Crayon-scribbled ConsumerismCrayon-scribbled Consumerism10 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
Summer's GirlSummer's Girl10 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.
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
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
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
TimeTime10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It all seemed to fly by fast
What once was a moment is now the past
What has begun is now at its end
Where a person lives, another is dead
Where flowers once bloomed
There it now wilts
Where buildings used to stand
They have decayed and been torn to bits
Who once was great
Now has fallen in shame
When one has lost his money
Another gains it with fame
Where one appears
One is gone too
Appeared in this place
But somewhere, gone from the blue
What lies ahead?
No one seems to know
For what seems fast
In the future becomes slow
What once stood proud
Has now fallen to the ground
Where trees once stood
A black gas now is the shroud
What is to be
Has already been done
And this poem I write
Is far from where it begun
The Love ShackThe Love Shack8 years ago in General More Like This
Far away, thousand of miles from here, there is a black mountain. And on that black mountain, hiding in the mist of a forest, there is a small shack. And inside that shack there is a box, and in that box there is a heart. My heart, so no one can ever break it. Not even you. Even if you try, you will not be able to break my heart.
I'm here, with you.
I'm all here, touching your skin, gazing at you naked, inviting as silk.
We're together, but you are angry at me for meeting with others, for not living together. You're angry at me for not telling you I love you.
I can't love you. My heart is far away, thousand of miles from here, inside a shack, inside a box.
You are always so serious. Smile once in a while; don't take life so hard. We are doing all right as it is, aren't we?
No heart. We don't need the heart to have a good time. You don't have to handle commitment with this kind of seriousness.
"I'm leaving you, and you will end up alone" you said. "Good" I said.
"If you want to
Child of WarChild of War10 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
This is not a tale of tragedy or a lamentation, nor is it a glorification of war or peace, or an accusation of criminal nations who encouraged this war. It is simply a diary -- my life as a child of war, both frightening and exciting, where life was suspended but life went on anyway. A life neither happier nor sadder than that of any other child on the planet, but more unusual perhaps, and sometimes astonishing in how normal it all was to me. Which is why I like to share this piece of writing: I feel it is a unique perspective on this kind of event, as I have strived to keep it void of post-rationalisation and political context to keep it, as purely as possible, an insight into how this was experienced by a kid's mind, and for that I put myself back into my mindset of the time to write it. This shows in the "voice".
I was born in Beirut on September 11th, 1979, in the basement/shelter of the clinic where my mother had gone to give birth. We immediately left for Mu
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
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
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
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
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
.Mr.Anonymous..Mr.Anonymous.10 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.
Pandoras Box - Part ICuriosity.. Our undying thirst for knowledge, our need of answers... That is one of the many things that pushes us forward in life.. We are explorers who set out to discover the treasures of the world.. But I'm not talking about the world itself.. Not in this case anyway.. I'm talking about the inhabitants on Earth.. Humans.. They are the greatest mystery ever to be solved.. Their mind, their soul, their secrets.. Secrets.. Now the knowledge that can be carried within someone's Heart, is a priceless treasure.. Why? Because it can be impossible to get close enough to take it in one's hand.. Getting inside someone's Heart is one of the hardest undertakings anyone can ever set out for.. But it is at the same time a journey we all wish to follow through... We can do our best, give it all our efforts, sacrifice tears and blood.. We can put our very soul into it, simply because we need to know this person.. We need to feel who we love, who we trust, who we hate.. But in the end it is never uPandoras Box - Part I8 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
My Last GoodbyeYou know what I hate the most?My Last Goodbye7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Knowing you hurt me so much,
yet remembering what we had
(or thought we did)
that made me smile.
I can still faintly hear your laugh
and the way I smiled back at you.
The way you would hold my hand in yours,
in it I would feel safe and secure
and without doubt.
Or better yet,
the way you made me feel special
like someone who mattered to you
because you would think of me sometimes.
Even until now,
you don't know how much I cry
when I look back to the past.
I keep this facade of joy,
to hinder myself from losing
all that I have left.
Everything that seems to be me,
has either been lost or shattered
and I find myself unable
to love anyone as much as I did you.
are hopefully not of bitterness
but rather of regret
and whatever pain you've inflicted
through hurtful words.
And so, I bid you farewell
and hope God'll help me get through this somehow.
and let our happy memories
but linger for a moment.
I Don't Love You.I Don't Love You.7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And I sat in the rain,
and realized that every wish I used on you was
Every second I spent dreaming of you
added up to another hour
I looked up at the cloud-obscured stars
and realized every tear I shed for you was a tear
My heart, I left empty to leave room for you,
all my waiting was in
So, now, I can finally say,
I don't love you.<i>
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.
BelieveThough troubles and sorrows, depression and anger,Believe8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Come your way when you're weak,
There's still some hope and love,
That you always try to seek.
I'm not asking for you to try again,
Or attempt to finally achieve,
I'm asking for you to get back up,
And finally begin to believe.
What is there to be afraid of?
God is on your side.
Will you not believe?
He asks us to abide.
Believe in only what is true,
Never doubt you'll win.
For without belief and only sorrow,
You'll fall back down again.
I'm not asking for you to be a king,
Or understand what you receive.
I'm only asking you to get back up,
And finally begin to believe.