Crayon-scribbled ConsumerismCrayon-scribbled Consumerism11 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
In recent years the government has taken a backseat on the road to power, the marketing industry has taken hold of the wheel of Ford's latest model and didn't forget to stop for a refreshing, ice-cold bottle of Coca-Cola. Soon buying a pair of Nike's gets you an immediate bullet to the skull and that degree from Stanford, displayed on your wall will have the value equivalent to a rundown technical school in some decaying suburban town. No longer will how intelligent, creative, or talented you are, matter- if the newest SAAB isn't parked inside your three-car garage, you will not exist. Clever marketing gimmicks and colorful, eye-catching advertisements will soon rule our world. That ten-second jingle you just heard on television will become more credible than the opinions of your closest friends. Our society is already becoming more and more keen to eat out of the hands of greedy marketing executives; our heads are turning and our eyes are widening to their intricately thought-out
Drive My Car: Paul McCartneyDrive My Car: Paul McCartney10 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
The 'Paul Is Dead' Hoax or PID is almost as wide spread as the actual Beatles and their music. Even if the hoax isn't believed, any true fan of the music and the band knows of this very outrageous claim. There are many different ideas about how the hoax started and what the actual clues were. This paper will outline the origins and move through to the supposed clues on the albums themselves.
One story supported by R. Gary Patterson, a long time Beatles fan and writer, was about a man named Tom. In Patterson's book, The Walrus Was Paul: The Great Beatle Death Clues, he cites that Tom called Russ Gibb at WKNR Detroit to report the rumor of Paul's death. The man spent two hours revealing all the clues that he had tirelessly looked for through the album covers and songs to find. Gibb invited Tom to the station for a personal interview that he gladly accepted. According to Tom, Paul McCartney had called the station, quite upset at the idea that he was being spoken about as dead when he was
The Wounded HealerThe Wounded Healer10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
He said "Describe the Trinity."
Because he's stretching me
And then he proceeded to question
And I had nothing left
To enter into someone's heart
Involves taking your own apart
And to say its anything less
Then you're lying, so just confess.
Because it's draining, and paining
And it's sorrow and depressing
Despair will come, and overwhelm
If someone could just take the helm
Then there might be some small reprieve
You might sit back, relax, and breath
But that's impossible
Because hearts can't pause
And love doesn't go on hold
It's not plausible
Because we need cause to live
And we don't want love to go cold
Even for a second
And that's what he does
He cares, and it hurts
He's too busy, too much
Too many people
Too much love
But can he see the longterm clearly?
Or the looks he'll never see
And the thoughts before we sleep
And the smiles he brings?
Not right now, but someday
And so someone cares
And someone sleeps
Because he touches
A piece of the whole
An Ode to the NPC...*I, am an NPCAn Ode to the NPC...6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
*I can be short, tall, fat, thin, male, or female
*I am the kindhearted stableman you don't pay
*I am the drunken miner you laugh at when I stumble and fall
*I am the slightly chubby barmaid you hit on in a last ditch effort
*I am the mason you make fall off my scaffold
*I am the guardsman that takes you in for crippling the local mason
*In short, I can be anyone, wise king or grimy beggar
*I can be anywhere, anytime
*But I'm not here to gloat or boast
*I'm here because you need me to be
*I have what you need, or know where to get it
*Yes, I have the final piece you need for your lightsaber
*Yes, I know which goblin cave that magic goblet is in
*Yes, I have seen which exact castle the princess is captive in
*So why am I not the hero?
*So I don't have to be the one eaten by the dragon
*So I'm not the one melted by the acidic amorphous blob
*Even if I'm always your level or higher
*Even if I never die, just recycle into someone new
*Even if that's just because y
Song of the Lynched LiberalSong of the Lynched Liberal10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Our presidents were once the kind
To try and use their clever minds.
Alas this organ is so neglected
And cowboy boots and hat are affected.
Never mind lying lies or moronic agenda
I need gas for my SUV; I'll never buy a Honda.
The demmies are all perverts and eggheads to boot
We'll line them up and then the grand ol' NRA will shoot.
Hilary and Mr. Gore got A's in all their classes
Smart will never get us far; I bet they once wore glasses.
We need a leader tough and strong
Who knows that books are moral wrong
And would never follow dark temptation
Into recycling and conservation.
This is where liberals went wrong
They trusted people to get along
And to go for civil rights and maybe welfare
Not obstruct voting and then kill health care.
But there's more at stake than gays and abortion
"Liberal lies" are but a conservative distortion.
The world hates you, me, and Mr. Bush too.
For Fallujah and what Lynndie England do.
I swear I'm a patriot, it's just that I'm the kind
To believe in libert
Annie Comes Home to RufusAnnie Comes Home to Rufus11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Annie tumbles from the car
and onto the driveway.
