so, how do u join, n what is involved in this club

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Please check out TieMyShoeComic [link] the weirdest continuous strip on d.a.

do you have the best poets/writers?

I invite you to a friendly competition among clubs.
The Articles of Club Wars



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Come and join us in the Treehouse!!
TreeHouse

hey there, just wondering if you had another topic yet?

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Art ~ *shelldevil-art
Stock ~ *shelldevil

um I know this isn't exactly a poem, but its not exactly anything and but it includes the biggest reason why I write.



Let it come to you. Feel the keyboard beneath you fingers. Go outside yourself and let it flow. Don’t think just type. Read it in the morning and you won’t remember anything. Remember everything. Don’t forget the people that forgot you. When you become famous you shall snub them. The only thing that’s keeping me afloat is the thought of the future and if I reach it it won’t be the one I’m picturing; it will be the same as the present except that I will be renowned and respected. Nothing will change. I will be famous but so what. Fame won’t bring me the things I think it will. I’ve heard countless celebrities say that. It will bring pestering people begging for autographs and telling me what my art means to them. It will bring none of the thing I want it to. Look at Salinger, look at Faulkner. A recluse and a racist and the suicide of Hemingway. Bukowsksi was a whiner, and Ayn Rand had no sense of humor. I am better than all of them or at least I will be if I commit myself. I don’t care that it won’t change the things I think I will, any change will do. I can see the future and the possibilities but it doesn’t erase the present where I’m getting no acclaim, not even rejection letters. Postal Service to acoustic Springsteen and but my roommate will be coming back soon drunk, never sober, and I will have nothing to write upon. I haven’t slept in 41 hours now, and the bed is 5 steps away but I can’t stop typing. Trying to force this alcohol to place me somewhere artistic, but I can’t tell if what I’m writing it shit or just mundane. I have never gotten arrested but I should have so many times, I feel sorry for myself when I have it so much better than the majority. I can write yes, I will be famous but then what. I am good enough, and it’s the only thing I can do, working at McDonald’s tomorrow looking down, a hangover, frowning at everybody because don’t they know that I will be remembered and renowned. They are below me, thinking to myself that I’m above working there, but if I wasn’t then I would have no material to write about. I am not above flipping burgers, I am not above anybody. I haven’t proved anything yet, potential doesn’t equal superiority. College is not for me, I don’t show up but I ace the tests, and yet I’m still failing. That is not the way it should be. I am drunk it is cold in December in 2005 and maybe this will be a hundred years from now, me long dead and buried but maybe you’re an alienated youth or a jock with girls your can pick to fuck, but you understand me but don’t understand how I can now (in the past) be writing about things that you will be living. Because time isn’t a factor, I have lived life and you will be living, I can relate to you even through the flying cars that I have seen only in movies. I have struggled along with spoiling myself, I am a contradiction, I don’t understand myself, but maybe a hundred years from now when robots will be doing the jobs humans are doing now you will be the one to understand me. You will be inspired not because I have said anything inspiring but because you will have clear evidence of a someone going through the same things as you and you won’t feel as overwhelmed; the weight of the world on top of you, getting heavier in every breath you take. I sit in the cafeteria by myself most times, all the other tables full around me. Full of fools though, but I would still rather be with anybody than myself. Lonely is too lonely for me. Even fools (which is everyone almost really) will do when I’m bored or insecure or lonely. I am drunk, I’m sorry, didn’t I already say that? Sometimes I repeat things. You aren’t the only ones that sit by yourself and worry about everyone else looking at you. I sit there ashamed and blushing because I have no friends; EVERYONE is looking at me. I can only be amazing when someone as equally amazing; talks the same way I do. There have been so few of them really. I cling to pretty girls when they say the same boring things as other girls, but I need someone to erase the lonely. I worship and cling to them, even though they aren’t on my level, because I’m human; I need recognition, I need anybody pretty because there is nothing else around to sustain me except for this writing that is probably just a dream Do you understand. You do don’t you?

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"This is not for you" And I fall and I'm falling and falling, gravity and the wind sharp and screaming... and there is no bottom and there is no stopping

erm...do you want a chatroom so we can bash out votes and all without having to send notes back and forth?

Erm...you might want to post the rules for joining, guidelines for submissions....that sort of clubby stuff....

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~ Respect is earned, it is not mandated.

hhye you should disable the critique on the poems here so that they will post the comments on our pages instead of here . just a a suggestion though

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[link] soldier4christ
[link] courtneyArt
[link] juny
[link] bigdaddydraws
[link] rhythmone

me's a poet dont you know it