:in between words and worlds:i.:in between words and worlds:4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
With amorphous regret in my mind and genesis in my notebook I turn the page and there is the hateful etching of your name a hundred times over and over until its engraved on my wrists and under my eyelids, those crimson marks dispersing into atoms when I close my eyes, there is the slight tremble of the summer leaves and the south birds migration, there are the salmons leaping in ocean's tears and mountain's streams and there are cars whizzing by the empty voids between our words and worlds.
To you, words exist in worlds
And to me worlds live in the existence of words
But you'll only frown and turn away, and accuse me of being philosophical and boring.
Because maybe that's what I am, a cluster of clashing words,
Clashing worlds when I shut my eyes
And clashing sounds like soap water when I just l i s t e n .
In the translucent yellow of this candlelight, the lisp of words soften to words sifting above whispers, and in vain I sketch in my mind the shape of your smi
shhh.the chair i'm sitting on is hard, old and rocks under my movements like a rocking chair, except i know it's not a rocking chair, but an antique on loose heels. when i fidget, i trace my fingers through the cracks in the arms and legs, my wet, sick and clammy fingers sticking out against the mahogany.shhh.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
when he talks to me, his chapped lips move with the wrinkles around his eyes, the scruff plaguing the skin around his mouth like weeds. his voice is scratchy, the smoke coming out from his nose and mouth almost too smooth against the black of his eyes. they should be watery - like mine - but they're dry, tame from the countless years of smoking.
when he sits down across from me, the chair screeches against the marble floors and his suit furrows under his lean arms and rides up around his ankles. he's still young, i realize, despite the wrinkles and tired bags hanging under his eyes. he may even be in his twenties, give or take a few years.
one of my hands are fondling the small, silver spo
But one nightShe stares into the darkness as strands of hair decorate her countenance.But one night9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her eyes hold pain.
––They’re damp with broken promises, and tainted purity.
She’s so aware of herself, it feels surreal.
She can feel her pulse in her wrists, her neck and her chest.
They feel out of sync, just like she does.
She prays to a god she doesn’t believe in just to feel safe, even for a mere moment.
She talks intimately to the empty sky, and asks it for help.
There’s an echo to her words.
––It’s windy, and utterly dark.
The full moon illuminates her doubting soul as she collapses onto her knees, not too far from the cliffs edge.
Her eyes are closed.
It hurts to see the beauty she can’t appreciate.
It hurts to feel so void of life, with a beating heart, and bated breath.
She inhales as deeply as she can.
With all the strength she can muster, she lets out a scream that shakes the core of the Universe.
The scream is long, and desperate.
growing upI grew up on the back of a vegetable cart, counting the months of my life in seasonal vegetables, and counting the years in the objects I took on board to keep me company. Aged seven I remember perching on a sack of onions with my sock puppet and reading Alana’s book about a witch disguised as a pedlar woman. I flinched away from the crates of rubbery okra; green fibrous witches noses. When aunty stewed the witchy okra for our dinner it was unrecognisable. It looked like stars.growing up10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The ceaseless jolting of the cart against uneven terrain and the fresh air contrived to blur the words I read, stirring them into a bubbling green potion. Blinking fast to fight dry prickly eyes I read another page, then leaned back against the wooden flanks of the cart and realised through long heavy blinks that stars themselves were actually less-star-shaped than slices of okra. You couldn’t count their points, there were meant to be five, one two three four five. I couldn’t draw a pointy sta
Cordyceps I don't have much time. I have to get this down before I go up something bad happens. Up, up, up. I don't know how this happened. All I know is my brother climbed to the roof up, up, up of our apartment complex in the sky, have to go up and died. Some sort of mushroom or something was growing out of the back of his head upupupup. The tendrils were small, brightly coloured, and I could see the spores fall and be taken by the slight breeze.Cordyceps4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We didn't question his disappearance. He disappears all the time.
But then I went up up up to the roof.
And he was lying there, cooking in the sun, the horrible shrooms growing out of his skull.
Now I have to go up, up, up a fever or something. My head hurts, and there's a swelling at the back of my skull. I must go up don't think I'll survive much longer. If this is the same thing that happened to my brother
I want to go up. Up, up, to the sky.
