vintage cloetry

Saturday, September 30, 2006

it's a about time.......

My obtuse uterus is on pink and fire blossoms. Phone llamas on a stick of Jeeps. Lick only 9 monkeys while chillin at Cafe Brazil. Si... si a little red pee, a very little ass tiny monkey. Pad mad and a garbage sack of mouse Glad. Pen mend and send of my next of kin, you and kue of that mutha fuckin ass red shoe. Si and me fu ficken mu on knee.... and off white hey hey... shit on me. Voice mail a little red snail while letting a snot on my little ass red toe nail. I wish a dolphin named sue was a green chick. Here mere smoo kulk. So.... I could swing my squeeze coo. Sponge my sack of key lime pie. Left handed menu called


drink on!!!!!!!
-Clo

vintage cloetry

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Cloetry... December something of 06.

Current mood: thirsty

Category: Life

Kite's little doo little mighty koo. Mountain Dew in Garth Brook's carpeted left shoe. Pics of Trix & Chex Mix. Freud and Curious George's conscious minds spelling universal truths about snazzy fickly cats. Bar mats left handed bats likel mantel fee flutes. Mute skates astrology mates on Slee Stack's gates. Autumn nights of barefoot green flights. Bill of Sill's kill mill. Cancer and Prancer had a great fall. Look in the mirror, who is the curtest of all? Cast my carnival of choir clocks and stocks of Lucky Charm flocks. Cradle the very thing you aspire to be and don't worry about the people that want to pee and let the flea be a key of hope. Divorce the feelings of discomfort for it will make disease. Fear the fasting fathers of female feet. Fish floods flyer flowers and 3 wheeled mowers on mild acid. Freeze frame and a fruit filled lame. Tame galaxy's garage of love as the greenhouse of hands heal to the hallway of harps glee!! Invent yourself a merry little Christmas island of joy juice. Jail the feelings of down comforting massacre's lost. Melody yourself into meditation's frost. Minister yourself into the super conscious self worth of mortuary. Mud's museum of music. Naked and narrow of tri colored sparrow. Neglect and negotiate news of bad. Nightmares of days lost, nuclear war and nudity numbers observe oceans of days forbidden. Open and operate your orchestra's past. A boat mast stands firm as I let sperm into paralyzed pianos.

vintage cloetry

Sunday, October 28, 2007

cloetry 10.07

Current mood: rejuvenated

Category: Life

For those that have been asking.... It's been almost a year... cloetry finally makes another appearance. Why? Maybe it because of "All Hallow's Day" or the new found spirit of jumping from a Cessna at 13,000 feet, or it could even be the inspiration of a (somewhat) recently found word salad companion..... actually it's probably just the unique hangover that I have today.... However the other reasons are well founded, appreciated, and very welcome to my new outlook on life..... Enjoy -

A house, a little purple mouse, Allison Krause. Llama feet upon a an eraser's edge. Fleeting albums of Virgin Mary's half burned candles. Paradise found upon a tainted ground. Requiem for a cause, I'm going platinum. We are the Bugaloo's we're in the air, flying high flying free, free as a summer breeze. (Thanks Sid and Marty for that fabulous programming) I spy something...... heliotrope in the shape of an ever so slightly burnt kaleidoscope. A cow on dope, Garth Brooks' left tit on an oven mitt. A fly on high as the kite's string gets tangled within. What's your favorite kind of Soup? Toe rings on black, Sugar Smacks and Cracker Jacks. I'd like to wear Captain Crunch's hat on Tuesday. Who can it be now? Never mind. We are the youth of the nation. Why do we thrive on mental masturbation? Keys and locks were meant to be busted. Scratch my back with a lighting bolt, thunder rolls like a bass drum note, the sound of the weather is Heaven's ragtime band, we all fell down from the Milky Way Hangin' round till Judgment Day, Heaven only knows who's in command.... (Thanks Jimmy)

Have a All Saints' Day everyone!!!!

dRInK oN!!!

-Clo

vintage cloetry

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Cloetry for Leap year 08

Current mood: breezy

Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

Let's have a shot, make it a Jim Morrison. Rippin kickin, kissin, lippin, like Garth said "Rope The Wind" - Slop slunks feel the funk like Pat Summerall's satin patio furniture on the 3rd Tue in September's sweet sauce. Automatic butt figgle. Tickle your dogs left ear crooka comic flood Elmo coo boo boo kitty f%&k's oval krunked smooth Bitchin Camaro Vs. Optimus Prime's 3rd nipple for President....

