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Array
(
[sid] => 140009
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => imagine Freddy Kreuger
[time] => 2008-01-25 08:03:32
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => imagine Freddy Kreuger with a dash of Howdy Doody thrown in. he almost never sits. he just stands and stares at you, and walks up behind you silently, saying nothing, just staring at the back of yr neck. he has a collection of ladies silk panties which he pins to a cork board in his bedroom. he thinks sylvia plath is a god. he cuts his own hair, trims the sleeves off his shirts and uses a rope for a belt. and hasn't had a beer ever. he’s afraid it'll make him lose control. to hear him tell it he’s god’s gift to women and absolute hell in a fight. i don’t understand it. he never goes anywhere. you never see him with anyone… he never does anything except walk up behind you and stare. it’s obvious his life is screwed up and the parts he tells you about are fiction. but, for some strange reason he thinks he’s got everyone fooled. and yet, i want to tell him it’s okay. we’re all screwed in the head… we’ve all told our own little fictions… i just want to tell him it’s okay, pal… living and dying’s easy… it’s the rest of it that wears you down. so you go ahead and do whatever you think it takes to get you through… only the next time i find you staring at me like that i’m going to poke your eyes out with a stick. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 269 [topic] => 43 [informant] => JohnYamrus [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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