Finally Obama gets called out for allowing the military to detain U.S. citizens. →

It’s like someone I wasn’t sure existed told me a secret the world doesn’t know yet. And it sounds like good news.

It’s still a poem if I include “Ron Paul 2012” in the title

Have you ever thought you found a 4 leaf clover in the grass and tried to reach for it, but instead you realized there was no 4 leaf clover? And now your hand just got covered in dog shit? I have felt that way too, brethren. Times are obsidian, and when you scour that same cupboard for the dreams you’ve been saving up, it might take some dusting to know they’re still there, next to the white chocolate macadamia nut wanderlust and the perfumed gasp you plundered from me. I will admit, I was never aware of things up until 1, 2, maybe even 3 seconds ago. I’m serious, I only voted for Obama to just to see my roommates use the word communism like it was the N word. It was a popcorn fest, and I thought it was worth it at the time. I really sympathize with people whose only job credibility is having worked 40 hours a week for 15-20 years at a miserable company run by gingerbread dicks. Where is the dream? It’s stuck in that jar you keep in the cupboard. You gotta shine that jar every day, or 12 hours just to be safe. When that busted sega genesis don’t work no more, sometimes you just gotta throw up that SNES, with Super Mario: the Lost Levels to break down your self esteem. I won’t end this letter in Love, or Sincerely, because that shit should be at the beginning so you know what you’re getting into. You’re getting into a sincere love message. You can find out that it’s for you when it’s over. Caterpillars look cute when you paint them in watercolor.

To you, Ingamar Ramirez.

for this body I claim is not me
but it must do
may it arch its back to the willow’s talons
and rest its head on softer hands
let it harken to the wind in its soliloquy
may it lead somewhere directionless
a trail as forgetful as the day

So I just lost 4 pairs of underwear in the span of 3 minutes. Upon wearing my third pair of underwear in a new set of 3 I got for Christmas, I realized unconsciously that they were a bit constrictive, but that they should stretch. I tried to violently stretch my 3rd pair after today, but to no avail. These things are bound with leather. I checked the label on the back of it and it said for sizes 28-30. My mother knows I was a 34 but I dropped down to 32 because I matured, and baggy pants haven’t been cool since high school. I realized these won’t work. Goodbye red lumberjack underwear. Goodbye violet flannel underwear. Goodbye underwear with red lumberjack bears pawing across a grey oblivion. I replaced them with my size 32 underwear, and tore the middle by getting a toe caught in the pee hole. Awesome. Goodbye Grey underwear with black cross-hatching. You have cradled my children on extravagant nights of porno before an exam. You never strayed far when the birthday was technically over. Your faith is stainless. Onward to underwear #5. Good shittance.

(I apologize to myself for not spacing this enough from my previous post.)