I watch from behind the curtains
as Mother and Father trudge behind,
dragging duffles full of god-knows-what
(sweatshirts, I figure, and a toothbrush, and gallons and jars
of bitter white pills and injections).
"Daddy – keys!" she cries,
and his mouth stretches, baring teeth
(he smiles, he thinks)
as he tosses a jingling cluster.
The latch clacks, and Annie comes home.
I hover in the kitchen –
I never know what to say.
She spots me before even hanging up her jacket and kneels.
"C'mere, mutt," like she expects me to pretend
I'm happy to see her
eight pounds lighter than last Sunday.
Annie is tired.
Only I am allowed in her room,
where the angled light shafts and the dust motes
turn the plastic hairs of her wig
into faceted filaments.
She slides it from her skull
and drapes it on the sleeping styrofoam
Summer's GirlSummer's Girl11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I am gathering flowers for my girl.
She waits beneath the cherry tree,
couched among the leaves upon the grass.
Her beauty is no small thing,
and through the shady boughs
Summer's breath turns the twist of her braid.
The sun is sweeping clear the morning,
turning over slowly into midday
before expiring into unseeing darkness.
These garnered blooms still hardy though,
despite the shortened moments of their existence,
they will colour the chestnut hair I love.
In truth, I cannot stem this smile,
this attitude of quiet pleasure;
she has distilled it like music.
I am gathering flowers for my girl.
She waits beneath the cherry tree,
couched among the leaves upon the grass.
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Importance Of Being Frank
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then she walked over to the wash basins.
A fly buzzed between her and the mirror. She turned on the faucet, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on her face. She looked at the stall's reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and slapped herself.
Let us slow down to take in the sights. At the exact moment Silvie's hand hits her cheek, everyth
Reala and JackleReala landed on the slated roof of Nightmare Castle. He sat cross legged and stared into the white speckled sky, which stretched across the horizon.Reala and Jackle11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Stars were there, Reala knew. Beautiful shining stars, but their beauty was blocked by the clouds. He sighed; it was always cloudy in Nightmare. He liked watching the stars, and the best place for stargazing was Stick Canyon, where Reala longed to be. But he wasn't allowed to go to Stick Canyon tonight. He sighed again. He liked his master, but he was too… controlling. His clawed hand touched his arm gently. There was a deep cut there. He winced and blinked back tears.
He was not allowed to cry. Reala never showed his emotions to anyone.
But now it seemed like the right time to cry. He had never felt like crying before, but now… now he could see it. Everything seemed wrong.
How Wizeman beat him every night for not retrieving the red ideya… how he and all the other Nightmaren were treated like slaves… it didn't seem ri
DespairingDespairing11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You've told me no tales, and I've told you no lies
And yet I am the one that still sits here, and cries
Marking the time as the future is stumbling
I despair once again at my life now crumbling
Sorrow runs deep and my tears will stain far
I beg for an answer to the who that we are
Shifting and aimless, with no hope I can keep
I bang against this wall, unbreakable and steep
The scars from the tears, my face they do mar
Cracks in my sanity mark a door standing ajar
Broken and bent, through these shadows I'll creep
The words that you spoke made a rift that's too deep
I can think of your smile, and a part of me sighs
But as soon as my joy is beginning, it dies
What now haunts me, your face it is wearing
For you have becme the crux of my despairing
Dear DiaryDear Diary10 years ago in Humor More Like This
I ate a sandwich today. I realized for the first time that one does not use a spoon to eat them. I was at the deli and I ordered my usual, a turkey breast with salmon, bacon, and teriyaki sauce, sat down and began to eat, spoon in hand. The man next to me turned and said, "You know… You don't use a spoon to eat sandwichs…"
This blew me away. All that I had known: destroyed. My world became swirling mist of the unknown. Every fact I thought I knew suddenly came into question. The way of the universe died that day.
The man grew concerned about the glazed look I had while I was shaking uncontrollably in my chair. I snapped to, spoon still in my grasp. Then I stabbed him with it. A lot.
Thanks for ruining my day, asshole.
Today was unusual. I went to the super market and the cashier winked at me. I mean, it's good to be winked at by such a beauty of a person, but I didn't think it was very appropriate. Flattered, I gave a small sign of rejection, whi
summer children, we were'ii.summer children, we were'8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we carved animals
from ivory castles
floating in the sun. we were
the doting spring mayflies
twisting upon meadows,
wreathing lilies between
toes, breathing --
between the sheets
of golden chaff,
she whispered, "let's dance in the rain
on the cobblestone streets
before the singing rosebud
The Eleventh HourThe black, polished shoes produced a perfect squeak as they shuffled down the corridor, a single sound bouncing from one wall to the next in the empty thoroughfare. Where ordinarily, there would be scores of people walking this way and that, headed to the various departments of these hallowed halls, tonight was different. The body of people typically assembled were already in a meeting room, sweating over coffee and cigarettes and Mark Johansen was running late.The Eleventh Hour5 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
In their long history, the Supernatural Order had faced world-ending situations before. The splintering of bloodlines which formed the vampire faction they hunted in the first place almost provoked a giant cluster-fuck which ended life as they knew it from their very inception. That had been a millennium ago, roughly. Back when humanity still believed in magic. Sorcerers, witches, and warlocks dotted the landscape of the Dark Ages and one magician in particular drifted further into the darkness, looking for immortality. That wa
Epitaph for a DolphinEpitaph for a Dolphin9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We wandered in our sunlit shoals floating
belly up, and laughing at our own magnificence
we thumbed our noses at the birds.
