quantumst8

Under the purple lemon tree we talk and laugh of many things The stories are woven and fortunes are told So honey child, harken to this one which never grows old. I stand forthwith, bright, lustrous, and bold.

Yes...........

We should make up a pseudonym and enter these kinds of poems in contests.

On milk flowers and splendor, a round sky fire burns While Sweet Baby Jesus rocks his ghost-manger in the sky I am all sad and wondering why It's such a beautiful day but only want to cry The Christ child rocks n rolls, Apollo's light will never return Before the cows come home and this day adjourns Oh sweet Efron let me be the Lucky One, pollinate my sticky saffron under the blazing sun So we may unite and live forever more, without pain and sadness that we had before Let our love not be dead in a tomb like Mr and Mrs Montague, never let our be done and when the light turns black and deep, may embers crackle lest we sleep Surrendering a left eye, then a right, to the marauders of dreams For nowhere in your roiling slumber can the endless horseman find his home Full of pain wand impossible sadness , here I shall forever rest, no more to roam alone It is now sad sweet Efron that roams alone, to seek again the horseman's love And as the horseman swiftly rides, he espies a solitary dove Held in a hawks jaw, no sign of life it gives Until the mighty clawed creature, dreading its own vice, yawps from knotty beak And the lifeless blood doth leak So justice is found where the proud eagles reign. A clouded dream on an earthly night Hangs upon a crescent moon Where summer solstice meets Luna waning

Alright, here's a little game we can play. I'll write a line of a poem, then the next person adds a line, and another person adds a line, and so on. So it would go something like this: Me: Roses are red 2nd Person: Roses are red, Violets are blue 3rd Person: Roses are red, Violets are blue, I have chewing gum on my shoe, You get the idea. I'll start: In milk flowers and splendor, a round sky fire burns,

I’m really getting tired of hearing it. I was just getting ready to plug in the vacuum to clean the apartment, but before I could ever turn it on, the noise starts. “Quantum…QUANTUM! We need to talk,” she said. “What? I’m trying to clean the place up. I just finished the kitchen and I need to do the carpets.” “That’s the problem!” she yelled. “You are way too motivated.” “What?” “If you’re not cleaning the house or taking pride in your appearance or paying all of your bills on time, then you’re neck-deep in some self-improvement task trying to expand yourself and become a better man.” She said. “I’m sorry, baby. Am I not paying enough attention to you?” “UGH! You make me want to SCREAM! You pay enough attention to me, too! And the imaginary sex is amazing. You never do anything wrong. Don’t you know that women do not date guys that are motivated and ambitious? They date slothful, unkempt, broke, unstable guys with drug habits and anger management problems. They date guys that keep jobs for 2 or 3 days. Women NEED this kind of drama so they can exercise their complaint muscles. You NEVER give me anything to complain about.” “You’re complaining now. In fact, you’re complaining about having nothing to complain about, which would make your entire hypothesis null and void.” At that moment, she picked up an imaginary glass vase and threw it accross the room at me. It shattered into a thousand imaginary pieces, all of which I promptly cleaned up. Upon her witnessing this, she became further agitated and stormed out the front door. I ran outside in my bathrobe as I watched her walk down the street. I said, “BABY! Can’t we talk about this?!” The next door neighbor was standing on his patio smoking a cigar. He said, “Dude, who are you yelling at?” “Sorry…my imaginary girlfriend is pissed. I’m trying to calm her down and get her to come back inside,” I said. “Whoa. Intense, dude. Well, why don’t you just imagine her back inside?” he said. “Oh, yeah,” I thought. So we were both back inside the apartment and we’re sitting on the sofa. I took her invisible ethereal hand and held it, although I was really just rubbing a pillow for effect. “Baby,” I started, “what is it that you want? Do you want to be with a less ambitious guy?” “How can I?! I’m imaginary. I was trying to go down the street and you just imagined me back in here. I have no free will to act like a real woman.” “Well, what if I imagine you with another guy…one like you think you should be with. His name is Lobo…he just got fired from Denny’s and he cooks crystal meth in his bathtub. Will that work for you?” “Wow. You would do that for me?” she said with a surprised imaginary look. “Of course, baby. I love you.” So with that, being the honorable man that I am, I kept my word and imagined her into another life with a guy that a woman is much more likely to call a boyfriend. Now I’m sitting at home alone and I miss her. Since I have to do all the imagining, I see her every time she kisses him, sleeps with him, calls him a big loser, but still goes running back to him because she swears she loves him. I’ve imagined they broke up six times already and they keep getting back together. Eventually, I’m going to imagine her posting on ENA complaining about the guy, but I know she’s still going to stay with him. I’m so sad about it, but what can I do? This is what she wants and I love her. Rick put Ilsa on the plane at the end of the movie, and I feel like I have to do the same thing. Oh, I tell ya. Of all the imaginary gin joints in the world, why’d she have to walk into mine?

Love this.