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Night Sistahs an'day Mothas [03 Mar 2008|11:52am]
[ mood | gloomy ]

Oh, Sistah, child.
You a sad sarrow child!
You stuck up in dat
Saylent Strato's'fear.

You bind yoseff wif
drayms to fix
what already been
and can't be undeed.

Can't undo de bullet
Can't undo de time spent draymin
Cry if you muss
Hare on may shouldah, child.

Me hold you in me
many arms til
you ain't got no tears
leff to leak

Me hold you in me
many nighttime arms til
you ain't got no soul
leff to speak.

Speak whatchyoo muss
Sistah, Child.
Butchyoo words ain't noffin
Wifout dat one who hear.

Say alou you mees hah (Blessid Motha Mahrhee)
Say alou you got regrit
Say alou an I give you heem
Dat one dat make you smile.

Yeshua, Sistah Child
Find him in dem arms tonight
Love youseff as
You Momma Beast desire.

She come back to you
In good time
She come wiff de answers
In good time.
 

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Private Wiggins [17 Oct 2007|03:51pm]
[ mood | gloomy ]


A lonely soldier calls around 3:00
I already know he doesn't have much to say
He just needs to hear his buddy's voice
I do the best I can
To give him a little taste of home

It must be, what, Midnight there?
    Yeah about 00.10
Was he hurt? Ask.
    Yeah, but not really, I'm still coherent
He says with a chuckle after labeling it "a little incident"

I tried to clean your Baretta, but it's locked and I can't find the key
    It might still be at home, I was pretty hammered that night
He was pretty hammered that whole year
I took the bullets out of the magazine like you asked
Your poor buddy didn't know what to do with it
(my turn to chuckle)

I really did
I had the intention of ending the whole war
When I did
    Thanks for doing that
    You can cut the lock off to clean it if you want


I don't know what else to say
To this young man forged into adulthood
On the other side of the world
With a gun in his hand
And the declaration that

    This is no picnic, don't get me wrong
    It's not quite what I expected

What can a man of few words mean
When he never made his expectations known
He means that he can't wait to come home

He couldn't wait to leave last spring
Those weeks before were riddled with unending need
From his hopeless parents, his erratic and needy girlfriend
His job and his friends' undying need for cheap beer
His own endless appetite for alcohol

I tell him about the weather
This a failure on my part
I want to tell him about all the love
and changes
and despair happening back home

It's getting too cold here
It's getting too cold there
A whopping 60 degrees at night
Soon will be a merciless desert hell
That will make his bones ache at night

I inquire about the girl
Who is bound to destroy his expectations of love
After his hopeful return home
Yet he still declares he's been through too much with her
To not commit himself to her

I can't believe what I'm hearing
    I've pretty much committed myself to her
    When I come home

Yet how romantic to have your own soldier with that sentiment
So confidently rolling from his lips

    I'll call you every month
    I'll come knocking on your door when I return
    I'll find solace in your stability
    I'll count on you
    I'll pay respects for whatever is owed


A sturdy dialog and we say goodbye
I calmly say
But internally plead
Be safe
Return

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I haven't smoked in 14 days [13 Oct 2007|09:59am]
[ mood | Addicted ]

I thought the beginning was supposed to be the hard part. I was playing at a bar the other night and realized how badly that environment makes me want to smoke.


It's mostly for financial reasons. I don't want to feel guilty or scared of getting cancer. But, man. I don't know if I'm going to last.

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25 this year [12 Sep 2007|06:36pm]
[ mood | Old ]

And quite the under-achiever.

I thought I would have so much more accomplished by now. Mostly, I'm just surviving. I guess I do have some potential with jetBlue, but I have to shit or get off the pot. Think I'll go to Chicago next week for the hell of it.

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Look at the moon. [07 Sep 2007|01:28am]
[ mood | crappy ]

I got glasses, now I can see her. Just one of her.

But right now . . .






There's all of this . . . house . . . in my way.

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Tune in. [31 May 2007|07:25pm]
[ mood | busy ]

I'm going to be on KRCL this Saturday night. 10:00pm on "Not a Side Show," hosted by Circus Brown.

We're also playing at Addicted (formerly the Bridge Vegan Cafe) 6/9 approx. 7:00pm. It's free.

