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Egghead (or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone) - Bo Burnham - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read book online. /. zealand, bo burnham. epub book-]]] egghead or you can t survive on ideas alone s3 - egghead caroline pignat | get read & download ebook egghead caroline. Bo Burnham's Poems from "Egghead". Just a blog about Bo Burnham's writing. Posts · Ask me anything. Archive · fitting bo burnham egghead you cant survive.
If you. Effortless Writing poetry is effortless, heifer piss, lever kiss, Trevor, Chris… …whoops, got a little light-headed. I want us to question our decision to kiss all day by hour five. I want to start at dawn. I want our jaws to start cramping by noon. I want our mouths to dry out by breakfast. I want to have sex really quickly then seriously stop all this kissing bullshit because you need your personal space.
Cat Lady Buried beneath a pile of cats. I worry that. No point. Value is a vast vault of black. Life has no meaning. A complete and perfect nihilist. For more. Why are you color-coding things? Armadilla Armadilla! On a pilla! And a giant chinchillo! And a bigger gorillo! When you look at who is helping me. My Barber Is Bald My barber is bald.
My optometrist is as blind as a bat and my shrink is batshit crazy. Who needs those same old. Meet me and see what a difference difference makes! If you were nice. If you were beautiful. Three Little Words If you were perfect. I could see his thoughts form. The Martian One of them Martians came round the house last night. He rambled for a good ten minutes. I could see.
Kept staring at his brain through that tacky glass head of his. Talking in code or some shit. Weird fucking things they are. He eventually left. Dumb and flightless. Because I know that when I die. It keeps me up at night. I heard that one day. Because the playground is made for tiny people. Playground The big bugs buzz and putter about the playground.
Bee Guys Three bee guys were scared for their lives. They screamed. They broke out of their hives. Hold the cheese. Hold it in your hand until it melts— until it bears the shape of that voluptuous palm of yours. Then put it on my burger. Time is an oscillating fan. The cool air feels nice. Time Blows Life is an open book. And that may be true. Secret Ingredient You said your secret ingredient was a pinch of love.
And I hate cinnamon more than I love. But I taste cinnamon. It feels better to fuck an angel with her wings pinned back like a recently archived butterfly. Feels It feels good to love an angel. The Fall Mid-October. So transitively. It twists and turns and has fish. Pretty neat. Life is hope.
Life Life. Life is a river. Hope is love. Imagination They say adults have no imagination. Not true. Just instead of dinosaurs and spaceships. My tree has a house in it! And my house has a tree in it! At once. Above and Below You little perfect thing. I stand in awe and condescend. Got it? One and Another When one meets another. If a third were to enter. God bless America! The better to carry you with.
The better to cut the fat with. The better to light paths with. Senator Senator. Boston Poem The Boston people pass the time by making all their stories rhyme. They have cartilage. Are you afraid of ears too? Our Father Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, hollow be thy promises and shallow be thy shame. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
On a scale from one to ten, our Lord is totally eleven. Give us this day our daily bread, toasted close to dawn, and forgive us our trespasses as we shoot those who trespass on our.
Sasquatch The Sasquatch squats, flowers in hand, on an old stump by the riverbed. He knows that by now, but he stays put—tracing circles in the dirt with his big toe. Overhead, the birds sing their condolences. A fox passes and offers a bite of dead squirrel. The monster politely declines. As the sun tucks itself behind the horizon, his eyes close, his chin meets his chest, and the flowers slip from his grasp.
Socrates Deep in the bowels of Athens, Socrates is having the squirts— his body, like the aqueducts, giving way to a long, watery movement — hunched head to hands and elbows to knees. Yeah, I bet you are. Light Up She could light up a room with her smile.
