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sukkerbelagt og bak en feiekost

During the worlds most uncomfortable office party, at the haunted airplane terminal,  I view the simulcast of Americas oldest and most beloved pedophile, wearing his signature magical top hat and his favorite pair of shit stained pajamas, holding a press conference in the store room, his eyes are radiant spinning half moons of peppermint flavored soulnessness as the clack of camera shutters mimic drunk locust accidentally devouring an infinite number of road signs during rush hour traffic
“Your baby is in a jar.” my girlfriend says, as she subtly huffs on the choads of the unaware teenage pretzel vendors, in their cheap carnival prize blue aprons, with a flash of her clanging eyelids, and a twist of her crimson smeared mentholated conduit, she pushes me in my wheel chair so that I am up to my gonads in golden mayonnaise, and ancient onions
An awkward youngster with mild autism, discotheque sneakers, holding a copy of Terry Gaffney latest book “Who is Terry Gaffney?” chortles as gleaming black lizards slither out of his maw and creep up my leg and lick my exposed spine like a sixty two year old woman in a schoolgirl outfit licks a oily brass pole
A corduroy balloon labeled “Kentuck-12”  bursts into flames for the stolen slices of Abigail pie, it's blood pouring over the xerox machine, while endless stories of Marty’s furniture are passed around with the sympathy card for Vanessa who, unintentionally, stapled her bosses unborn infant to the walls of her birth canal…please sign it
Straight up multiples of the number seven, rhythmically shake the excess urine from my floppy member to the sound of moaning yetis, I seize the reflection of my expression in a bi-sexual leprechauns gold tooth, and the drooping face of a circus worker, in a pepermint raincoat, standing behind an elephant with a broom, peering back at me

based on actual events AND revised for the hearing impared

revised again 10-17-06

4 Jun 03

Rated 7.7 (7.3) by 5 users.
Active (5): 5, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10
Inactive (11): 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10

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(21 more poems by this author)

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is this a poem?
no, seriously.
its not bad writing, but i dont think its a poem.
 — thinknerd

As I was writing this, and upon completing it, I felt that what I was writing was a poem. I can't think of anything else it could be if thats what I had in mind as I was doing it.

Now if I were building a car, but ended up with an airplane, couldn't I still use it to get to work in the morning?

 — onklcrispy

that depends. does your work have a place to land an airplane? ;-)
 — unknown

This poem(?) is an onslaught of insane, surreal, depraved imagery. The last line about the circus worker behind the elephant is brilliant, I laughed my ass off when I read that.

However after reading this and your other poems, I'd like to see something a little different, but I still look forward to whatever you do next.
 — capnorange

it's weird and i like it
 — britta

not too shabby.
 — classy_ha

Existence Precedes Essence? i like it .. if only it wasnt so proseish.. i like the way you make thoughts flow.
 — asov

I've reread it several times, and it just isn't doing that much for me. I like chaos, but there doesn't seem to be much pattern to this one. I did find the sitatuational farce mildly amusing, but it didn't really tie together for me. It just seemed weird for the sake of weird.
 — joshodile


First, it surprises me that you would REread something that doesn't do much for you. Maybe you are really bored trying to figure out why "I like chaos, but there doesn't seem to be much pattern to this one." What do you think chaos is?

By the way, you will discover the truth about your mother some day.
 — unknown

To Britta, who argues that her poetry is "rearranged sense": This is rearranged sense. Poetry this potently surreal takes talent to write; that being said, it's still meaningless because it doesn't impart any emotion to me other than slightly amused apathy.
 — ersaph

ersaph- the point of poetry is not necessarily to overwhelm you with emotion. it is to overwhelm you with anything; thought, conviction, confusion, interest, laughter. just because a poem is meaningless to you does not mean that it is meaningless in itself. much like, just because i do not understand how my car works, does not mean that it does not work because of it.

i rather like this one, too.
 — root

by the way, what does the title mean?
 — root

Random images formed by obscure similes; kind of like a MTV video played fast-backwards; the scenes are more confusing than compelling (though very compelling) and, at first and second glance, don't register any change in emmotion.... except perhaps that vague sense of "i'm an idiot."
 — boothben

