UnderwearI have every interest in seeing your underwear, and that tells me more than I need to know.Underwear4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Notebook scribbles - 1My wandering mind rests in your eyes,Notebook scribbles - 15 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
trying in vain to understand.
One brief second, and it goes insane.
The thoughts are lost in all its vastness.
They have no connection and make no sense, but
they are plenty.
Plenty enough to keep me going, through all this madness.
The portal between the mind and eyes
is now but a thin line, as vague as it is unseen.
The mind is unaware of what the eyes convey.
The eyes fail to convey the message in yours.
I wish to tell you that it's me and not you,
but my being fails to comprehend.
All that is said now is nothing.
I let it be, for there really is nothing to say.
PainThey had told me how it was going to be.Pain1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I was to lie still, and let them do the work, but hey, I never agreed to not scream, did I?
So I screamed. I screamed as if there was no tomorrow. I screamed because the local anesthesia didn't quite mask the effect of the six inch knife that was now slicing its way across my gut, the blood flowing down the sides, onto the table.
"Clench on this." The orderly pressed down a cloth firmly into my open mouth. The dry cloth smelt, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I clenched, as hard as I could. I must have been clenching really hard, since I think I passed out.
When I woke up the bearded doctor was standing over me, his pearly white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent light that hung over the window. A sulking nurse stood on the other side of the bed.
"It was a successful operation. You rest for now," he patted me on the shoulder. Leaving, he motioned to the nurse, "If you will."
From the corner of my eye, I saw the nurse inject something
la machine a ecrire+eng translEn-dehors du reste du monde, le temps ne compte plus, les oiseaux chantent toute la nuit et la police ne sait plus quoi faire. Elle est débordée par notre sagesse denfants, nos idées révolutionnaires et nos jeux trop simples pour notre âge. Seule la pluie pénétrait notre univers et elle devenait ce quon lui disait dêtre; un baume, une confidente attentive qui nous a dit ce quon voulait entendre. On nageait dans lextase, on se roulait dans le sable, on volait dans la lumière dont on faisait ce quon voulait. Elle nous enveloppait de bon cur, nous étions devenus ses enfants, des enfants-lumière comme celui de King et Kubrick. On sest raconté des scénarios impossibles, sans fins et inachevés, des histoires parfaites parce quelles se terminaient avant de mal tourner, dans un décor de film fabriqué juste pla machine a ecrire+eng transl4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Fisher Girl The Fisher-girlFisher Girl2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
And words will fail a girl;
Staring about in this empty grey;
Straining eyes against the frosting fog which lies
Thicker than a shroud about a vault.
(How insignificant one can seem)
No separation exists here, between the heaven and the hell.
A lonely craft and its occupant
Suspended in a monotone
Like a spider in its web.
Friendly, creaking wood;
The stark realism of a tiny spire
Standing like a shot against the empty mist
She is alone
Her sun now hidden
In that rich and tasteless fog.
And her Earth?
Is it a million miles away?
Or does it lie ahead
Perhaps to wound her tiny craft, and leave her
Struck with fears of dying.
Where are the gulls?
Where is her home?
And the sea is so still
And the fisher-girl, does not.
Oh, you dreaded day, you monster!
Do you come to petrify a soul?
If so, go away
Your job is done .
But, it does not
And the sea is lonelier still.
FireplaceHe tells her not to let go, never to let go. Whatever he becomes, she must not let go. She kisses his butterscotch hair for consent, once, twice. He grasps her hand and they run into the night together.Fireplace5 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The queen is impossibly, inhumanly beautiful, with eyes like flint. How can anyone compare with her? But he whispers into her ear, Dear hearthow could you think such a thing? I will never love heryou are the only one. She looks up into his dear gray eyes and smiles.
She shuts her eyes tight against the adder twining its sinuous body up her arms. Its scales are cold and awful against her skin. It flickers its forked tongue in her face, and she cringes back. But she does not let go.
