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Jodie

how do like your blue-eyed boy now Mr Death?

About Me

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Maybe this time its not about me. Maybe it has never been about me. Wheels of emotion turn quickly, you get motion sickness. Like you spent the whole day spinning with outstretched arms on the hot, dry grass, It's just a game i like to play to keep myself just below the surface, between breathing and drowning. Just a method to keep life filling and poetry flowing. I have climbed and fallen, climbed and fallen so many times. Drank, smoked, surfed, burned,wept, traveled, loved, lost, lived, died, lied, spoke, wrote, rejected, accepted.Maybe i have learnt alot, maybe nothing at all. I'm trying desperatly not to fall, but it gets so exhaustive hanging on. I want to relax here in this soul, i get tangled in a mass of wires, burnt by the sparks of fireworks, blinded by the jangle of lights, drenched by downpours, ruptured by bombs. I'm a spinning top under a waterfall. All around me people are slapping their faces, drowning in a sea of chaotic boredom. I cannot save them. I sail alone tonight. Long hours build walls of solitude and indifference. We all grow weary within these walls. I could be anyone, that is all. just anyone. You call my name a sound slipped from your tongue, a sound that cannot catch me on its thread. Letters are lucid, a river flowing like everything. Fiery smoke fills my belly, arise black panther, awaken. Release a yawn to shake the fibres of my bones, prowl through my blood, stalk my veins. The shadow seeps sleek through every pore. Arise to my eyes, overtake them with your cunning yellow slits, blaze. A fragment in my mind, what a scenario i designed. Time passes, emotion surpasses, then lapses. When you're already on your knees the closest way is down. Peace and revolution must lead the blind, but first give me back my sight, so i can see the path in light.

My Interests



Surfing, Writing, Reading, Poetry, Philosophy, Foreign Cinema, Travellin', Music, PoliticsCHECK ME OUT AT www.agency58.com

I'd like to meet:


You scored as Jean-Paul Sartre. You are Jean-Paul Sartre. You could also be called a humanist, because you believe that humanity has the power to change their condition at any time; no one is born a coward, they only choose to be one. You also like open relationships that are far from monogamous, and you possibily have a lazy eye.

Jean-Paul Sartre


68%

Albert Camus


57%

Friedrich Nietzsche


43%

Martin Heidegger


43%

Soren Kierkegaard


39%

Not An Existentialist


7%
Which Existentialist Philosopher Are You?
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My Blog

talkin bout my generation

Talking 'bout my generation This nation it's all dead eyes and empty minds, searching out the cheap highs. It's the scrounge for the buzz, the freebees, the good times. It's about overflowing ashtrays...
Posted by Jodie on Sun, 07 Jan 2007 10:06:00 PST

Mescaline Night

Mescaline Night The moon opens like a lotus, roads wind, light shatters  and blinds. Body shudders, under, under. Sweat glistening, vivid reflections. Rainbow patterns break our sorry expressions...
Posted by Jodie on Tue, 02 Jan 2007 10:48:00 PST

he who was the lizard king...

Jim I thought about you this morning, while soaping my thighs in the bath. white sheets still stick with the peeling of your leathers.   He who was the lizard king. He who could do anything. &nb...
Posted by Jodie on Fri, 08 Dec 2006 06:43:00 PST

I lost my identity today

I lost my identity today. it slipped away like a wiley dog on a thin leash in the park. It didn't even kiss me farewell, like an infidel lover leaving in the midst of a hot stale night.   I sea...
Posted by Jodie on Sun, 19 Nov 2006 11:44:00 PST

dirty nights in cheap hotels

Dirty nights in cheap hotels Smash the glass upon the wall youre coming down tonight. Drinking alone; shots after dark only the best company provided. Ink is spilt and the typewriters dangling in the...
Posted by Jodie on Mon, 28 Aug 2006 06:44:00 PST

If I was a man

If I was a man Id never wash my hair again but Id drink whiskey chasers for breakfast. Id tell young and beautiful girls I loved them, gently stroke their soft, naïve cheeks then never call them back....
Posted by Jodie on Wed, 23 Aug 2006 07:04:00 PST

Jo Casselle - Poetry

A battered skyline, Clouds slashed to bleed light. A bruised ocean, Rushing to nowhere. And out there, past the darkness, Where it goes darker still. A single red blinking light, Where the men are dro...
Posted by Jodie on Mon, 13 Mar 2006 06:44:00 PST