Its prose poetry is it not and not half bad either. -S
 — unknown

the title is norwegian for "sugar coated behind a broom" whic was grafitti i saw in an airport. the poem itself is actually based on several incredibly insane experiences i've had in airports and one bad dream about them. thank you for comments, even te one stating i was an idiot. i'm sure i can think of many people who wouldn't disagree with you.
 — onklcrispy

i don't think this is rearranged sense. i like it anyway.
 — britta

HA- this is-not funny.
 — unknown

HA-your comment is funny!
 — onklcrispy

i love this. it's so weird. weird in an amazing kind of way. i love the imagery, and how most of the adjectives aren't something you would associate with the action/object you're putting them with.
that's awesome.
 — shakeit

'[T]he title is [N]orwegian for "sugar coated behind a broom" [...]' -- It's very bad Norwegian.

A direct translation sounds, 'The sugar coated and behind a the broom.'

The definitive article (masculine) is marked by the -en prefix in 'feiekosten' -- no need to for the additional indefinite article 'en' (masculine) infront of it. And 'sugar' (as in, 'some sugar,' not 'a sugar' or 'the sugar') is just 'sukker' (-et marks the definite neuter). So, a better Norwegian title (if you don't want to look like a moron to Norwegians) for the English sentence you specified would be 'sukker belagt bak en feiekost' (someone coated some suger coated behind a broom).

However, your sentence is ambiguous. So, some further suggestions:

'Sugar-coated behind a broom' (someone has coated something with sugar behind a broom) = 'sukkerbelagt bak en feiekost' / 'belagt med sukker bak en feiekost'
'Sugar-coated, (and) behind a broom' (something behind a broom is sugar-coated) = 'sukkerbelagt og bak en feiekost' / 'belagt med sukker og bak en feiekost'

Note the difference in semantics between 'sugar coated' and 'sugar-coated.'

Or maybe you really did want the definite on 'sugar', in which case:

'The sugar (which was) coated behind a broom' = 'Sukkeret (som ble) belagt bak en feiekost'

Sorry, but I won't review or rate this poem.
 — tristesse

Err... I meant postfix, not prefix.

The postfix -en. Or inflection. Or ending. Whatever.
 — tristesse

airports and experiences
are indistinguishable

3 an oily brass pole
punctuating blah there and here

i yum this

 — unknown

stupendous to the point that it makes me drool,
i will be sure to shake your hand graciously, and in delight (hopefully without getting an erection)
if we ever meet
 — Underground

I read this ages ago, and think I finally understood some of it. Is it loosely about a work Christmas party, and the weirdos that ordinary colleagues turn into when their inhibitions are turned off? The images are kinda gross, but overall feeling I got from this wasn't. =P
 — unknown

hehe cool. have u ever read naked lunch or any beatnik's work? seems like thats your root influence in writing this
 — bromileade

wtf u want me to kill myself on how shitty ur poems are?
 — unknown

thats a good question.
 — onklcrispy

I ODed on OK once and had to eat charcoal and get my stomach pumped for six hours. I died on the table. Poetic Suicide.
 — InMyBlood

i OKed on OD, and forced to eat dead poets after they had been roasted on charcoal. we have a lot in common.
 — onklcrispy

up yours
 — unknown

whats mine, is yours.
 — onklcrispy

some imagery borrowed from fear and loathing in stanza 3?
like the start, but then alot of this is just superfluous - ultimately it says nothing

 — unknown

nothing borrowed
 — onklcrispy

nothing blew
 — unknown

nothing bold
 — onklcrispy

Love this!
 — unknown

man, ur so random, i luv it. all ur poems are now my favorites. just lemme know when u make another
 — tearsofblood

well. since i am a pedant, i will write the following comment:

L1 delete the extra space after the second comma. should "locust" be plural? "soulnessness"?

L2 the period is not necessary in the speech marks, but i assume it's intentional? there are so manny unnecessary commas scattered all through this poem, but this stanza/line in particular.

L3 "an oily", not "a oily" (that was one of the only things that really bothered me)

L4 delete the extra space after the speech marks. should "it's blodd" be "its blood"? (that was the second thing that bothered me)

L5 "peppermint" is spelt wrong, and, besides that, has alreayd been used. (the third and final thing that really bothered me)
 — unknown