Little AliceLittle Alice11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Through the hole
Swallow one of two pills
Take a drink
Eat a 'shroom
Through the small door
Out into the maze
Talk to a bug
Eat some 'shroom
Follow the voice
White, hopping white
Pull the scissor from your pocket
Gouge and maim
For you see...
...that's when Little Alice had enough of hearing "I'm Late!!"
CloverClover3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
hagiwara no haba enen to nobi ni keri
the span of the clover field
on and on
SKIN IS ODD.That night, when I woke up,SKIN IS ODD.5 years ago in Other More Like This
I realised I had found you,
You were more than just a dream.
This was something to come to terms with.
There was something in those big blue eyes,
through the midnight riots, that called to me.
The sweet way you stared, and the way you
screamed MERCY at the top of your lungs.
Charcoal-stained hands on that pretty
alabaster skin you wore so well.
The way you traced curlicues
around my shoulderblades
sent such a shiver down my spine,
it couldve well been an
orgasm of lust for your touch.
Youd spin m
OscaresOscares5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Muchas de las cosas que hacía Aldo, Óscar no entendía. No sólo cuando se explicaba diciendo lo que se le ocurría, sino cuando no decía nada. Cuando Aldo no decía nada era una omisión absoluta. Óscar sabía que por mucho que preguntase, Aldo siquiera era capaz de jugar con el asunto. Pero había cosas que sí le podía explicar.
Como lo de las cartas.
-¿Qué haces, Aldo?
Óscar se asomaba por la orilla de la mesa, mirando el pedazo de papel con las marcas desordenadas que iba rasgando el payaso.
Entonces se daba una vuelta de nuevo por la habitación, para al rato volver donde Aldo.
-¿Y qué es una carta?
Aldo seguía escribiendo mientras respondía.
Óscar en este momento me pregunta qué es una carta Escribió.
-Es un mensaje para alguien que está lejos y no puedes visitar. Es como decirle cosas a quien no está y es muy importante.
Consejos para designersConsejos para designers5 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
10 cosas que no te enseñan en tu escuela de diseño
El paso del mundo académico al laboral es siempre difícil, particularmente para quienes trabajamos en el campo del diseño porque nos vemos obligados a aprender las condiciones en las que se trabaja sobre la marcha.
Este post recoge 10 cosas que habitualmente no te enseñan pero deberías saber para dar el salto al mundo profesional.
1. Tu diploma no te ayuda a encontrar trabajo
Pero tu portafolio sí. Por supuesto que es bueno tener una educación en diseño y un título que lo pruebe, pero cuando se trata de obtener dinero de tus clientes ellos quieren ver de lo que eres capaz, no un diploma.
2. El buen diseño lleva tiempo, no fijar fechas límites muy ajustadas
Cuando estás en la escuela de diseño los profesores fijan las fechas de entrega de los trabajos y tratan de darte el tiempo suficiente. Tu jefe o tu cliente no serán como tu profesore
ACA SE HABLA ESPANIOL 2Madame, monsieur;ACA SE HABLA ESPANIOL 27 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
os presento a vuestro hermano perdido.
Os presento al español.
Perdido se encuentra por vuestra culpa
Lo habéis olvidado.
Habéis dejado de darle abrigo
Y casi todos
Habéis dejado de hablarlo.
Si él proviene de vuestro mismo padre,
¿Por qué, señores,
lo despreciáis en función
de este nuevo gigante?
Nos invadieron esgrimiendo palabras
que en un inicio sonaron hermosas.
Ahogados en "thank you"s mal dichos
Les seguimos el juego- You're welcome;
Invitándolos a apoderarse de nosotros
Una vez más.
¿Qué ha sido de nuestros
armarios, inodoros, emparedados?
Pues que nosotros mismos los hemos cambiado
Por closets, waters, sandwiches.
¿Qué le ha sucedido
a lo único verdaderamente nuestro –la Ñ-
que incluso nosotros
parecemos terminar olvidando?
Muchos no notan que ya sólo hablamos
Vestigios de una lengua muerta
Que habló con propiedad alguna vez
El Quijote de Cervantes.
Se han perdido las jaezas, las adargas.