-Clo

Written 3am Feb 28th 3am after a mean game of Guitar Hero..

vintage cloetry

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Post Jimmy Buffett concert cloetry....

Current mood: indescribable

Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

Ok as I promised, Some post Buffett Cloetry. All written bout 6am Sunday morning aboard my friend Ben's overly luxurious diesel like monster coach where I'm happy to say, I passed out.... Sorry, no where crazy this year..... I was very surprised when transcribing my scribblings from the pedals on 4 large flowered leis that, 1st - I couldn't find anything else, (Really??!) 2nd - I took the time to do it, WTF??! and last, WHY... in the hell do I do this??!!... So if you take the time to even start reading this let alone enjoy or get anything out of it?; then. uh.. hell, I don't know... Maybe you're just as twisted as I am and need some mental floss. However, I must say, this makes more since than most of the crap I come up with.... Maybe it was the lack of mixing my alcohol that in some way created mental regularity...

So anyway dare to enjoy....

"With a little love and luck we'll get by, Fruits, skirts and the little midget flirts, smirkin and Captain Kirkin on the far left pinky toe of Garth Brook's left tit. And I say, i say... on the last Tuesday in May. May the force be with you as you start the Crackn' mc no lackin but smakin the epmty bottle. Flee feetle smore a little. Plain Mary Jane's Last Dance as I make my Sunday morning waddle and Desdamona builds her rocketship. I DO NOT have a cousin in Miami, however... Fruitcakes, lakes, moats and little green goats have pigmee relatives near the eqator. Along thy shores of all mighty grand buzzes you shall find me. The tide is high, am I? The Dalai LLama no Lama is scared of seawall sediment that lie upon the open marshes of former President Garfield's Pencil Thin Mustache. Floating on amber waves of ocean bliss I kiss a hangover. Therefore it be said and always questions of the thoughts and the ongoing continuation of what we ask of life. Remember this - Rehab is just the very short escape from the grand realization of a very needed stiff drink A hostle Elmo, Kenny Rogers, Justin Timberlake all eat cake on the shelf of uncle tom's cabin. A shelf's strife is lingering about as a midmorning grass hoppper a snore .. Beachfaced and very the never disgraced by the gravity of how my flip flop is mislaced...."
cloetry 4/18.09
Also there were little pictures I tried to draw on the leis... I tried to take phots but they didn't turn out... Sorry....

vintage cloetry

Thursday, May 14, 2009

How is it possible Jimmy?

Current mood: hungover

Category: Quiz/Survey

OK.... This is a blog only for but even then limited to a true and bored Jimmy Buffett fan. First of all my Thursday mornings are usually filled with very random thoughts in which turn into, as some of you know - "cloetry" Also.. my Thursday morning hangover is unique because of what reason? I have no idea.. But something has been on my mind and this particular "Thursday" morning and I actually have mustered up the strength to blog this random thought / question... So pardon the grammatical errors, run on sentences, and all miss-understandable phrasing that will occur frequently..

Maybe I am missing something, not privy this information because of the lack of knowledge of the oh so great Jimmy Buffett. Maybe it is laid between the lines in Jimmy's "Tales from Margaritaville" or perhaps it's explained in "A Salty Piece of Land" in which I have not read yet. But Jimmy's mention of "The Beer is too cold, the daiquiri's too fruitful" in the song The Weather is here, Wish you were Beautiful.... My question being, how in THE WORLD is that even possible? Being an avid fan, drinking way tooooo much at several of his bars, meeting Jimmy once or twice, communicating with Mike Ramos (funny as hell story there), having a shot of tequila with Savannah before she was legal to even drink, hanging out close to the equator, listening to songs like Truckstop Salvation from Jimmy's first album "Down to Earth" all the way to bootleg recordings, eveing visiting "The Napoleon House in New Orleans in which I heard Jimmy got the idea for the lyrics in the song??????? Just like Spicoli's Theme says... "I don't know" So as I sit here listening to "Mr. Spaceman" The awesome duet with Jimmy and one of my favorite Muppet's, The Great Gonzo.... I shall ponder my question. Just how can the beer be "too cold" and the daiquiris be too fruitful? And don't you dare say... frozen and too much fruit....

Everyone, have a very fruitful day!!

dRiNk On!!

-Clo

Real naughty, yet funny....

A wishful tropical patron?