She is on her knees now, tears streaming down her face. A terrible roar rattles in her stricken ears, and the ferocious teeth snap at her bared throat. The lion is immense, too massive for the circle of her frail human arms. But she knots her numb fingers in its fur and holds on.
Tea TimeThere was a young girl no more than six. She sat at an outdoor table of a coffee shop sipping tea in a yellow Sunday dress and pigtails tied with bows. Occasionally shed glance up from her reading to take in the golden afternoon around her, but for the most part she simply ignored it.Tea Time6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Normal people, who had no eye for aura or the greater issues of the world, passed her by without thinking anything out of the ordinary. At the most, they may have wondered why she wasnt in school, or why the book seemed far too thick for a child that age.
It was such a shame; they didnt understand what a rare sight it was that they were passing up.
He was actually out in public.
Your body guards arent around, I see.
Sacha looked up from his tea and smiled just a bit, You know me better than that, Aralt. He sipped at it again, You cant possibly believe I havent noticed your dogs sniffin
The girl with the cumulus eyesI love her:The girl with the cumulus eyes2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The girl with the daisies tied around her pinky, the wooden pencils tucked behind her ear. I love her in her Saturday night, moon-lit dances and the shape of her lips when she sings. I adore her fiery hair and her dirty fingernails, never plagued with putrid polish but forever plunging into the earthy depths of a patch of soil. "Those are my babies," she'd say as you admired the blooming results of pain-staking labour. I could kiss her proud smile so much it'd spoil her, but girls like her never spoil.
I love her:
The girl who enjoys cumulus clouds while I prefer cirrus; the girl with eyes reflecting the azure of the sky, even when she isn't looking. I love the way she ties her wishes to balloons and sends them away floating to the places she reaches in dreams. When I dream, I dream of catching those balloons so maybe I could haunt her thoughts for a night.
I am haunted by visions of a girl who fills every silence, and silence means for me the absence of her quiet hums, her
Looking UpEvery person that I pass on the street either looks at me and smiles, or looks down at the passing cracks and scuffed boots that refuse to look back. Not one ever looks up. As a human I feel restrained in this two-way world, and as a stranger I feel helpless.Looking Up6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Did you see the man with the tattered work gloves? How he hid his fingers in his sweat-stained blue jeans and held a staring contest with his steel toes? I wish he knew that I walked by, that if he was to pass by me a second time, a that man looks more tired than the last time I saw him thought could run through his mind. He cant even imagine where hes going because he is too busy stuffing his mind with personal guilt. Nobody blames him but himself: for his menial job, his workaday routine, his solitude.
But I am just assuming here. I couldnt pinpoint this mans face in a lineup, or greet him by his predictable nickname. He would tell me (if he could see me), that the brim of his cap simpl
still.one.still.4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
(and sometimes, she swears she can smell her mother's sadness.)
when alice was little she remembers playing freeze tag with her mother. she remembers feeling anxious, and now she feels sick. "if daddy touches you, stay still, and don't make a sound."
leavemedon'tleaveme.you make me sick. you make my stomach fold in on itself and press out against the lining of my flesh. you put lumps in my throat and you tie strings to my tear glands and tug until the world is just a panoply of blurred lines, hazy colour and bokeh.leavemedon'tleaveme.5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
you made me do this. you put the knife in my fingers and you told me to tear, you said you would care if i hurt myself like this. you said youd care if i opened my flesh up for you like a gift of blood and flesh and tissue. but you never really did.
i like being small, i like being the blue eyed girl sitting amidst background noise, rubber band arms holding the necks of her legs together. i like being the blue eyed girl with hands holding her from spilling in a mess at everyones toes. i like it when theyre your hands.
i try to define you with mental disorders. i say you have schizophrenia and pretend its a valid excuse. im in love with one of your personalities, but the other doesnt even notice
I heard you were a roseI heard you were a conductor.I heard you were a rose5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
You stood in front of a hundred and two musicians with your baton in the air and your head held high. The music notes would fly into peoples ears, wafting away the concussive serenade on the radio. At the pivotal moment when the audience wondered if harmony could be sound, your arm would dance and the music would swell into an ocean wave. It might seem overbearing, but a moment before their ears were assaulted, the sweet cadence of woodwind fell down as snow. Youd bow with all the grace of a ballerina in combat boots, but smile enough to assure the crowd that you had meant to do that. The music was perfect, and you were not, but nothing that lasts ever is.