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Did anyone like my song? [18 Apr 2007|08:23pm]
[ mood | Regretful ]

Did anyone even listen to my song?




I had a whole bunch of shit to do today . . . all for myself. All to make ME feel better. (Deep clean the bathroom, re-arrange the bedroom, mop, tidy up the laundry room, finish the laundry). These are all things that make me feel better. Especially because I feel I need to cleanse my little world before I start my new job tomorrow.

But. I realized I needed to go to the library to print some papers and decided to take a walk. The skate park was empty and there were no children. Only old men walking their old dogs. I saw the ducks and geese and smacked myself for never remembering to bring old bread for the birds. I was still focusing on all the things I was planning on doing today, then I found a goose chick stuck on its back. It was flapping its little webbed feet in the air and struggling painfully to turn over. I knew it was doomed. I knew I should leave it alone and let nature take its course. I knew the geese walking away from it were its hopeless parents. Suddenly my whole entire world was centered around this little bird and not my compulsion to spring clean. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a human's doing because the bird was so out of place. Just in case it was a human's fault, I decided to intercede. I helped the little thing over with a stick. It kept making that pitiful little peep noise and I just stared at it. God knows how long it had been stuck like that, but it was exhausted. All it could do was push itself toward me. I rolled it onto a piece of newspaper because there was no way in hell it was going to walk off into the park. I put it under a tree, careful not to touch it (in case the parents were still interested). I went to the library, the store, the coffee shop, trying to ignore it. I tried to do only as much as a human should do. I eventually caved under the morbid desire to take it from its abusive parents and nurse it back to health. I cut back through the park to see what came of the situation. Poor little thing didn't make it, it was already starting to move into rigarmortis. I finished wrapping it in the newspaper and put it in the garbage.


Then I fed its parents a bagel that I bought from Wild Oats.

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I'm so proud of myself. [14 Apr 2007|06:49pm]
[ mood | accomplished ]

So, my band posted 2 new songs. Check out Modern Day Working Man. It's my personal favorite. I play bass and fiddle on it. BASK IN MY TALENTS!

www.myspace.com/rionbuhler

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MY BACK [10 Apr 2007|08:26pm]
I just got back from Portland.


I played my rhythm fiddle for the bride.


I got drunk in an enchanted garden.


I went shopping, I went hopping, I went blind into the night.


I heard frogs and saw plants I've never seen before.


I think I needed it, but MAN is my back sore.
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I. Am. IRON MAN! [09 Dec 2006|10:46pm]
Your results:
You are Iron Man
Iron Man
75%
The Flash
75%
Wonder Woman
75%
Green Lantern
70%
Spider-Man
70%
Catwoman
70%
Supergirl
65%
Hulk
55%
Robin
50%
Superman
50%
Batman
45%
Inventor. Businessman. Genius.


Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

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[27 Oct 2006|09:12pm]
OCT 28th: Bomber Babes vs. Death Dealers

I get to bout again this year! They needed a last-minute sub for the Death Dealers. I will be appearing as JUGGERNAUT.

yeah, bitches!

www.slcderby.com
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I need YOU to buy tickets [26 Sep 2006|01:38pm]
Alright, the bout is THIS saturday and we need to sell tickets ASAP. You can go to www.saltcityderbygirls.com to purchase online or call 1-800-838-3006. Brandy and Alia, this means you! Jen, did you get tickets for you and Nick? Would your new beau be interested in coming? What about your dad and Tommy and Josette? Chris? If every girl sells 10 tickets, we have a contract with the Olympic Oval, I have only sold 2. :( Help Help Help HElp HELp HELP
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Sep. 30th, Leave it to Cleavers vs. Sisters of No Mercy [08 Sep 2006|12:25pm]
Do you want to come see me kicking ass (also, getting my ass kicked) on rollerskates? Tickets for the Salt City Derby Girls Bout on September 30th are NOW AVAILABLE!

go to http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/6887 to purchase online, or call 1-800-838-3006.

We will be bouting at the Olympic Oval so there should be twice the fun, twice the enthusiasm, and possibly BEER. Tickets sold out in 4 DAYS for the last bout so hurry! Tell your friends and family, too!