I claim to be a person driven to a tropical attitude. But I wonder why it lies so strong within. I visit beaches, oceans, and equatorial destinations on random whimsical vacations. I've seen and felt enough to think I belong amongst people of the islands and how their spirits live and breath. I've been graced with tropical bliss that claim the hearts of so many. During a few visits I thought I had enough, just wanting to go back home, back to familiarity and the comforts I thought was needed. But I look back and think that my worn down attitude toward those feelings were nothing but stifling drinking fatigue. I strive to believe my feelings toward the restraints of the concrete jungle are just that, a restraining demon I wish to perturb. I don't understand where and why my stable connections to a calescent climate exist. I feel that my landlocked life has prohibited my spirit from flourishing. A wishful tropical patron is what I am, with uncontrollable and overwhelming feelings of cabin fever. But I still remain a hopeful coastal consumer. Although I'm closer to the equator than most that desire it, I long for it more. It is my utmost forward passion to live amongst the warmth and comforts that only equatorial places can deliver. Till then I will live and love vicariously through the songs of Jimmy Buffett and the memories that haunt me so wonderfully. The consistent and ear-ecstasy patterns of the ocean's land arrival is the soundtrack to my soul...

cloetry late Jan 0 ten

Spalinian Falcon, kettle kee moo fee chimichanga. Little Red Corvette parked abroad, also marked with a Slattaru's monkey shoe. Kee kee kee kee kee mittle, Charlie Daniels first Fiddle Faddle as my third pet from the left high icky kicks an Etch a Sketch.... Shake it like a Salvador Dali oh so melting like a Polaroid doubles kickle of Coldplay's all Yellow Clock. Zoonx, is it Memorex? Has it perplexed my Chex Mix? Smikenisktric times of frozen bi-tubular tornado chimes. All kinds of mini blinds like fava beans on Tuesday's Gone. Alf once rode my BMX bike while flying Garth Brook's Strawberry Shotcake kite. Hey, Optimus Prime was kind enough to stuff HR Puff n Stuff's tip jar. That was after he got caught smokin a joint behind the Bama Breeze. With ease we all fall to our knees Beyonce that great reef of unusual realizations of internal sensations that expand and demand the slandering wonders of thy anti sensual and semi local errotic facinations. May it all create an ever-going and oh so unstopable slinky. As it cascades down the charlapades of our youthful exit from our not so blissfull exsistance. There is no for instance, for it remains within and all too far beyond our well rooted canals of deep and transitional / non absorbic spit pea soup for the sou....

New cloetry of O-10 lets begin

Once upon a Pabst Blue Ribbon I was trippin and slippin while conducting Mr Clo's Opus. I with my one eyed Furby was cohabiting into my an electric charged and armed smoothly cooley... It was my leopard print Sunggie that I adored. I also made a decision to start vacuuming the ashes from Megan Fox's fireplace with my 1972 Kirby. I like my frozen Slurpees with a king size Payday while winding up and upon an imaginary Purple Sleigh. I dig watching Kim Possible.
Cherry Hash and Cherry Garcia stash slips the tongue to someone's favorite band and slandy / Mo Bandy meets Baby Bash. Ponder a guitar solo from Slash. Shrimp the Muppet skat within a prospect of Jeremy Piven's left handed two fingered fat hookerd' monkey slut named cutie pup but sometimes named Sue. Also a bump of a cup and two sluts who run amok. Glee Cast upon Jack Sparrow's demands and slams a bringin back sexy patch. Singin in the pain with ebony and ivory. Oh I deprive my true sliver and all to often bring a little lonely Blueberry chillin in the drains of T-pain's sink. All of Garth Brook's Tickle me Elmos while doing a 4/4 Waltz. Creaming to Chutes and Ladder's as a slippery Water Wiggle's toop watches F-Troop. Frooby Koo and a slew of little Fiddle Faddle scraps. Toe Jock Jams on Tuesday while I listen to Muse. Seize the tease of the color cyan surrounds Burt's Bees. Let's do the Jane Fonda and Slam like Onyx uponix a mix of uncommon Trix. Let's Chex Mix some slix and fix the antics from a boy named Sue. I wanna have a few shots with Felix's bag of Trix. Taz a cornucopia, clit fits amongst some of super wads and clodamo. Heat sink and hit the pink like we all have to be wondering if The Susan B Komen Foundation had triple the amount of 669 trillion dollars, would it be enough to save the tits? While the pile of thoughts consume the pinks lets all Connect Four and more to the floor and all score the decor of life's strife's.