hamster bong

user since

Mon Mar 13 2000 at 23:55:36 (12.2 years ago )

last seen

Fri Jun 1 2012 at 01:18:05 (8.1 hours ago )

number of write-ups

660 - View hamster bong's writeups (feed)

level / experience

16 (Panjandrum) / 26893

C!s spent

1536

mission drive within everything

hmm..

specialties

rambling incoherently

motto

love, always.

most recent writeup

stay

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• (in the mist) (place)
• about nobody
• Admitting diagnosis: Old guy, don't know
• America if I only had the money. Here are your new commercials:
• And her eyes lightnings and her shoulders wings
• Auspice
• because I have given up any care
• blunted affect
• Deals well with ambiguity: a savagely long writeup about why boys are not like girls and other things
• Driven Like the Snow
• Everything2 Decaversary Interviews: Mr. Hotel
• God is playing marbles with his planets and his stars
• gunpoint
• hanging out the window with a bottle full of rain
• He don't know
• hymns of detonated twilights along toxic shores
• I know there's a story in here somewhere, I just can't find it (idea)
• I love you, but you've just got to leave and not come back. Ever.
• I Said Coffee
• I will make him promises, but not ones I am afraid to break
• I wish you would talk to me
• in transit
• It makes lots of sense to me. Unfortunately, that's what hurts the most.
• It's cold in the city. I find my intimacy where I can.
• January 15, 2011 (how-to)
• January 9, 2012 (log)
• Japanese children, ages 7 to 12
• July 2, 2009 (personal)
• Jungian functions
• Leather boots and a dirge of guitars as we lowered you into that grave (personal)
• Matt Carland
• northwest
• October 6, 2010 (idea)
• on being subject(ed) to a created, beautiful universe. in brief.
• originalzin
• Picked his bones in whispers
• prole
• Riding on handlebars
• Right now I am floating
• Say Goodbye
• Tapetum lucidum
• Teacher
• The Homeopathic Guide to Nuclear Power
• The Midway State
• The one I will still call yours
• There's no room in my life for anyone to stay
• Things We Lost In The Fire
• this is a commission for painters of: (poetry)
• When did I lose my brave little soul?
• Why can't we just fuck and feel good about it?
• You grabbed my hand, and we fell into it. Like a daydream. Or a fever.