Thanks,
Lisa
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I need someone to buy me a pack of cigarettes RIGHT NOW. [23 Aug 2006|04:38pm]
[ mood | aggravated ]

Fuck.

2 comments|post comment

Lonesome Traveler [23 Jun 2006|01:59pm]
You called,
because you were alone.
Riding on the 5
with skin walkers
running along side

and i didn't know what to say
other than
it's a call from my long distance
friend

peace to you
lonesome traveler
may the wind bring you my way
again.
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Ashes to ashes [19 Mar 2006|11:31am]
It's kinda late notice, but mom's obituary appeared in the Salt Lake Tribune yesterday, and appears today.

Mom's obituary online
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Let it Be [14 Mar 2006|11:19pm]
[ mood | lonely ]

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be. Yeah
There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.


-Lennon/McCartney

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Lazy CATS [23 Jan 2006|03:13pm]
There's at least 73 birds feasting ravenously upon all the rotten apples in my front yard. The cats are too busy lying on the heater vents to care. Creepy.
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"The voices are telling me my oxygen's on wrong." [30 Dec 2005|01:49pm]
I'm so sick of fat people! I will never call myself fat again unless I have to lift my belly up for the person cleaning in my creases. As long as I can still see my pubes, I'm okay. You wouldn't believe what I have to go through every day of my employed life.
Joseph is fat. He claims he's on a rigorous physical therapy campaign, claims he is maintaining his independence, claims he wrote "Dust in the Wind" with his buddy (Dusty) who ran away from home and sold the song to Kansas. So I go to his house, help him take off his bicycle shorts, and watch him clamber into the shower. All the while he is making terrible noises of absolute agony. It's what Snuffalufagus would sound like if he was herniating. Joseph lifts his entire 400 lb mass into a slippery bathtub and comes crashing down on his shower chair. "Can you look under the chair for me? I think it cracked."
-Now what? You want me to look under the chair?
The only way, boys and girls, is through the great corduroy gates. No, Josheph, I don't think so. You'll have to stand up again.
So Joseph heaves himself up and down a few more times and by the time I leave he will be nearly passed out because he has an autonomic spinal reaction to shut down at the "Point of Pain." This miserable mammoth. He can't reach his own dick. Guess who has to dive into the frightening caverns of flesh. But don't worry. I wear gloves.
Joseph makes me come on Christmas night. This is a man who does NOT need service every day, but still demands it. He's clean as a whistle thanks to my company. But the fucker makes me work Christmas. And before I go, at 7:00pm, he tells me to bring him four Coca Colas and a cup full of ice. The cup has a built in handle-straw. Merry Christmas, Joe. You have nice clean folds.
Wendy's fat, too. But she has Paranoid Schizophrenia. She doesn't seem to know that she's fat, but she is completely aware of the enormity of her breasts and points out to me how big they are (we're talking 20 lbs each). She's on oxygen, and she stops me in the middle of her sponge bath to tell me that the voices told her her oxygen was on wrong. I just stare at her for a moment and then reassure her her oxygen is not on wrong. After another moment, I ask her if they are rude. "Sometimes," she says. "Most of the time, actually. I just tell them to shut up when no one's around. But sometimes I slip up and my husband thinks I'm talking to him." Wendy's husband is also Schizophrenic. Wendy doesn't stink like the others. She tries pretty hard to take care of herself and she only gets care three times a week. Poor, sweet, Wendy. Just stick to 1700 calories a day.
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three sisters and roots [21 Apr 2005|01:04pm]
thought it might be possible, if rusty:
with just garden vegetables, if home-grown.
a forsythia hedge of wanton disregard
a shallow game of GO-
and an apt lot next to the Adriatic.

bought it by the obstacle, pound for pound:
thinking holy miracles, if found near
an ocean crossed by mariners,
unchristened to the earth-
and here you sit, pissed.

wrought a medallion, though rusty:
with just three rings interlocked, if not round.
a simple movement of hands
of your shovel and my trowel-
and here we garden and wield.

caught a fish and let it go, in that life:
thinking fishy masquerades, if ground here,
an awful stench, but natural.
or your shovel and my trowel-
so here we are gardened and grow.
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