A Coupon for a Dream COUPON for 1 Dream: Grade B
It was with a slightly incredulous smile that the Merchant held up the slip of printed pink cardboard. Eyes green as patina slid to the young girl in front of him.
"And this is?" He asked.
"It's what it looks like," the girl in her early teens by the looks of her, had a flat, no-nonsense quality to her voice. She was dressed in a none-too-new white statement shirt and denim jeans, and her feet were clad in cheap converse knock-offs, bought in a local tiangge. She was of average height, with the black hair and dark brown eyes of a Filipina. Her skin was papaya-soap fair. All in all, she was a human that wouldn't pique Mime's interest at all, had he still an ounce of curiosity left in him. A sardonic smile pulled up the corners of his red slash of mouth, crac
Untitled 2The Universe is still dark, the ground on which you sit is nothing more than a vast, empty stretch of pale sand. The two of you are waiting. At least, you are waiting. The little one beside you is more interested in cupping the sand in its small palms, sifting the grains through its fingers and letting them fall, returning them to themselves. Each grain is identical to the other, and though a handful is as light as the nothingness surrounding them they couldn't be blown away. There is no air.Untitled 24 years ago in Sketches More Like This
The little one playing in the sand is still almost entirely formless. Naked and colorless, but no longer transparent. You can pick out a few key features that would define its function, its self. The wide, clear orbs it uses to know the world around it, the long limbs it would use to cling and hold on until it destroyed what was trapped in its embrace. But for the most part it is still misshapen, unformed. It is still innocent.
You look down at your hands, and lift them, slowly, to the upper shell
Wyrmling Ghostwritenew millennium toothacheWyrmling Ghostwrite2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
w feeder hand, aluminum
bubblegum knuckle muncher bumpin' phoenix plumage...
& I rock the Rings, now!
supernova falcon flipper -
was-a-real-boy chicken shitter -
fist-fuck photon vision sifter -
soullost, anon forgetter -
so lost, rewind protector -
dead princess bone collector -
hopelessly tethered to the Ghosts, remember?
Nah, man, I don't know any of the Ghosts by name
but I've been following the will'o'wisps
chasin' knowledge, speed & blame
tryin' to play that Martyr's game
Inhale, exhale, cause & effect
momentum, inertia, stardust & breath
Sleep becomes Death...
I can only fathom three modes of the Dream:
get fucked; feign sleep; & cheat Doctor King -
the triumvirate stains Red, White, and Green,
all for Tide bleach and Amerik
regreti feel sadness and regretregret5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
for what i am about to do
as what i can not mention
will require more power
to devise than to conquer
as it will last forever and i can deal with it
so long as you remember
it wasn't your plan.
Screenplay in progress...INT. MAGICS BEDROOM, VERY EARLY MORNINGScreenplay in progress...6 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
MAGIC and ISAAC are lying upside down on a pink/red bed. There is a lot of colour and misc. objects lying scattered (albums, notebooks, novels, cords, hair products etc.). ISAAC lights a cigarette while MAGIC twists her hair into knots and braids. It's silent, ISAAC smokes, pauses, flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, which lands on a forgotten piece of poetry smolders for a second, burning the page, then goes out.
So... you are really going to leave?
What am I going to stay for? I mean, yeah, this place is great. If you plan on being a dentist or a nurse, but I don't even consider either.
'Getting the hell out of here' isn't synonymous for 'feeling happiness' or living life to the fullest.
Yeah, but I have a better chance there.
New York is a city that eats people alive, or swallows them whole.
ISSAC swings himself upright, stands on the bed, leans over to pull MAGIC up too, and then begins to jump and dan
To the deathIt feels like murder every time.To the death6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
I understand what you experience. Short of dying in actuality, I have no better way of knowing what those last few moments are like before you slide away. Can you ever feel it? Do you realise what I'm doing to myself while I whittle away the last few sickly strands of your defense?