I heard you were a teacher.
Pacing to and fro with that childish laugh, throwing facts in the clouds, letting them rain down and soak in. Theres a power behind words, youd sing, a soft serenade of conjunctions and a
How To Make a Real MonsterTales of monsters have been around since mankind was old enough to feel fear of the dark. Quite possibly even longer. And despite many thousands of years since, monsters still remain popular unto this day. You see them everywhere, stores, films, media, video games, comics, etc. A lot of people want to create monsters themselves. But how does one stand out in a world already so saturated with goblins and swamp creatures? How does one seem unique while managing to use an element that may have been done many times throughout history?How To Make a Real Monster4 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Never fear. For in this guide, we will turn everything you've been taught about monsters thus far and turn it upside down. You will be taught how to create a real monster.
1. Getting With the Times Let's get one thing straight. Century-old tales can be only interesting for so long in an age of iPods and portable microwaves. Therefore, we need to make our monsters appeal to the times. As in, we need to make them appeal to the audien
Eat"Oy, let me see your calorie card!" The skinny man at the hotdog stand demanded, holding my hotdog just out of reach.Eat4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I sighed and dug the plastic out of my pocket, handing it to him with a sour grimace on my face. I was sure I had already exceeded my allotted 1500 calories for today, but I was just so darn hungry. Seriously, what was one hotdog going to do to my figure anyway?
He shook his head as he swiped it through the scanner. "Sorry girlie. This hot dog is 242 calories. You only have 10 calories left for today." He shooed me away in preference of those with enough calories on their card to afford his food.
My stomach grumbled its complaints all the way home. If I had really wanted that hotdog I could have gone to the gym and earned more calories on my card, but I really wasn't in the mood for exercise.
It started in California, taking hold among the mothers who didn't want their kids to become fat
A Rose by Any Other NameA Rose by Any Other Name4 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
In a white hospital bed, pale as the lifeless bones of a decaying skeleton, with my flesh exposed through the backless dress of my hospital gown, I listen to nurses discuss my mental health. I can taste the quiet tap of a pen on paper and their tiny smiles of contempt.
Shame comes in waves. Its not like a scalpel or the cold touch of a surgeons hand. They never tell you that it can eat away at your insides like a virus. (That it eats you alive). Shame is not a symptom of the mentally ill. Its just a side effect.
In my creased hospital dress, I wish for death. The sweetest sleep away from detached, gloved hands and dissociative expressions. The never-ending hostile questions and the silent blame and accusations lying unspoken on dry lips.
You did this. Youre not sick. Youre just a twisted, manipulative lunatic.
Under medication and the slow Novocain drip of sedation, I wish for another disease. I want a tumor in my head something t
pretty boys break hearts.sometimes I think Im just a mess of badly drawn lines. Im just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice.pretty boys break hearts.5 years ago in Teen More Like This
my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I cant see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.
why do you love me?
you make me happy.
I never could figure out just how. was it my illegible love notes, or the tiny hearts I drew into his bare back with my fingertips? was it the filth on my knees or the way I named every bowing flower in my garden? maybe it was the way I sewed the stars to the navy sky and told him in a little, little voice-that I loved him.
either way he made my heart skip beats and bumps and bangs and he made me feel beautiful, a little
SuySuy4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
In that last twinkle of life, that indefinite wrinkle that clouds our senses turns us into saints. And, as a sinner, all I can hope for is youth.
As the hour glass turns inside out I'll stand there laughing at that stupid reflection.
Feckless, but not forlorn I can already smell it fading...
