Describe your neighbors IN DETAIL

[spike]

Everyone’s after Burt’s Scurry fortune/messiah energy.

[BurtReynolds]

Our new property manager (who is a dead ringer for Rubén Blades) just chased him out of the apartment complex. He's been lingering around today. I saw him yesterday pacing outside the window of the In-N-Out looking like he was trying to decide if he should go in and stab everyone or not.

Plenty of lunatics around here yelling at ghosts, but this guy's reeeeal quiet. Too quiet.

[BurtReynolds]

So the creepy homeless crazy guy might just be awesome. Yesterday he decided to take a nap right in the middle of the sidewalk, wearing nothing but boxers, with nothing but a shirt as a pillow. No regard for his own safety or material comfort. Then this morning he strolled into Torchy's with a cup he found on the ground and got himself some soda.

Is he Diogenes reborn? Some sort of Nietzschean ubermensch that has overcome all demands of society? Should I be learning from this god among men?

But then I saw him hitting himself, so...uh...maybe not.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tree_]

totally

[BurtReynolds]

it might be. He's a strapping young lad. You wouldn't know he was homeless to look at him.

[wease]

Invite him up to your place for a meal. Get to know him.

[BurtReynolds]

My place is filthy. I'd die from embarrassment if I entertained guests right now!

[E.H. Ruddock]

Burt you hook up with the no pants chick yet?

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tree_]

they're all the same person!

[BurtReynolds]

Burt you hook up with the no pants chick yet?

She's probably OD'ed behind a dumpster by now.

[wease]

Burt you hook up with the no pants chick yet?

She's probably OD'ed behind a dumpster by now.

Now’s your chance!

[spike]

meatloafer

[spike]

brad pitts

[spike]

fight schlub

[BurtReynolds]

Are these even songs?

[tree_]

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