Occam's Racecar (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nebulawindphone) wrote,@ 2007-02-09 08:38:00 |
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Happiness
I sent you this bluebird of the name of Joe
with "Happiness" tattooed on his left bicep.
(For a bluebird, he was a damn good size.)
And all you can say is you think your cat has got him?
I tell you the messages aren't getting through.
The Golden Gate Bridge is up past its ass in traffic;
tankers colliding; singing telegrams out on strike.
The machineries of the world are raised in anger.
So I am sending out this snail of the name of Fred
in a small tricolor sash, so the cat will know him.
He will scrawl out "Happiness" in his own slow way.
I won't ever stop until the word gets to you.
—William Dickey, "Happiness"
I'm done being jealous that other people write better. This is totally the same sort of goofy-giddy-awestruck thing I used to aim for. Now I'm just grateful that someone can pull it off. I get to read the shit that I like without the hassle of writing it.
Okay, I'm a little jealous — but mostly happy, I swear.
Oh, fuck it. Just read the damn poem again.
I sent you this bluebird of the name of Joe
with "Happiness" tattooed on his left bicep.
(For a bluebird, he was a damn good size.)
And all you can say is you think your cat has got him?
I tell you the messages aren't getting through.
The Golden Gate Bridge is up past its ass in traffic;
tankers colliding; singing telegrams out on strike.
The machineries of the world are raised in anger.
So I am sending out this snail of the name of Fred
in a small tricolor sash, so the cat will know him.
He will scrawl out "Happiness" in his own slow way.
I won't ever stop until the word gets to you.
—William Dickey, "Happiness"
I'm done being jealous that other people write better. This is totally the same sort of goofy-giddy-awestruck thing I used to aim for. Now I'm just grateful that someone can pull it off. I get to read the shit that I like without the hassle of writing it.
Okay, I'm a little jealous — but mostly happy, I swear.
Oh, fuck it. Just read the damn poem again.
