The Memoirs of John Stiffpocket Keats
11th July
Yo diary,
The name is Keats. You call me by no other name. Tis the name of my dad, my dads dad and all the other dads down the line, yknow? Tis that one name that I go by. You call me Keats or I sock you. Right there. In the kisser. Hah.
Kay. Now lets get down to business. I hang around at the White Daisy pub with my mates. We call ourselves the Big Six. Were the maddest badasses in downtown London.
You gotta meet Percy man. Percy Shelley. Hes the man! Hes a bit of an idealist he says. Bullshit. Hes just Shelley to us. Ditched his wife because his ass was lonely he says. Cant get no rear action from a lady. Barges into the pub he does. Joins the Big One, thatd be me, and we become the Big Two. Damn right.
Then came that Coleridge fellow. Smoked up a joint, got us a discount on the drinks after smacking up the bartender. Hes alright. Real fine fella. So we says to him, hehe, we says to him; Hey, Coleridge. We got this gang thing going! we says.
Hes all like Hawhaw, Coleridge need no gang man!
Shelley socks the guy and he gives in. We become this Big Three. We kicked ass man. Shelley, Coleridge and myself. We sympathise with the poor. We find God in nature. God is right there in every flower and tree dude. God created all the animals! Rabbits! Cows! He gave us good meat to eat! I mean, praise to the lord man! Protein!
So were like, sitting there like we do every day. Us, the Big Three. Real big. Then came Wordsworth. He was pimpin man. Wordsworth and Coleridge knew each other from way back man, way back. So Wordsworth gives Coleridge his number and we realises that we be the Big Four now; damn. Four of us!
Youd think thatd be the end of it huh? Hah! Byron and Blake, them two old ones. They come and we make friends too. Byron, the geezer. Blake, the gambler. Coleridge, the multipurpose improviser. Shelly, the ladys man. Then theres me, the kid. The glue that holds the Big Six together.
We are the Big Six dude. Dont fuck with romanticism.














Comments
insane.
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i make my guesses against stars that are probably just burnt out.
i fistfight the keyboard when I think of how I turned out.
I just hope that they don't find out that I wrote it, or I'll have another run in with the headmaster.
Till then, it's on the public note board that the student council uses.
yet awesome.
(:
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i make my guesses against stars that are probably just burnt out.
i fistfight the keyboard when I think of how I turned out.
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The little devil on everyone's shoulder.
It's actually a useful study method though. Like the 17 points of Romanticism; spice them up and they come to mind really easily.
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