Sometimes you are someone actively looking to pick a fight, and the reason ultimately doesn't matter. You find me, and engage me, and reluctant as I am I'm forced into retaliation. Or perhaps you are fiercely safeguarding what I, as a representative of the Order's wishes, am after. It's true that there is always a choice whether to follow through with a matter or not, but when we confront each other I am given only two options, and by all that I am, I am not permitted to run.
Your face is different every time. Sharp, blunt, masculine, feminine, stoic, fearful, leering. I hate it when you look pleading. There's nothing I can do; I wish you would realise that. Your every throe
No SleepOh ode to the nights when you cannot sleep,No Sleep6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And have given up on counting sheep.
To the evenings when your brain stays awake,
Though not thinking in a proper way for anyones sake.
To the moments when the muse beats you in the face with a sledgehammer,
And when someone sees the results and stammers.
When your brain begins to create the purest artistic crack,
The kind of which sends people running and never coming back.
To random moments,
And a few weird components.
Which can only conclude in endless laughter,
Or, more commonly, WTF?!s and OMGs thereafter.
Oh ode to the nights when you cannot sleep.
The exhaustion makes you weep.
Forcing yourself out of bed only to want to go back.
Only getting up for a snack.
Lying awake, the thoughts swim about in a sea of memories and unanswered questions.
Of papers and stories and history selections.
Then, as sleep begins to wrap its feathery tendrils around you, something happens.
An image, a word, a sound of laughter.
leader how long have i sleptleader6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my escape from reality was deathly needed
but know im
singled out from my pack
Fear of FlightI'm AfraidFear of Flight6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everyday I Wake Up
And I'm Afraid
Afraid That I'm Going to Be Another Victim
Of A Society That Has Forgotten to Care
Or Worse Yet, Become A Slave To That Society
They Say Slavery Doesn't Exist,
And To This I Say Your Wrong
Slavery Has Just Lost It's Boundries, And In Turn, Has Bound Me
No Longer Being Simply For Those of A Certain Creed or Color
Slavery Is Alive and Stronger Then Ever
I'm Not Saying to Fight
He never left youHe never left you7 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
The whispers brushed gently past her lips:
"So many dreams
"What holds you back, little man?
"Why do you hesitate?
"Are you afraid?"
His fists tighten in shame and anger.
"Leave me be, woman!
"Do you not think that those questions have haunted me!?
"Haunted my nights, they never let me forget…"
His voice slowly trailed away into painful memories. She gracefully swirled into being before him. Her hair floated like black tentacles of ethereal mist around her perfect face. He never looked into her dark eyes but he could feel them mocking him, staring a hole into his head. Burning tears, almost white hot on his eyelids, sparkled with anguish.
"Please, demon, leave me be, have you not had your fun yet? Please… just leave me."
The darkness around her swirled and she threw her head back and laughed at his useless words in such a clear enticing voice that it echoed off of every wall and pillar in the Cathedral.
"Little human, I will never be satisfied! Your God has left you, He has f
Loved ScumTonight I will dine with a stranger,Loved Scum9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A man wrapped in mystery.
I've heard he may be a prophet,
But he wants to eat with me.
So rumors I've heard can't be true,
Why would he touch one leprosy?
Why would he bother to heal the sick,
And why would He eat with a man like me?
A man like me, cloaked in lies
And the lowest form of thievery.
Consumed by the sin I bear,
What could he want with me?
Tonight I dined with a stranger,
But now I call him friend.
He ate with sinners such as me,
And stood by me until the end.
Even when self-righteous priests
Demanded to know why,
When he answered I felt his love,
And nearly broke down and cried.
'Scum' they called me without
Knowing if they were correct.
He knew what I really was,
And still spoke to me with respect.
Pierced by all seeing eyes,
And held by a loving hand,
Even for a soiled wretch,
He dared to take a stand.
He sifted through the scum
And found a diamond,
Inadvertently overwritten (then deleted)Inadvertently overwritten (then deleted)1 year ago in Personal More Like This
female cognitive aftermath asthe female cognitive aftermath as to the brain's mob workfemale cognitive aftermath as6 years ago in Typographical More Like This
This make up meet up is electric flu
Could flunk the year count spent wanderings the idiot fog fucked off chaotic speculation. As shitty as all that was already at least now weve got multiple dream states of worthless.
