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the eclectic electric ramblings of c squared

Rockin' On with a Hard On!

Created on 2004-03-08 10:58:04 (#2445316), last updated 2009-05-20

1,464 comments received, 1,702 comments posted

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Bio
wonderland

Into secret corners the freezing air seeps.
Along lost alleyways the frostiness creeps.
It crystallizes on Osaka's grit n' grime
Like an icy mold on a rotting rind.
The boy,
Tall and gangly, with tousled chocolate hair,
His arms naked, his neck bare,
And pale cheeks dotted with bright tiny speckles
Of pure Black Irish, spotted pepper freckles.
He's escaped the far north - the rice paddy lands,
His blasé life of concocting poetry, making plans.
Now, he glides through coursing crowds,
Amid shadows and evening's shrouds,
Among sloshed gangs of salary slaves,
Nouveau riche night soirees,
Debonair doormen in slick Mafioso suits,
The chatty chicas of ill-repute.
He dodges the old men's fumbling plays,
Their filthy looks and piercing sly gaze,
Awkward, wicked fingers tickling.
Their sour livers slowly pickling.
Yet the boy, a petite jeune tapette
With a blithe bounce in his step,
Smokes his fag with an upturned grin,
Quickens his pace to keep the chill from sneaking in,
And continues on the road, following his keen high-bridged nose
Underneath neon night lights and into crumbling ghettos.
The boy’s destination, how odd,
With a lone rainbow flag and a cracked façade,
This tacky kitsch hot-spot, this homo disco,
Is a taste, a glimpse, of his city dreams, you know.
And while his retro-casj style and ripped-up jeans
Are not the de-rigeur robes of regal club queens,
He quietly, timidly walks in the door.
His yearning body, aching and sore.
Pulsing beats drilling to the core.
Forbidden grooves filling each pore.
He's not just out for cheap thrills galore
Or sloppy, messy, dirty amour.
Because he ain't THAT big o' whore,
(Even if his eyes flirt with tonight's special signor)
No, really, he's just a boy, looking for more:
Like the deep truth and beauty of ol' folklore,
Some cute clothes at the second-hand store,
And a lil' fun on the hoppin' dance floor.


Who I need:

Are you "just a nice, ordinary guy looking for friends or more"? Well, don't come a-knockin'. Are you a nothing-but-teeth "HI MY NAME'S ASHLEEE WILL U ADD ME!!" fair-weather buddy collector? Sorry, honey, not here. Are you a 450 lbs. chester-molester with a goyter the size of a grapefruit and only one eye and where the other eye used to be: maggots? Hmm, at least that's an interesting start.... I ain't no hater, baller, or shot-caller, but you're still probably pondering, "Poetry AND judgement?! This Cody fella must obviously be a pretentious asshole!" You're thinking, "What a snobby knob-jockey!" You're insisting, "Why don't you just tell us your cock-size and be done with it?!" Tsk tsk, sorry to disappoint, but really, I'm only icy and scathing on the surface. My bitchy-queen motif is simply this season's fad -- deep down, I'm all fuzzy. And yes, lil' pups n' Asian babies make me coo.

However, I demand certain qualities in my more-than-acquaintances: sharp wits, savvy styles, intellectual outlooks, creative passions. I want meaty, mature, ripened, raw, complex, curvaceous, scintillating, sexy, pure n' pornographic personalities. So, if you wanna be friends, give me a good reason to like you. Pique my curiosity. Tempt my interest. Seduce my attention. Rock my mind. Pillage my prejudice. Ravish my indifference.... and then, maybe, we can have some fun.

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