I want to go to th
Hate Me... Please~~Hate Me... Please~~Hate Me... Please5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I want to scream at you
Even though you didn't do anything
I want to sew your lips together
when you happily smile at me
I want to kick you down
After you've picked me up
I want to shut your eyes forever
So I don't have to see them glint with hope
I want to make you cry
When you dry up all my tears
I want to tell you that I hate you... but I can't
Because you love me and you would die if I left
So the thing I want most in the world
Is for you to hate me
Maybe then I wouldn't feel so bad
moondust.we live in a world where our lungs are black and outlined with angry streaks of red. we plant diseases and destruction in the holes of our stomachs and watch them grow they shoot up fast and clog up our throats with ashy leaves.moondust.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
our fingernails are ripped, jagged edges digging into pale skin and leaving white hot lines in their wake. our wings are crumpled, feathers bent and pressing into the expanse of our backs they're the weights on our shoulders, and there's no space left for anything else.
your tongue is cracked and so is mine. words no longer form, sounds no longer rise. dreams and wishes fall into the cracks as nightmares rush past them out into the open. that breathtaking sequel to life you were hoping for no longer exists we are now aimless, hopeless, and craving for sin.
we swallow moons and exhale moondust; we stray from orbits and into vacuums. but all we ever wanted were the touch of lightly powdered lips against our flesh.
kolaborasi dua arahANIS ANNISA MARYAMkolaborasi dua arah8 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Selamat pagi, saya gumamkan itu,
Entah pada siapa,
(mungkin pada seberkas sinar yang menyelusup lewat jendela)
Dan saya menggeliat,
Reaksi dilematis antara tidur dan bangun
Pikiran sudah mengelana kemana mana
Tubuh masih ingin berbaring lama lama
saya masih ada di tepi sungai seine,
saat saya membasuh tubuh pucat telanjang saya
saya sedang menyusuri the great wall
saat bangunan kelabu berlumut meneriakkan realita
saya sedang di puncak everest,
memandang gemerlapnya taj mahal,
menyentuh batuan kasar piramida,
dan semua yang mereka bilang dunia nyata,
tidak lebih dari sebuah paradoks transparan
Sekarang, tubuh saya disini, duduk di atas kursi coklat
(mungkin sekarang pikiran saya sudah di luar angkasa)
Ada yang mau membawa saya kembali ke dunia nyata?
EKKY ZAINUDDIN AFFANDI
Gumam sang surya meneriakkan dia datang
Sosialisasi paradigma dengan sketsa yang terhambur
Kesetiaan daratan menunggu turunnya huj
the editorI make bad things go away.the editor5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Hit man? No, it's nothing like that. No, not organized crime. Christ, kid, where do you get these ideas? I bet it's television. Or those goddamn video games you people are always playing. What? So now I'm being judgmental? Do you know what I could do with one scratch of my pen?
No, forget it. I'm a little tired, that's all. It's hard work, you know. If you'd just listen for a moment, I'll tell you.
I'm a city editor. Not like newspapers, no. You have to train a lifetime to do the kind of work I do. And even if you do train a lifetime, not everybody's got the brains for it, you know? Imagination, that's what I'm talking about! You're young. You know imagination, don't you?
Now don't be stingy with the bottle. I know you were just going to spend the money getting wasted is what you call it, right? Better I drink this poison anyway. You're not old enough to be ruining your liver.
Now as I was saying. City editor. You think it is about newspapers, hah! Shows
A Letter to MeDear Me,A Letter to Me4 years ago in Letters More Like This
I know sometimes the days seem long and the nights even longer. I know there are times you would hide from the world. You feel the weight on your shoulders, and see the accusing glares.
I'm here to tell you that it does get better. The sun does shine through the worst of our depression. It's there when you're ready to reach out and grab onto the ribbon of laughter.
Don't worry about those flashbacks, honey. There was a time when you had to deal with it alone, but that isn't the case anymore. No matter where it takes you, when you come back, you'll always have a strong person who loves you for who you are...imperfections and all. He doesn't care that you check out for chunks of time and can't always explain or even know it happened. He loves you and will watch over you while you're gone.
Don't fret about the past. Don't fret about the future. You can keep on living. Everything is going to be okay now. Not everyone may understand, and hell, some may look down on you for it, but
Tell Me What My Problem IsGo on, tell me what my problem is.Tell Me What My Problem Is4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Tell me I'm a freak.