Merely aucune befriedigung. TASTE THAT WIDELY! Stop make me too skeptic of femme psychobiology;
important dates and changes!
And here I expected mob consciousness...
Upside DownUpside Down6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Controlled chaos, happy sadness
Real dreams, natural artificiality
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
Fast break, full emptiness
Squared roundabouts, clear darkness
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
Home, strange home
Made of rocky sponges
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
I found that Im lost
I left whats right
I wanna say farewell to goodbyes
Is it OK to be KO?
::words half spokenI remember words half-spoken better than those screamed::words half spoken4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stretch out my hands to the sky to make myself wider
my body cannot bear the volume of its soul -- it tears free
rends flesh (matter matters not)
screams silently into the sky.
what is flesh but a page
words but ink?
why do we write in silence, commit to a page,
when we could sing?
limb from limb, I would be free of this fragile being
I would be beautiful stretched tree to tree with the spiderwebs
bending as saplings bend in the wind
weightless, broad as the fog
brushing fingertips across windowpanes, gently longing
to press these damp lips to the hollow of your throat.
words escape me, pour from this pen to this page
from this soul.
mind and body -- expression of what?
the philosophers have yet to explain poetry --
there are no Poets in Plato's Republic.
fear the dire connection
of soul and body, soul and eternity
mind and pen and page
what are we but twisted strings of thought?
a series of vibrations, electrical impu
CarapacesShe gives them bottles.Carapaces3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They scuttle about the place. Sunburned and dirty, spindly limbs covered with threadbare stitches of clothing, eyes too shrewd and dull for children their age. Like long-limbed, scavenging insects they forage through garbage cans and trash heaps, collecting the husks of objects humanity inevitably leaves behind (so they can reach the day's quota and avoid a beating from the Kuya). Their bodies are little more than fragile shells of skin and bone.
Whenever she sees one of these children scampering to and from the raw urban wilderness of the University campus, a tattered rice sack slung awkwardly over a shoulder, bulging with cans and bottles and whatnot, she silently hands them a bottle. It can be the bottle she has just finished drinking out of, or another she has saved specifically for this purpose. They are usually of plastic, though there is the occasional glass soft drink bottle, the kind so thick it wouldn't break even when dropped. Sprite
UntitledOut of the ashesUntitled6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
of death and destruction
Comes new life and rebirth.
Love and NecropheliaMaybe I never knew the meaning of affection, nor the meaning of all of the words that make me sick to my stomach from the butterflies eating away at my intestines. Like love, enamoration, infatuation, and sex, they all seem a hazed remnant of a memory only imagined. Time passes too quickly, I tell you, and the old wive's tales tell me so too, but here I lie beside the air, and I coudn't begin to feel the touch of a man, of a woman, of a gentle lover's caress, any longer. For I am now but a frail woman of too many years with veins, and wrinkles, and age marking my being. I too was beautiful once, but just as easily as the beauty escaped me, the faces, the laughter and the memories within me, abandoned all lucidity I ever had to hold.Love and Necrophelia4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Eighty-six years have passed, yet no children were born from my now rotten womb. I despised those parasites when I had youth, but as solitude has overcome me, I want them now more than I ever thought was possible. Solitude does quite a thing to one such as
The End of the UniverseThe End of the UniverseThe End of the Universe4 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
I saw it you know. The end of the universe. Well, if by end you actually mean prologue, beginning, middle, end, epilogue, prequel, sequel, and everything, then yes. I saw the end of the universe. Some people say thats what caused me to go crazy. But what do I care what they say? I saw the end of the universea feat which no one else in the universe has done.
Would you like to know what it was like? It was a giant waterfall cascading carelessly into nothingness. But in that nothingness there was everything. Thats what I saw. I saw everything. I knew thats what I would see. Everyone laughed at me of course. They said the end of the universe wouldnt look like that. They didnt know what it would look like, but surely it wouldnt look like that. But I