-They cannot know what it is to fly.
The treetops were conquered by our borrowed hammers,
and we laid upon glorious two-by-fours debating clouds
or any other thing of significance. We watched the wind
pull and play against our scrawled sign which clearly stated
there were 'no girls allowed'.
Pastel fish flaunted. Taunted us to twilight; deeper waters,
grey areas. Flaunted and fled: left us drifting.
Disguised as dank school busses; necessities hauled us off.
Famously painted, they mimed the sun,
whose robust enthusiasm never managed to warm
the dusty bus through the tinted windows.
If we mimed sleep, heads resting on shady glass,
we could still glide.
Still, the spring and summer were ours
and for a while, the forest was full of Indians
slinking softly behind the briars – just out of sight.
You slipped suddenly, silently
pulled by a riptide and out to s
Opportunity-8.FebruaryOpportunity-8.February10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the texture of my missed sunrise
wrapped in amber arms and a smirk
fluxing in the newborn light:
I'd've flung myself in arms that begged to hold me
if I'd known they were there
I'm staring into your distance, someone
singing in my buttoned ears
—chops for my cubical existence
there's cement beneath us in springtime, still cold
to the touch of jean-clad cheeks,
this tank top rag doll
folded into your lanky figure,
patient for day
I'm trapped, sometimes,
in fleeting shadows—moments that shouldn't feel
like midwinter sun taunting,
tangling the air, hair
falling in your solstice eyes,
but they do
GhostsGhosts11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My bones forever grace the land,
And though I walk, I do not stand.
I see the sky as forever dark,
When cast against it, I leave my mark.
The echoes of my past live on,
The image stays, my body is gone.
The dead are ones who often cry,
And you can hear me if you try.
A living aura is what I crave,
I'm condemned, however, to the grave.
The grass above my body is green,
But with dead eyes, no color is seen.
I exist but in the corner of your eye,
It's harder to find me if you try.
And as with every other ghost,
I haunt the place I loved the most.
I never want to scare you away,
But it is a price I often pay;
For being dead brings endless peace,
Life begins when you are deceased.
VadhaI have seen two blossomings of the Kurinci flower and twenty-four black monsoons since Kalinga Magha first landed on the shore of our island Kingdom. He arrived as the rainy season ended greenery erupting from every hollow, pepper vines snaking up every tree. Cranes and peacocks drank from the bowls of mangrove roots, elephants rolled and snorted in watering holes, and the mists were slinking back to stalk the lush valleys of the Hill Country.Vadha5 years ago in Historical More Like This
The thousands of soldiers Magha brought with him trudged for days through our country's red mud, sinking in potholes and cursing their gods in all the languages of the mainland. Farmers knee-deep in sprouting paddy fields looked up as they passed in a mile-long column, and muttered to each other that war had come again to Lanka. The months of rain had swollen the rivers, and it took Magha longer than he expected to reach Polonnaruwa through the flooded river crossings.
.Mr.Anonymous..Mr.Anonymous.11 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Mr. Anonymous comes and goes
He does not walk, he simply flows
In through walls and up the stairs
Little kiddies, say your prayers
Go to bed when your parents say
Or you'll be Mr. Anonomyous's' prey
You know those lids upon your eyes?
He'll make them into butterflies
Yes, a thousand butterflies follow him
But what they are is truly grim
These are the eyelids, So behold
Of the kiddies that didn't go to bed when they're told.
So then the kids amongst this number
Can never sleep or doze or slumber
They're doomed to eternal endless wake
All due to they're little night time mistake
So, unless you want Mr. Anonymous by your bed
With his fluttering butterflies suspended on a thread
Hush little children and go to sleep
And don't open your eyes, not even a peep.
_forget you_forget you11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It will be easy to forget you...
I just can't look to the sky
or even remember the sea...
I'll just have to stop dreaming
and learn how to be alone...
I know I'll forget you..
I just can't remember your smile..
your beautiful eyes,
your sweet mouth...
I can do it,
I know I can...
I just can't look to anything,
I just can't remember,
I just can't live...
I'll forget how important you are on my life...
I'll just have to forget myself...