Ivory Shipping

Back to Blogger

Chad Zahara — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 19:40:35 +0000

I’m posting on my other blog again. I deleted all the old posts from it as they were imported to here a long time ago. I started new again. I’m going to keep this blog up to have as an archive. I would import all the posts from here to Blogger, but I can’t figure out how or if Blogger even allows me to do that.

Anyway, I went back to Blogger because I can customize the hell out of it and it has some cool features. Go to my other blog here: http://ivoryshipping.blogspot.com

The Poor Frog

Chad Zahara — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 12:00:12 +0000

There once was a frog from Vancouver,

He was ate by an industrial Hoover,

He spun round and round,

‘Till later was found,

The squashed little frog from Vancouver.

A Nibble

Chad Zahara — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 11:30:20 +0000

Tight in your glance,

Tight in your arms,

Tight in your lips,

Tight in your teeth,

Tight in your fingers,

Tight in your legs,

Tight in your chest,

Tight in your body,

Tight in your dreams,

Tight in your heart,

That’s where I want to be.

Untitled #4

Chad Zahara — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 10:01:36 +0000

I have a teddy bear named Ted and sometimes I feel bad because I never pay attention to him.

An Oxymoron; the social elite.

Chad Zahara — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 15:45:10 +0000

Here’s an oxymoron – the social elite. Anybody who considers themselves elite is not a social person. They are adolescent boys comparing the size of their dicks and accomplishing nothing. The same goes for people who consider others socially elite. A truly social person is a wise person who disregards status for things that matter, like enjoyability of company. This makes them the type of person who would not like being called elite or any name that would raise them above others.

The term “social” is one of those words that gets used incorrectly way too often. Others include: natural, intelligence and god.

A Drawing; one.

Chad Zahara — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 05:27:42 +0000

The Minx Outlaw

Chad Zahara — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 00:37:51 +0000

Upon her blood red lips he saw,
The girl he met some time ago,
Her nose was soft her eyes were raw,
He wouldn’t let this pure soul go,
But what was this? She made a claw,
She showed a side he didn’t know,
No longer did they kiss and paw,
Her neck went high her hand went low,
His sweet became a minx outlaw,
She wouldn’t let this pure soul go,
Because in him she know she saw,
The girl he met some time ago.

Dani and the possiblity of fatness

Chad Zahara — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 07:28:34 +0000

Chad says:
You’d still be awesome fat, though. There’d be more room for freckles.
Dani (you and me are floating on a tidal wave, together) says:
Hahah!!
Dani (you and me are floating on a tidal wave, together) says:
thaanks <3.
Chad says:
I want to light something on fire.

Dani and Aging

Chad Zahara — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 06:14:58 +0000

dani
10:11
oh
10:11
that’s not good
10:11
“Dani (you and me are floating on a tidal wave, together) says:
I think one day, Chad and I will be two old people just siting have strange conversations, but we’ll be the best two old people ever.”
10:12
“Calum says:
you’ll have rocking chairs and all. i can see it.
Dani (you and me are floating on a tidal wave, together) says:
Yeah we will, we’ll be sitting on a porch, with our realllly old dogs, and our spouses will just shake their heads at us.”
Chad
10:12
YES!
10:12
<3
dani
10:12
Heheh <3
Chad
10:13
Blog.
dani
10:13
awwww

The Humid Winter

Chad Zahara — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 07:31:32 +0000

I called upon a scratchy nerve,
To help me drain the ink reserve,
Inside a plastic pen.
With dullfull wit,
The pen it spit,
A poem of useless men.
Or man – that’s me,
Tonight – you see,
I called ’round half past ten.
But I don’t care,
This paper’s bare,
Like a grizzly’s summer den.

~ and on.

Oh, go away to summer’s day,
When life is always warm,
Trudging time is what I pay,
For holding life in scorn,
So when I plan to ride away,
With leather full of gold,
Remember that we had today,
Though it’s better when we’re old.

~ and on.

These times the sky’s no sun to tote,
No heat in times of null,
A hit of whisky roasts the throat,
Of bitter cold’s old dull.
A rush of pride goes out the head,
Now lighter than a star,
Imagine people in your bed,
Damn, where the hell’s my car?
I’m drunker than a stranded bird,
You’re still all gross to me,
I wouldn’t do you even blurred,
Now where the hell’s my key?
Oh, man you all are coming near,
Leave me now I swear!
This night should not have been King Lear,
Fuck this isn’t fair.

I hate the bloody sheep!

This is why I have few friends,
But the ones I have I love,
You mean so much you silly friends,
To be fair I’ll match love with love.

~ and on.

Goodnight.