El cierzo, l
wishful thinkingwishful thinking10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
last time i
was at your house?
you were packing;
we made tea
and didn't talk
you went upstairs
to get a book.
i was idly looking
at our shoes,
on the floor.
i leaned down
and pushed them
so the toes
Well AcquaintedWell Acquainted9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We shared a cup of tea, she and I.
No milk, no sugar,
no honeycoated words to weaken the taste of departure.
We were connoisseurs, and well acquainted
with the many blends of coming change.
Understanding kept us mute, our ceremony quiet
as we stirred the aging, aromatic leaves.
We drank darjeeling once,
when the grass was frost-glamourous
and our eyes danced a dawn tango.
She wore red; I read her Blake's secret;
and we smiled over brimming cups.
'Your eyes are earl grey' I whispered,
when a mountain's shadow embraced us
and day turned into dusk into her eyes
as rain waltzed all around, enchanting,
to the scattered orchestra of rustling leaves.
We danced then, she and I.
I share some cooling tea with her memory.
No milk, no sugar,
no passing of the spoon in ritual comfort.
I am a connoisseur, and well acquainted
with the aching thoughts found in an empty cup.
Shattered Memorieswe were each others firstShattered Memories5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that doesn't matter now
you slashed, ripped, and raped
all the memories we had together
now laying crumpled on the floor
now I am only a mistake
a childish high school mistake
no longer do I have happy memories
but cry for stupidly wanting you
long ago we were over
and now I am over you
never wanted you out of my life
now I wonder why I waited so long
every good memory we had
now has been replaced by pain
HeldWe loved like arson:Held8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
glow floats around like smoke, and distorts us,
restless, and tangles around the rafters,
the room imbued: remnants of star-fuelled lust.
We loved like fireworks, comets and fireflies.
We traced paths through constellations for hours,
across freckled skies, tasting the stars
with every kiss. The night went on for miles.
Now a cathartic still whispers, lingers
as the room burns orange in the morning's
luster. The carmine light bares a warning:
To keep my distance, or I'd clash with hers.
I leave her to draw the blinds, casting shad-
ows like prison-cell bars across the bed.
My StrawberryMorals are hand in handMy Strawberry4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And beliefs escape eager lips
Mingle in our atmospher
And gather at our hips..
Capture my grinning cheeks
As kaleidoscope green eyes search my soul
Seeking love with butterfly kisses
While fervent fingers
Find solace in my center.
Tiny waves of shivers
Make my toes curl
As lips collide
And tongues tie,
"I Love You," whispered for ticklish ears to take in and cherish.
With LoveWith love,With Love4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I take your hand
I press a kiss to your lips
"Together, we'll take a stand."
"And make forever seem a short trip."
She holds me tight
She caresses my face
"You and I--We're just right."
"With you, there is no disgrace."
We walk down memory lane
We speak sweet everythings of truth
"I told you--It couldn't be more plain."
"I am, forever in love with you."
The Knife FallsThe Knife Falls7 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
The Knife Falls
There is a park somewhere, with swings and a slide. It is much the same as every other park. It is only differentiated by the children who play there, the toddlers that are pushed there in prams, the teenagers who try their first cigarettes there. Night descends, and from one point of view something is lost in the park. From another point of view, something in the park takes its place where it has always belonged.
A boy of about twelve is playing in the park. He is shuffling through the long grass at the borders, looking for interesting things. Recently, he has found several golf balls, magazines that his parents would not approve of and a dead hedgehog. The hedgehog had been used as a football, or possibly a golf ball to replace the ones lost in the long grass. The sky is the colour of peach-and-barley, and the boy is thinking of going home when he finds something Special in the long grass. He is too scared to pick it up, despite the way it glitters at him and m
The Talewinder's ServantThe Talewinder's Servant11 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"Send in the applicant." the Talewinder told me, as I bowed and walked away.
I'd been in his service for the past seventeen years. I was twenty six. I looked nine. The Talewinder liked me liked that. He liked to watch me skip down the stairs of his castle. He wanted me to be nine forever. So I was.
The Talewinder lived in a castle made of stone and dreams; from the outside, it was enormous, half of it hanging off a dark cliff. A river raged underneath, only interrupted by the occasional stone that would fall into it with a splash. There were human shaped gargoyles and beast shaped statues on every ledge, twirled around every cone shaped roof. The stone was black and green with age, with snakes and crows infesting the nooks and the overhangs.