Fading into the singularity of the great nothingness I feared, it becomes silly and I become more and more fond of it.
I know what you'll mean when I can stop listening.
Just stop talking and you'll know too.
The Universe and Henry MillerThe Universe and Henry Miller3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
At one point I had gotten it my head to move to Los Angeles and so picked up a copy of the LA Weekly, a magazine I had never before read. The cover story of this particular issue was about Henry Miller, in which Miller is quoted as saying, "If the floodgates of the psyche should open and destroy our society, what harm could there be in that?" I then knew I needed to read Henry Miller, and wanted to do so at the moment, but I didn't have any of his books. I could have gone to the bookstore, but that seemed like too much trouble at the time. Besides, I had plans to meet some friends and I was running late. I forget about Miller and headed down the hill. Literature matters, but life matters more. Living it matters most of all. I later learned that Henry would have probably agreed.
There were two ways up the hill where I lived at the time, a straight steep shot, or a very long switch back. I seldom took the switch back, but that night I couldn't face
Zemyx DrabblesHeartlessZemyx Drabbles2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Demyx couldn't fight much more. Being sent to Hallow Bastion was a death sentence, and he knew it. Xemnas wasn't fooling him there. But the Heartless that attacked before Sora even arrived were almost worse than the fight itself.
He fell onto his stomach, looking up at one of them looming over him, an icy feeling creeping up his spine. It was familiar, somehow.
"You're Ienzo, aren't you?"
"Bet I can get you to smile."
"Leave it, Dem." Zexion turned a page distantly, not actually reading. Demyx leaned over and pressed his palms over the words, forcing the book down and stretching forward to capture Zexion's lips for a moment. The Schemer scowled at him, burying his nose back into the pages, hiding his blush-and-grin.
Ienzo didn't cry when he was forced- again- down onto the sunbaked pavement, knee scraping along the rough surface. He could feel his too-big jeans tearing, blood trickling down his leg. The boy's glasses slipped off
Life is just a rideThe eerie night has crept in through the back door. Morning was spent in pursuit of happiness, in wanting to acquire lust for life. These lonely streets leave me in oscillating polarity. No pain no joy no love no hate. The calm outside is only to pose as an opposite to the sweet cacophony inside. The journey to the edge will make us realize that the edge exists till the extent of our discovery. Life is just a ride.Life is just a ride4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
DreamscapesThe outline is halfway done. I want to paint my dreams with stronger strokes, with brighter colors. The outcome should not be a result of preconceived notions. It should be a symbol of my presence but should also reflect on my ambiguity. Every layer should scream of my contemplation, my journey. Now that I think about it I realize that it doesn't need an outline. It doesn't need definition. It should be painted on my shell once I come out of it.Dreamscapes4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
RubahRenungan demi renungan datang perlahan membiarkan luka terus terbuka tak ingin tertutup rapat seperti keinginan,.Rubah6 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Menelaah renungan menjadi kegiatan wajib setiap menit,.
Mencoba unuk mengerti apa arti dari semua yang telah dilalui dan bagaimana cara untuk memperbaiki semua itu tanpa harus menyakiti lagi,.
Mencoba untuk terus tetap berdiri tegap dan tegar meski badai semakin ganas mengguncang lumpur,.
Tak bisa bicara lebih untuk mempertahankan damai dalam diri, hati dan pikiran mulai goyah karenanya.
Berjalan di keramaian tak memberikan pengertian akan hidup, berjalan dalam kesendirian memberikan pengertian dan gambaran jelas tentang hidup,.
Para nista tak bertuan melenggak-lenggok dengan perut yang besar dan gadget model terbaru,.
Seorang nenek tua meminta belas kasih dengan kedua tang ditengadahkan, tanpa lirik sedikitpun si nista berjalan lurus dengan kuluman senyum seperti ANJING BULLDOG yang merasa dirinya yang terhebat dan terkuat.
Jika anak-anak di Flores mengalami busung lapar,