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               F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
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                - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
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        "I believe man will not merely endure; he will prevail.
         He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures
         has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul,
         a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.
         The poet's, the writer's duty is to write about these
         things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting
         his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honour and
         hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which
         have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not
         merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props,
         the pillars to help him endure and prevail."

        - William Faulkner, from his acceptance speech for the
          Nobel Prize for literature, 1949

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        turbulence
        
        Oceans whistling through a thumbtack cul-de-sac
        Feigning joy, I really ate my hat
        Effusing blood like so much dead life
        I coughed, blinked, looked up, and it was gone
        So tired of the same day-ins and -outs
        Silver velvet lining; pearlescent pride
        A facade; for insurmountable insecurities
        Cynicism hidden by the fog
        
        Let me cough out my insides
        Feel free to run, but you can't hide
        There is no antivenin
        For lost time
        (You can't fix wasted time)
        
        Is there a reason
        That I persist?
        History repeats itself
        I'm not enjoying this
        And if today sucked
        And yesterday was quite its twin
        What's to indicate
        That tomorrow I can win?
        
        And if I cut open
        My left eye
        So that you could see inside
        Would you be frightened at the disarray;
        Ramshackle lean-to holly spray?
        Or would you find what I cannot:
        Value/essence long forgot?
        An innocence once pure, now maimed
        Mutated by toxins, discolored by stains
        
        The blood would gush
        In cascading floods
        No one cut it
        But still it runs
        Cold like ice
        And hot like Hell
        Viscously thin
        It's just as well
        And twice as poor
        With three times the bite
        Show me the jump,
        And I just might.
        
        agrajag



        fading in and out

        i'm drunk on nothing in particular
        on a little bit of this and some of that
        and a whole lot of nothing
        and i'm stuck here again
        in this pit of disillusion
        broken bones and drunkedness confusion
        wish i knew what it was to be a kid
        try to live it again and again
        but every time i try
        i can't handle it
        and i wonder why
        i'm back to being alone again
        and i can't fucking stand it anymore
        and i just wanna blow up
        and take everyone down with me
        no resolution
        no reason
        no anything anymore
        no...
        
        boogah



            To hold, body,mind,soul
                    is to 
              hold a new world
                in rapture
        
            caress a mans body
        with hands, breath, and toungue
                Discovery
             to a new world
        
           Desire flows through
               every nerve
            lips so sensuous
                so soft
        
           There is only heat
             in the touch
        electrical, magnetic, powerful
                Magic
        
          Release all inhibition
              let it flow
          let discovery take you
             to a new world
               of rapture
        
        Blaise..
 


        twice

        Spoon fed me sugar, Coated lies
        That went with ease like honey, So sweet 
        The very hand that caused the pain extended 
        To the arms sought salvation in.
        Made this little girl grow up, 
        Now experienced in the art of love 
        Hand in hand with betrayal and shame
        A scorned woman I've become 
        Numb from your actions 
        Deaf from you lies
        Blind to those passionate eyes
        Its funny how the taste of honey no longer lingers 
        Sweet but bitter in my mouth
        
        bluerose



        cockeyed
        
        a cockeyed optimist:
        
        when the sky is a bright canary yellow
        i forget every cloud i've ever seen
        so they call me a cockeyed optimist
        immature and incurably green
        i have heard people rant and rave and bellow
        that we're done and we might as well be dead
        but i'm only a cockeyed optimist
        and i can't get it into my head
        i see the human race 
        is falling on its face
        and hasn't very far to go
        but every whippoorwill 
        is selling me a bill
        and telling me it just ain't so
        i could say life is just a bowl of jello
        and appear more intelligent and smart
        but i'm stuck like a dope
        with a thing called hope
        and i can't get it out of my heart
        not this heart
        
        a cockeyed pessimist:
        
        when the sky is a dark and dreary yellow
        i forget any time i've ever been
        anything other than miserable
        insecure and incurably mean
        i have heard people rant about the weather
        say it's grey and they'd rather be in bed
        but i'm nothing if i'm not miserable
        with a cloud living over my head
        i see the human race
        a smile upon its face
        i think of all that they don't know...
        however they are still
        despite their lack of will
        going wherever time may go
        i could say life is just a bowl of drano
        and appear more immune to things that smart
        but i'm stuck without hope
        in the land of dope
        and i can't get it out of my heart
        not this heart
        
        sarikei



        PASSIONATE ROUTINE

        i cannot tell which side of your face
        i like best. symmetry has its flaws.
        and it has its museum-portrait quality.
        
        when midnight moon settles on your
        sleepy side, it illuminates a weary
        smile. i can only admire it because
        if i awake you, it will fade, you will
        turn over and clouds will bury the moon.
        
        another fresh dawn highlights your
        eager side. this smile differs from
        last night's expression. i am secure
        in this morning's moment. and i lean
        down to shade the sun from your eyes
        while i revive those lips with a kiss.
        
        and as i reach your face, my mouth
        becomes filled with cotton fibers.
        
        
        Indiana Poet        April 29, 1998
        


        quiet noise

        static depression my emotional link
        almost just, the need to rethink
        
        seduction of crime, and being alone
        more pure feeling, i can't condone
        
        steady rejection my blanket at night
        a single reason to give up my fight
        
        mea_culpa


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        E D I T O R S:   jericho@dim.com   &   demonika@dim.com
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        (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.     
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        F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997