StonedCrow"a woman drove me to drink, and i never had the decency to thank her" - w.c. fields
stonedcrow3
read my profile
sign my guestbook

Visit stonedcrow3's Xanga Site!

Name: justin
Country: United States
State: Louisiana
Gender: Male


Interests: music, muzak, static
Expertise: crescent city madness (big easy empty bottles of beer)
Occupation: audio tech/badass motherfucker


Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website


Member Since: 4/19/2001

SubscriptionsSites I Read
hilaw
MarlaSinger
flaviapop
kvdubs
llibra
Wonders_Dimension
raen
bonginginin
MadJackBabymaker
warpedtheory
dominoeyes
AnswerGuy
Blackguard
sebastiancrane
StarSexploding
Dada_Witch
yoshimitsu43
MyFuneralParty
inertia
FlashFiction
crimsonlipstick
ZoeyBlack
haeven
nolovenohate
fragilemind
SupernovaSaturn
taoist_chainsaw
animalgirl74
stickysnatch
Pox
brokenspecies

Blogrings
jesus was a drug addict
previous - random - next

...nonsense...
previous - random - next

dead poet's society.
previous - random - next

...The Glass is Half Empty
previous - random - next

 Writer's Outlet 
previous - random - next


Posting Calendar

|<< oldest | newest >>|
view all weblog archives

Get Involved!

Suggest a link

Recommend to friend

Create a site


Friday, October 16, 2009

this city is not my home:

she wipes the finality from her sores, sticks her finger in the corner of her right eye and says, "hey what fucking day is it?"

tuesday, you gonna make it?

"hmmph... i want a ciggarette, what'd you do with the razors? how long have you been awake?

all night, is what i tell her. she hugs my arm, the sweetness as she blinks and looks at me wide-eyed like a lost child makes it more adoration than love. this is my favorite part.

her eye shadow looks like rotting teeth, she might look pretty if she could stand. staring ito the rafters, hair like rainbows across the floor, her small frame fighting gravity.

"i left this place for a reason", she says.

i have given up on you.

you are not a well lighted place, you are not home to me.

 


Friday, August 07, 2009

some days
i feel like a million bucks,
but mostly
i'm a racehorse
with two broken legs.


Monday, July 13, 2009

to know me, it's always wrong:

when you haven't called, i usually dance with the shades down. usually badly but i try to keep up because you're so damn good at it.  moving with a silhouette, walking on the feet of my shadow pretending like i step in count with you.  slowly dancing with an apparition i can feel her lengthy dress brush against the top of my feet, and when i look up she licks her teeth. they glisten in the low light and i watch the blood collect in the corners of her mouth.  i smoke a cigarette and pretend to be forgiven and it is then that things begin to get strange.

her tanned thighs move slowly together, i smell the way she feels good.  she paints the floor with flesh and steel strings intent on admiring the destination of those pieces.  as i collapse to the cool tile beneath me, i understand for a blue-eyed moment what i have been trying to blindly accomplish.  i pace for miles like a statue, and i just fail.

her hip bones are sharp yet comfortable between muscles. when i kiss her bellybutton it's then i realize she hasn't eaten in weeks.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

695:

i might be there soon,
i might not.

i have been distracted by a lack of friends
"how are ya sweetheart?"
thats what i practice saying to her
every time i'm almost alone.

[blank]

it's getting late but i'll be around
until it's over.


Thursday, May 28, 2009

low tide, open wound:

drawn back exposing the never seen tender fault line skin and muscle removed from shoulder earthen not fatal awaiting purges in anesthetic hurt stolen with an accepted choir of see-me-throught-this and things will bless our wrongs and swell to the bottom of the surgical incision placed upon the favors bestowed by other medicines and care will be given not taken while in exile from craters none can see aside and between corrective surgery to seal our lips and minds with a misunderstood grace that balances haphazardly in the hands we no longer have.

tears shall well to right all wrongs, the ocean it happily overcorrects.



Next 5 >>