The Sheep Pen

[bueno bob]

Not happening.

[FasterPussycat]

Preludes II
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all the muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
T. S. Eliot

[bueno bob]

Nah uh.

[FasterPussycat]

Preludes III
You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul is constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
And clasped the yellowed soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
T. S. Eliot

[bueno bob]

Nope.

[FasterPussycat]

Preludes IV
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock,
And short square fingers stuffing pipes
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
T. S. Eliot

[FasterPussycat]

Morning at the Window
THEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.
T. S. Eliot

[FasterPussycat]

Sweeney Among the Nightingales
"Alas, I am struck with a mortal blow within." [ -- Aeschylus, Agamemnon ]
APENECK Sweeney spreads his knees
Letting his arms hang down to laugh,
The zebra stripes along his jaw
Swelling to maculate giraffe.
The circles of the stormy moon
Slide westward toward the River Plate,
Death and the Raven drift above
And Sweeney guards the hornéd gate.
Gloomy Orion and the Dog
Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;
The person in the Spanish cape

[FasterPussycat]

oh...baby

[bueno bob]

Mine!

[FasterPussycat]

10000 yes

[bueno bob]

FUCK YOU BITCH.

[bueno bob]

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

CUNT.

[bueno bob]

THE SHEEP PEN JUST FUCKING OWNED YOUR ASS!

[FasterPussycat]

Fucking Asshole...nontheless, the sheep pen is now destroyed.
Sweet..., i think i just had a orgasm