling you get after the dentist when your gums are all numb. You feel like it's a chance to play the retard without any guilt.
OK. Must go. I'd like to see less worship of bentan and more input from special k.

Something I wrote randomllly, so do not judge too hard : (

Fire lures us with its 'lumed warmth
And burns our all-too follied flesh.
In the heat of man-made summer,
Each rose smells softer but each thorn pricks sharper.
The yearning of a naked heart is the melancholy
Of it emptied. The forbidden lair of our soul's blood,
Where the music of forgotten fingers sings out, rings
Its dulcet tones like a melted casket of hollow dreams.
Each sense prickles with indulgent wealth,
But it is too warm. Too hot in this cankering,
And constricting place. I bend, a flimsy piece
Of metal too long under the sun. Where does the
Groaning and sighing of a lamenting soul find its
Place? What, in the back-seat of a too fast car?
Slow it all down, time, like an angry cat, jogs
too fast, and we, like legless idiots follow its angry
Course. Slow it all down, sand is not meant for
Falling but for Sinking. Flicker, flicker,
Even candles will bend too quickly, and even
Music will run too fast. We, I feel, are slaves leading
A wagon, which props itself behind our black
Blinker's and hides us from the truth. That damn truth that
Hides itself like a jester with a blunted rapier, who
Pokes the shoulders of men, who cannot bear the weight.
Will the fire subside, all its patterns sending angry sparks
Where it may be, it will, and like rubbered gloves, we cloak
Ourself in our anxious minds, while we bleed.

Also much to talk about Gonzo, but I'm lazy, will try to find time.

But you're always on msn, chatting with some girls