On the inside, it was even bigger. There were at least a thousand rooms, and I'd seen them all during my nightly wanderings. So
StorytimeStorytime11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scalding bathes for Lolita
shake her body up.
And arsenic drinks,
the coroner thinks,
were responsible for the scars.
Now little mother spanish
and stoic papa cry.
Mourning and lamenting,
sister Nola dies -
of suicide, they say.
Two children in a day.
Another wake, funeral cake,
now everyone\'s asking why.
A week goes by
and Lorelai, their sitter in arrears,
\"When those children called
I wished that they would die!
So I bathed the youngest quiet,
after tepid poisoned tea,
and strung her sister,
up on the willow tree.\"
Read MeRead Me11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am a book with a shattered
i\'m missing the page with your favourite
you\'ve read me so much you know me by
the scraps and dog-ears have left their
with your name tattooed inside my
i am forever your literary
Falling Into the FlowIt seemsFalling Into the Flow5 years ago in Open More Like This
Or in argument
Whether or not
It's worth the risk
To look into someone
You don't really know.
Is easily swayed
And easily effected
By the opinions of others
That rend quick judgment
Without the thought
We ever put into
Is probably misjudged
And probably a mess,
Or maybe a simple
You can fight with yourself
Or shoo me away
As I attempt
To mend fences
In my intents.
All I have to do
Is convince myself
That it's just okay
Out the windowI look upon an empty road where concrete rollsOut the window5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in dry spools of gray.
Wires criss-cross like spilt vermicelli hung in air.
Cats prowl in narrows, dust rises, and the day
smells like a grave - blank, supine, where one by one
all voices die.
Hayden's Musings Do I feel guilty? Sometimes. When I'm imagining you, arching beneath me and surrendering to my touch, I feel guilty. I feel guilty when you're sat beside me, and all I can think about is pulling you into my lap and kissing you senseless. I've watched you study hard, listened intently to the quiet noises of frustration you've made, seen frown lines mar your brow and wanted to kiss it smooth again.Hayden's Musings5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When you're really confused you bite your lip, and I have to look away. I can't help wondering whether you'd do the same in the heat of passion, and the thought brings a blush to my cheeks that I have to hide. You never notice, which is something I'm grateful for. If you knew how much I think about making love to you, you might send me away in disgust, and I couldn't handle that.
I wonder if you've ever gotten that close to one of your girlfriends. You never talk about it if you have, you never talk about them at all, not to me. That new one you have,
the conversationalistthe conversationalist10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slit-eye winter sun-
rise buried to the hilt
as if you
'd answered my every fucking
question speaking french-
it's October again, my darling
for pity, oh. for pity's sake, this
talking in morse or
semaphore is getting
by the day.
these icy fingers
are not persuaded by my plea of self
defence, the jury's
out, the cock has crowed,
the books are
falling from the shelves
like dodgy tape recordings of
conversations overheard in dreams,
what I want to know is why,
I had my mouth ajar as if to speak,
as though the distance between my
tongue and lip
was suddenly too far.
Abandonedi.Abandoned5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at night i practice dying for you
i hold in my breath for so long
until my lungs are about to buckle
and i can feel my ribs splinter from the pressure
and just before i give in to living
i think to myself, this must be
what you feel like all the time.
its raining again tonight
i can hear the pounding outside my window
taptaptapping its way inside my thought patterns
wedging its way into my memory
and i hate that i can still remember the loveless nights
where we used to mirror the rolling thunder raging outside
and try to recreate them under my favorite sheets
you used to promise me things that ive been promised before
sure, they were cliche and over used
but dammit, it was pure gold coming from your lips
through my sleep encrusted eyes i felt the crystals form and spill over
they were falling, tumbling crashing
and where were you with your broken dream catcher
diamonds are a girls best friend i always said,
and you made damn sure that i had nobody left
we used to com
DistressI cannot breathe,Distress4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
nor can I find
on my own
I'm finding it
hard to say
my final goodbye,
let alone face
within me is dead,
and it is masked
by a river of
April 28th, 2010