Tell me I'm different.
Tell me I'm an outcast.
Go ahead. Speak up. Are you scared?
Scared to tell me what you believe is true?
Tell me what you piece together from rumors and lies. That's right.
I remember now. All the way back in seventh grade.
When I was diluted enough to be caught up in your web of lies. I remember that you had just as many problems as I did. Am I kidding myself?!
You had more.
Before you even knew me!
After you stopped knowing me.
After you started claiming no affiliation with me.
Before you would glance at me across the crowded, noisy cafeteria every spare second you got. Hoping, wishing I would accept you back into my arms.
So go on and tell me what my problem is!
Tell me! I'm waiting. And I'm ready.
Now I'm stronger. I can take anything you throw at me.
Now I'm better. Now I know your lies. And I can pick them apart.
And throw them back at you, word by word.
So tell me! Tell me what my problem is!
I can tak
Such Sweet SorrowSuch Sweet Sorrow4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Tell me about something that made you sad.
Uh. Okay. Let me think. [Pause] I was sad when I sent you to the airport in San Antonio. That made me sad You leaving again made me sad.
Yeah. That made me sad, too. Parting is always sad, but you know what's worse? It always gets better. The first couple times, you're likeshe's leaving, I'm so sad I'm going to cry. And then, after a long time, you get used to it. That is sad.
Yeah. I understand.
Mm. Let's sleep now.
She fell into a slumber quickly. I soon heard her gentle and rhythmic breathing next to me. But I stayed awake to ponder her words. Did parting really get easier as time went by?
I don't think so. If else, I feel that it gets harder. More painful each time to see her turn her back on me and walk away. It's just that I've gotten stronger, and I've learned to smile when I wave goodbye. And cry l
Hikikomori: Rain - A short story"Why aren't you listening to the rain?"Hikikomori: Rain - A short story1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Daito stared at the screen. "I don't know... I don't really care for what's outside. Do you enjoy listening to the rain?"
"Of course I do!", Aki immediately replied. "It reminds me of my childhood summers. I could stand endlessly in the rain, not caring about anything... just smiling at the sky."
"Didn't you get sick from that?" Daito replied, faking concern.
"Sometimes, I guess. But I didn't care. All I wanted was to not feel the city around me anymore. I imagined myself somewhere far away, where no concrete buildings and no cars would spoil my day."
"That sounds... great.", said Daito, almost disappointed. "I guess some days are beautiful."
"What memories do you have from the outside?" asked Aki.
“I don't know... my school days, maybe.”
“No, there’s more, of course. But those I remember more… vividly.
“I know” Aki replied. ”I remember so much stuff. The light
dArama - ISSUE ONE - Love.dArama - ISSUE ONE - Love.7 years ago in Editorial More Like This
The dynamic between core staff, volunteer staff, and the community can at times be pure quality dArama.
It's worth noting that for years I've worked pretty hard to remain neutral on community politics. Today, I'm going to shatter that concept.
Needless to say, I am extremely politically aware of the inner workings of the deviantART community. I read *a lot* of journals, comments, forums, chat rooms. I have fake accounts. I spy.
But I don't spend my time talking politics, instead I focus internally at deviantART designing technologies and implementing understandings with core staff to address the issues I see pop up.
It's time to take a moment to be a bit more petty.
In the inner workings of our politics exists the soul of deviantART. What is this place? What was it meant to do? What does it do? What could we do better? And it's the politics that give insight into how well the greater plan is running.
There's $core staff who are employees or contractors and work 8+
I Never CryI Never Cry12 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I Never Cry
It rips my stomach into seventy small pieces whenever you talk about the guy you just met, or your exboyfriends, or some prospective new boyfriends. But most of all, I hate when you talk about how we're best friends. I have enough best friends, why don't you love me?
Wait, I know, is it because I'm bald?
Maybe I stink.
Too dumb, too smart?
Maybe I swear too much.
Maybe I don't act my age, maybe I do.
I think I'm just too friendly. I never cry, but you know, whenever you talk about how good of friends we are, and how you don't know what you'd do without me, I want to.
