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Paper Crane
Also known as the peace crane,
the origami design is simple. First,
build the ‘bird base.’
Valley fold (but the soldiers are in the
way) the bottom right edge to the central vertical line.
Crease.
Valley fold (so destroy them) the bottom left edge to the
same central line.
Crease (go.ahead.leave.your.mark)
Turn over and
repeat step one (are they still there)
Valley fold the bottom right point up and
Crease (sir, where’s my daddy?)
Unfold (like my country)
Do an inside reverse fold (it’s too late) along the
crease lines (permanently embellished) you just made
(not again).
Same to the left point, and
Unfold again (idon’tcare-sendmore)
Inside reverse again (butsir,
lookwhathappened last time)
Now return to the front point and valley fold the tip
forward (we.will.win. keepmoving)
That’s the head (it’s not over-
‘til I say it’s over) unfold.
Inside reverse fold along crease lines,
and your birdie can spread words of peace.
To spread its wings, however, (we shall fly to the trouble
zone) place your thumb (right in the capital) inside the
wings (dropitnow) and gently (isaidnow) pull open.
Stop when the wings stick straight out
(Kabloom).
and there you have it. your paper crane.
-Copyright-Wolven Poet (crap. The Love Mutt) February 22, 2007
 The Love Mutt · Mon Aug 27, 2007 @ 04:01am · 0 Comments |
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Arreglado (ask for translations) |
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La espina le duele la
poeta cuando ella
apreta la rosa tan ligeramente
La rosa, en muerte, le
pierde su color
y tu sangre le devuelve el sonrojo
a sus carillos
Porque, la rosa le necesita
su color muy vivo
para que represente la inocencia de la novia
porque,
al dia de las nupcias,
Los flores necesitan distraerles la atencion
de los observadores
de las lagrimas corriendo para abajo
a su cara.
-January 30, 2007
The Love Mutt · Thu Feb 01, 2007 @ 10:17pm · 0 Comments |
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Shut Up and Write
Sit yourself down and reach for the tower;
Wipe off the dust and then turn on the power.
Wait for it to load and then log yourself in, and
Avoid Ms. Explorer's temptation to sin.
Type up your headline and then! the first words...
Throw out your first draft and feed the scrap to the birds.
Start over.
Fly across the keyboard as fast as
the memories flash from your head to the screen as fast as
the emotions cycle through your body as fast as
your muscles tense up and eyes well up as fast as
the family fell apart (in the first place)
Sway in your seat and lean in a bit closer-
Get face-to-face with the screen; KNOW you're its author!
Take your position right over the backspace
To challenge the faults and the flaws... Make the right plays.
With you pretty blonde hair and crystal blue eyes,
When you read it aloud, they'll all be so surprised
Tomorrow.
Form your words carefully as you
enforce your self-worth as you
cross your 't's wisely as you
finish your sentence as you
choke out the last word (divorce)
-December 28, 2006
The Love Mutt · Thu Feb 01, 2007 @ 10:14pm · 0 Comments |
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Foxpup
Alone in a field
The bandit nips at the air,
Catching butterflies
Environmentalist
Pine sap floods the stream
As buzzsaws ricochet through
Neighboring forests
Squatter
The sign reads "For Sale"
While inside, a girl in rags
Tries to catch her breath
Painter
Canvas washed in blue,
Only to reveal a face.
Stop following me.
Jenny
Nature magazines
litter the floor as she makes
her body a twig.
All by me, environmentalist written on dec. 27, the other three the day before.
The Love Mutt · Thu Dec 28, 2006 @ 09:00pm · 0 Comments |
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Here it is (a STORY! I knOW!):
Reality’s Take On a Charlie Brown Christmas
Lucy stared at Joey’s Christmas tree with her mouth falling to the floor. Seeing her face, he simply smiled sheepishly and stumbled on his words. “Well, uh. You see, Christmas is a, uh, a really, REALLY big thing at my house. Especially this year. Because of college next year, and, uh, yeah, you know.”
Yeah. Sure I know, Lucy thought, her eyes transfixed on the mountains and valleys of presents. Me? Who never believed in Santa Claus… Who never had the chance to… Who never got anything for Christmas. Ever. She was consumed by her jealousy. Again. What is WRONG with me? she thought. Joey is just trying to be nice, having me over for Christmas Eve, keeping me from my psycho family, and all I can do is fume that he’s better off? GET WITH THE PICTURE, LUCY!!!!!
“Lucy?”
