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  • This cartoon wrote a sweary word on your toilet wall. & the rut.

    Aubade I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what's really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and... more

    Reviewed by Shitao Feb 24 2009, 05:10pm ( 37 reviews ) • wordpress.com

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  • Rated by weschesternc on Jun 11, 5:24pm

    Everything about this is perfect!

  • Rated by Heggs on Mar 31 2009, 1:51pm

    Every time I see this, it gets funnier.

  • Rated by Shitao on Feb 24 2009, 5:10pm

    Aubade I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what's really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die. Arid interrogation: yet the dread Of dying, and being dead, Flashes afresh to hold and horrify. The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse - The good not done, the love not given, time Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because An only life can take so long to climb Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never; But at the total emptiness for ever, The sure extinction that we travel to And shall be lost in always. Not to be here, Not to be anywhere, And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true. This is a special way of being afraid No trick dispels. Religion used to try, That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade Created to pretend we never die, And specious stuff that says No rational being Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound, No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, Nothing to love or link with, The anasthetic from which none come round. And so it stays just on the edge of vision, A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill That slows each impulse down to indecision. Most things may never happen: this one will, And realisation of it rages out In furnace-fear when we are caught without People or drink. Courage is no good: It means not scaring others. Being brave Lets no one off the grave. Death is no different whined at than withstood. Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape. It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know, Have always known, know that we can't escape, Yet can't accept. One side will have to go. Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse. The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house. --Philip Larkin

  • Rated by auntymel on Jan 10 2009, 5:57pm

    I have no street cred. I wear bright pink rubber gloves to remove tags from the bill-boards around my school.

  • Rated by rdb268 on Dec 08 2008, 11:12pm

    I get a kick out of this, b.c I'm a teacher that works at a school with TONS of tagging. Please excuse the curse word in it, though. I think you can look past it this time.

  • Rated by cam1lo on Aug 30 2008, 8:09pm

    seen it like 500 times

  • Rated by psyffer on Aug 08 2008, 3:41pm

    Stolen from Seren.