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Diary entry #87

             
             
Oh no.              
The keyboard player is cranking tunes              
What the fuck is he listening to?              
I think it’s Moby………              
             
Dick head.              
             
I had great expectations              
of having a quiet night in on the tour bus              
watching my David Copperfield illusions DVD              
But the idiot has to annoy me              
and I have to suppress my desire to enact the law of the jungle.              
             
.........Book
‘em Danno. LOL!              
             
I suppose this is just the way we live now;              
Men without women.              
on the road
,              
pretending to be brave.              
             
New World Order conspiracy theories              
play silently on the TV monitor.              
Apparently lizards              
are in positions of power              
all around the world.              
             
In eighty days
the tour will be through and I’ll be home              
but right now all I want is a lolita.              
Out here you dream of women                      
But they only want you when you don't need ‘em              
and when you do need ‘em,              
they don't wanna know ya.              
They act like you’re invisible.              
Man
, now that’s what you call a Catch-22.              
             
No Air-con.              
Thermometer reads ninety degrees Fahrenheit.              
451
ants attack a half-eaten, melted snickers              
I counted them ‘cos I’m the prince of OCD.              
Good onya ants.              
Eat as much as you like,              
It
doesn’t bother me.              
                                                                                    
Gazing out the window              
I see the wind in the willows whipping the vines              
in a way that’s vicious enough to kill.              
             
A mocking bird
is lashed in the face.              
Ooooooo…..              
By the looks of that gash              
he’s gonna need a Phantom of the opera mask.                
                                                                            
The drummer stunk up the bus.              
Smells like whatever he excreted          
had been inside him since 1984.              
Stinks worse than a dumpster at a slaughterhouse.              
Five
times worse. Good Lord!              
             
Of the flies
buzzing around the toilet door              
the fat one is my favourite.              
I’ve named him ‘The Big’.              
             
Sleep
is what I need                                                        
but my bunk is covered              
with the droppings of mice              
and men
are playing poker down there.              
I don't wanna listen to that shit at the second.              
             
Sex
is something I won't be having tonight.              
But that don't matter              
‘cos alcohol is better than sex.              
Just wish I had somethin’ to mix with the rum.              
             
Diary
entry #87              
             
             
23/01/2006              
             
             
             
 
RexDurkin
Author's Note
Entry to the 'book titles poem' hosted by Butters. "loo, loo, loo, he's got some apples"
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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