“Huh?”
“Are you OK? You totally zoned out right there!” Joey’s eyes were full of concern, and Lucy belittled herself for thinking bad about him. He was just trying to give her a better Christmas than she’d have stuck at home. “Anyway, I’ve got something for you.”
“What?! I… I thought we decided we wouldn’t do anything for Christmas since I was invited over and you know I can’t buy anything right now and I’m awful at making stuff.”
“We did. But I wanted to. Here.” Joey handed Lucy a small box, meticulously wrapped in metallic gold paper with red ribbon and a matching bow. At least it’s small… Both of the teens went to the couch in front of the fireplace, the fire’s smile crackling furiously, and sat down; Joey fidgeted nervously while Lucy slowly (very slowly) opened the package.
“Oh.
My.
God.”
Lucy could hardly believe her eyes. It was a bracelet, silver links with a silver heart, decorated with real diamonds, hanging in the middle. She tried to talk, but could only stutter out incoherent phrases. “But… But…. Oh my god… W-why?... I… I didn’t get you…. GAH!!!!” She finally gave up, exasperated and exhausted with the effort to express the tumult of thoughts and feelings swelling in her body, thisclose to breaking out and covering the walls in the slimy, pure mushiness of teenage emotion.
“Luce, it’s OK. I wanted to get you this… I… I guess, well... I like you. Well, that’s obvious; you’re my best friend. But I mean, REALLY like you. More than I used to. More than friend-like. More like girlfriend-like. AKA: Will you be my girlfriend? Gimme a shot… Please?” His last sentence, that one word, was said in such a small voice, so desperate and craving for her to make or break him with one of two words: yes or no, that she had to smile. Should she? Lately she had been thinking more and more of him, and he was right; it was more than just friend-like. But did she really want to risk their friendship if it didn’t work out? Well, either way, normal friendship is lost; we both know we like each other.
“…yes.”
***
Joey walked Lucy home that night, the flush on his cheeks more from happiness, the slight temporary awkwardness that change the new relationship had left, and excitement of what would come of it, than from the cold air. They reached her front door.
Lucy counted to five before swallowing a goblet of the stale, recycled air that seemed to surround her neighborhood and probing a sensitive subject for the both of them.
“Wanna come over tomorrow morning?”
And with Joey’s reply, the recycled air of the past mixed with the tender air of the here and now and left Lucy with a bittersweet taste of what Christmas would bring: happiness, a thing she had never truly belonged to in her own home, or rather, despair, destruction, and the normality of her life that would crush the new hope that Christmas Eve had presented her, wrapped in metallic gold paper and red ribbon, with a matching red bow on top.
-Wolven Poet
December 26, 2006
The Love Mutt · Tue Dec 26, 2006 @ 03:42pm · 0 Comments |
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Faerius Elvenus Holidaeus |
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Faerius Elvenus Holidaeus
Excerpt from "The Encyclopedia of Fantastical Creatures, Vol. II"
Elves
General Description: Long, lithe creatures, with large, pointed ears, great agility, eternal youth, immunity, and endless wisdom
Sub-Species: Faerius Elvenus Holidaeus
Common Name: Christmas Elf
Though classified as elves, many fantologists dispute the categorization. The Christmas elf lacks the extreme height of the other elven species (and in many cases, are dwarves' heights), and its speed is considerably less than that of a typical elven genre, only five times as fast as a human. Another questionable trait in the Christmas elf is their immunity and immortality. Though there are no recorded illness-related deaths, it has yet to be proven that they have the typical immunity to viruses, flus, colds, plagues, etc. To other elves, the Faerius Elvenus Holidaeus group is the "black sheep" of the Faerius Elvenus genus.
Background:
The Faerius Elvenus Holidaeus earned their common name, "Christmas elves" due to their stereotypical line of work. While some (a very small minority) do go on to become stealth ninjas, technology and communications experts, and dentists, the vast majority end up the same as their parents: working for big-time holiday business monopolist, Saint Nicholas Claus, nicknamed Santa Claus by his many fans. According to newly discovered diaries and journals, however, "Jolly Old Saint Nick" is lacking in the "jolly" department when it comes down to business. The Faerius Elvenus Holidaeus are stuck in the same feudal system that doomed the peasants in early European times and the African slaves in the United States of America from early times to the 1800's. The elves have become slaves to Mr. Claus. The Head Elves (see FAERIUS ELVENUS SUPERHOLIDAEUS) stand on the platforms with cruel motivation for the workers. Punishments include the classic corporal punishment of flogging and other bodily abuse, as well as severe and unheard-of punishments of the mind: endless choruses of Jingle Bells and other Christmas carols, boiling hot cocoa that's too hot to drink (with no milk provided), a ridiculous work uniform (pointed green caps and curled-toe shoes, everything garnished with bells), and piles of coal for their beds. When visitors tour the factory, the elves are forced to sing along with the carols, faking high pitched squealing voices and pinched pink cheeks- the epitome of "cuteness".
