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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
July 21, 2013
What Is Existence Someone Please Tell Me by ~ExistenceWeSummonYou
Featured by BeccaJS
Literature Text
The cashier who sold me salted peanuts says "dead animal can swim." She looks at her hands. But dead animal can't swim. It's buried in beauty and beauty floats through the air. Maybe you can bury beauty in a balloon and tie it to a mailbox. "I don't know" says the cashier while she smells the dead animal that is dead inside of her. "There is no time for these questions when there is living fire that does not yet live here." So we set to burning the gas station. We run away. We run up a hill to where music is handing out free emotions with no memories. The cashier climbs in through music's translucent body and becomes its memory. Together we sing you are not lonely, you are not lonely, you are not lonely while stars fall down through beauty and salt the burnt earth.
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How to Sleep and Never Wake Up
The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da
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Sorrowbird
I watched him flap helplessly between the teeth of a barbwire fence, screeching for help.
"Papa, look Papa! A boy!"
My papa stood dazed for a moment, dust billowing at his legs, his eyes teetering along the field. It wasn't until later that evening he told me he hadn't understood what I had seen. What he had seen.
With grass tickling the backsides of my legs, I bounded toward the boy, "What are you doing? Are you okay?"
As I approached him, I felt his skittish eyes rake across my every movement. With his ten-year-old arms slung inside the gaping maw of a fence and darkened feathers pasted along the creases of his face; he looked squarely
Literature
no wonder it took him 1455 pages
when i was seven years old, a group of kids in my grade threw rocks at me for liking neopets more than webkinz. from then on, i was convinced i knew what hatred meant. but i don’t know how to describe it to the little girl who sits in the corner of my womb and in ten years might call me mommy and ask for help on dividing the world into black and white.
would i point to the churches with their bigotry? to the cotton fields of the south in the 1800s? to the classrooms of modern day america? would i tell her about how the jews stood in straight lines, waiting to die, with fear in their eyes and faith in their hearts? or would i try and de
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No wonder I struggle in my english subject, I can't explain the words but I can feel it. Thank you for this. ~