Lessons Learned

For some reason, I can't sleep. So I bring you: lessons learned.

I learned this lesson a while ago, but I'm just now remembering how funny it was, even at the time. So my friend and I (we'll call her J for anonymity's sake, but she knows who she is) were having a pint down at our local pub (okay, so even though we're not British, we can dream, right?) and we got to napkin writing. I was explaining the virtues of Flarf poetry to her, and then we got into Lambertism. Anyway, the following is actual photographic proof that poetry and alcohol do not mix. Unless you're trying to be funny.

And if you want to know what it says but can't read the writing, here's the translation:

L

The goat wants a glass

of honey for the sparrows

in the laundromat.

J

Beer for the masses in quantities

beyond belief make drunk fishes

that swim in circles that

create the currents in the ocean

& control giant snowmen in Africa

L

Charity lies in the new

red flag and the children

want molecules of pure

fog in their pails of

gruel for the hamsters

J

Light fragments & the pretty

people of the world control

cursive writing and dance in

endless meaningless until the

music falls like raindrops onto

pillows of cotton crowns

L

The lucky prank finds gold

in the bottles of skunk juice

and the lettuce fingers wants

a bloody nail to puncture the

truth in justice of chiffon

J

Silver knives and silver bells are not so

varied in Mars atmosphere crazines

where Lindsay learns lollypops while chewing

phones to little stars and launches

rockets into dreams far away into Peter

Pans NL

L

Do you want a sausage tree

to grow in the land of

carrots? what would comets

bring to the party of licentious

mandibles and frank lilacs?

J

Hot dogs and corn pops float in the batter

of dog hairs and levitate beings from

another world until vapors of putrid

sweat stain the bedsheets in kings

llama and bows of satin.

L

Cerulean salt breath in landmines

of caramel and coral beads

of sweat on a carousel of pigeons

in a pineapple of ruby altruistic

notions and lotions of milk and

honey bush tea trees.

J

Photos of buckets and steam of movies

sound the alarms of fire president of

ill and fate fall in sand dunes and

cry bold rivers of forks that receive

great compliments of Harmony & Love

pandas in the lower basin of Guilt.

L

I WANT A LION MADE OF

FERRETS, SUGAR BEETS, AND STARS TO

BE MY FAMILIAR.

J

MEE TOO!

L

THE END!

OUR PROSE RUNS LIKE RIVULETS

As you can see, it deteriorated into a warped stream-of-consciousness exercise. At least we weren't bored!