In the week prior to Christmas Eve, the elves are forced to work day and night, getting no sleep and allowed only to eat the paint they use for the toys, and for drink, the scalding marshmallowless hot chocolate.
In 1947, however, Saint Nicholas's exploitation of the elves was brought to the attention of a little girl in New York, and, after a series of court appearances, the elves were finally given overtime pay, vacation days, sick days, and most importantly, civil treatment.
It is said Santa now goes under a new pseudonym to avoid further punishment, as in 1972 he was brought to court again by Rudolph for animal abuse.
Should anyone catch sight of a Mr. Kris Kringle, please call 1-800-HOLIDAY immediately to report the criminal.
The Love Mutt · Mon Dec 18, 2006 @ 06:12pm · 0 Comments |
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After Shock
Wither my sorrow and rid me of fear Impair my judgment and bring yourself near Hot on my ear and burning below 'Round the room spins 'fore our eyes and down the vodka will go
'Round and 'round, we all fall down
Crack the keg and drain it out
The music's fast, my movements slow,
Push me low, but
Push me low, but Take it slow as my
Push me low, but Take it slow as myVision blurs 'til I
Wake up
Bare on chest and frozen below- with no recollections, I groan loud and slow I try to remember what happened last night- What the ******** was I doing and ******** a.. you might've been right...
'Round and 'round, we all fall down
Crack the keg and drain it out
The music's fast, my movements slow,
Push me low, but
Push me low, but Take it slow as my
Push me low, but Take it slow as myVision blurs 'til I
Wake up
the next morning
with the taste of Ireland in my mouth,
with the taste of Ireland in my mouth,pleasant,
mixed with the taste of hydrochloric acid,
with the taste of Ireland in my mouth, pleasant,sickening
******** it.
You were right
You were right and and yet,
I'll get up tonight
And I'll do it again. I'll
And I'll do it ameet you in
Paradise-
And I'll do itWake me up when it
And I'll do it Wake me up goddammitDies.
-Wolven Poet
November 14 & 16, 2006
The Love Mutt · Fri Nov 17, 2006 @ 09:36pm · 1 Comments |
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A Dream For Un Miserable
(To the tune of Greensleeves)
19th century lullaby
Be still, my sweet; I'll make ends meet
From now until forever.
Don't frown, my darling; just rest your head
Right here in the arms of an angel.
Calm, calm, my little bird
Just close your eyes and say naught a word
Thanks, thanks, to Him above
For sending me this angel.
Don't cry, my baby, 'cause Mama's here
To hold you close and wipe your tears.
Don't fret my child; it's time to sleep
Right here in the arms of an angel.
Sleep, sleep, my porcelain doll
To dream of life and love it all.
Dream, dream to grow and learn
My babe, my bundle from Heaven.
Soar, soar my precious dear
Away from this hell that we live in.
-Wolven Poet
October 2006
The Love Mutt · Fri Nov 17, 2006 @ 09:29pm · 0 Comments |
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Guidelines to Using Rat Poison |
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Guidelines to Using Rat Poison
Oxygen deprived
And adrenaline fueled,
The rats mount the rats
In the dank Parisian sewers.
The rats mount the rats
And their whiskers twitch like a kleptomaniac's fingers
As their grease-slicked coats glisten
With their arrival.
Grease-slicked coats give
Way to departure.
As they await their next coming,
The mounting becomes fierce.
Their departure leaves them stunned,
Oxygen deprived
And adrenaline fueled
In the dank Parisian sewers
We rats squeak our loudest,
Snarling until our coats are
Bathed in ecstasy
Until finally,
We break, from exhaustion,
from stress,
from pressure,
Leaving the rat unsatisfied and
twitchingtwh
ttwitchingtwiti
twitcitwitcc
ww
twitchttwitchtwin
twitchingtwitchingtwitching.
-Wolven Poet
November 8, 2006
The Love Mutt · Fri Nov 17, 2006 @ 09:23pm · 0 Comments |
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