Egghead (or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone) - Bo Burnham
And she could really light one up with her flamethrower. They seem to think they know shit. Who is this they? They seem pretty smug. Fuck them. So you will smile when they smack you in the face. Scarf I wear a scarf to keep my words warm. Preposition This is a fine form to make a prepositional proposition in. The proposition is this: Only Jesus can! Judge Jesus I said. Fireflies Hey, fireflies! Fly higher, guys! Fly high above this place. Then fly off into space. Land of Really Fucked Thoughts I come from the Land of Really Fucked Thoughts, where babies are bound by umbilical knots, where dead horses pile on dandruffstuffed cots, where burn-victim monkeys drink bloodand-pus shots.
Bombs The first bomb dropped unheard, unlike the loudly dropped second and third; then the final bomb dropped from the sky to the ground and the last-seen bomb made the lastheard sound. And far away, fresh moss continued to fill in our initials. Rollersnakes duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, DUM! If your job is superserious. Silly I love being silly. Trust me. Mmmmmm I like that thing you do with your tongue. I dig it. What do you call it? How impossibly lovely she is with a thing so passive.
She Waits She waits. With what weight she waits. She waits regally. How beautifully she waits. You would fold beautifully. The Biker Gang The biker gang rode for years and years through blood and sweat and mud and tears. Linda Linda went skydiving with her pet rat. No matter our height or girth or scent. Donald No matter our race or color or creed or way of life or species or breed. Unstick Me Unstick me. Dial it down.
There are holes in the thing that hiss when I breathe. And the more that I sit here. Back at the kennel. Just some rain tapping a window out of boredom.
Egghead (or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone) - Bo Burnham | Beehive | Fuck
But nothing. In all those years of blood and tears. Heart Surgeon In his long career as a heart surgeon. Bit ironic.
Just bored. Hanged I hung myself today. I feel fine.
Just a blog about Bo Burnham's writing.
Or is that. I feel taller. It had always clung to my feet. I like it. But never for five hours. I read somewhere that. I like that. I wanted something this morning. I may be stuck. Nothing scares me more than nothing. Nothing Are you terrified. Stars The stars buzz around me all lovely and green.
As I lay down in bed. My Old Friend Hello. You silly old clown! Has the red rust of time been kind to your joints? Has it led you astray? How am I? So random.: Parading around. Same spot. Same thing happened fourteen months ago. Gay Parading Why do these gay guys always parade around. Same guy. I was at this gay pride parade and this one guy on a big gay float kept parading around.
He was in a diner eating hash browns. Place was pretty empty. I watched him play the crane game on the way out— the one with the metal claw and the cuddly mass grave. Jesus I found Jesus once. He kept going for a rabbit in overalls. He had one of those long booths all to himself. I tried for a bit. I think whoever owns this thing put an unmovable toy rabbit in there just to fuck with everybody. Strange Adjectives Me.
The room is dull and dank and cold but at. I went to Astor Place and had a Gypsy read my palm or maybe just my face. She said my heart was heavy and my head was stuffed with lies.
Gypsy On Wednesday morning.
Bar Joke A priest. As for the priest and the rabbi? Turns out they were just two other horses. The bar bursts into flames. My mistake. The horse escapes. Nice knowing ya. I am the wise praying mantis. When you walk around. Way up. Your girlfriend sucks. You do. When I walk around. You suck. I got the paper back. Tucked in wool.
The Farmer The lying farmer tries to sleep. I want to sharpen fifty pencils. I want to grab one of those high-end fashion mannequins by the ankles and bash your rib cage in.
I want to strap you to a bed of nails and then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake. I want to burn your dog in front of you.
I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash. What a world. Public Speaking The nudist. Half light-hearted. You know that feeling of warm water running down your back. I feel better. Strange I feel strange. I hate that. Less panicked. But a good confused. This is just what I needed. A warm bath and a quick nap. I love that. I feel great. And nothing. Sirens I feel poetic when I say that the group of young teenage girls at the mall rattled my psyche like wailing sirens and that their freshly developed breasts could make for quite tempting cider should Satan decide to pick and press them.
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