You like my best friend. He's good looking, smart, funny. Hell, he's an awesome guy, I know. I love him like a fucking brother. But why can't you love me?
I hate sounding like the friend that always whines about something, seems like they never get anything their way. I love me. I don't have any plans to change me. I make me laugh. I bet I could sell my personality on ebay. I'm a tall, handsome guy, I
The Engagement - An account from the free society Full title: The Engagement: A verbal account from the free societyThe Engagement - An account from the free society9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The following account takes places somewhere around the year 2100 and is 99% dialogue.
Sophie took off her sandals and placed them beside her. She laid on the lush grass, stretched her toes and looked over the free city of Bern.
‘ So if we get engaged in Bern, do we have to do anything really formal?’ she asked.
‘ Well, we’ll be asked to register with the Swiss Reformed Church and make a thoughtful donation, but no one will force us’ Noah replied, coming down from a tree. ‘ You know we don’t even have to register with anyone. It’s more of a tradition so the neighborhoods, companies and religious denominations know we’re together.’
‘ Have any good ideas about how it should go?’ Sophie continued with a smile.
‘ How about this: we go on a small pilgrimage to temples, churches, mosques and whatever we can find. We leave a small donation t
Lesbian Surrogate MotherThe following is a news article from my local news paper The Lethbridge HeraldLesbian Surrogate Mother6 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
entitled "Lesbian Utah Lawmaker Carrying Baby for Gay Men" By the Associated
Press- Salt Lake City, dated 1/10/10, enjoy.
Rep. Christine Johnson will serve an additional role when the Utah Legislature convenes this month. The lesbian lawmaker announced she's a surrogate mother, carrying a baby for two gay men.
Johnson said she decided to become artifically impregnated with sperm from one of the men after the two close freinds expressed frustration over the difficulty of adopting a child.
Utah law prohibits unmarried couples from adopting and does not recognize gay marriage. Johnson 41, who has a 17-year-old daughter from a two year marriage, is four months pregnant and expecting on June 21.
"I can very much empathize with their desire to become parents and share their lives with and open their hearts to a child," Johnson told the Salt Lake Tribune. "I'm immeasurably grateful to be a mother."
subdivide our heartbeats.beat, beat.subdivide our heartbeats.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
two beats steady and then one that's not. here we are, together again, never again. something is on your mind, written on the constellations on your sleeve that i'm afraid i absolutely cannot read. something is on your mind and maybe on your heart and your unsteady heartbeat is subdividing mine.
your leg is shaking and you can't keep your fingers still and i know you better than i should. maybe it's finally getting to you. maybe i'm finally getting to you.
two breaths steady and then one that's not. you care about her but you don't love her like she loves you and maybe sometimes you wish you could. i wish i could dive into the lamp-lit recesses of your chessboard brain and convince your mind to restart your heart. i promise i won't break it. your mind always stops you from feeling, your ocean eyes always find my green ones and your heartbeat always subdivides mine. you always subdivide me.
you can't turn off glowstickswhen i think you are asleep, i whisper, brian's heart beats so much steadier than yours. but it is so quiet that even i can't hear myself say it, can't feel my lips moving to form words i probably don't want to hear. but i can feel your heart beating, fluttering like a caged bird as i am pressed against your chest. it beats just like it used to.you can't turn off glowsticks6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i just want to make someone happy, i said, and you said nothing.
my head still fits perfectly in your shoulder, and our half-a-dozen tri-colored-glowsticks are reflected in the inside of the bus. you can't turn off glowsticks and there are things that i cannot change.
why are you so determined to decide that i am never happy with him and i never will be? i said, and you said nothing. you said nothing.
you always hold me as tight as you can and you always put your arms over mine. most days, i don't know why, but today i do. maybe sometimes you are my kitestrings keeping me down, keeping me close to reality, close to myself.
lilyat cliff edge my darling dances, tiptoes and windswept honey-gold hair. i say, 'my sweet come to daddy, come here princess, you're scaring me.' but that roar of wind is so loud in her ears she sways and looks upon me a moment like i've been only quiet admiring, never calling. she laps in the taste of salty-wave and sand, and she is magic in all her softness. but she is so close and one toe pushes rock downledge and i'm running, oh dear me, i'm running for my darling on the sea cliff, i'm running and i'm all love for her. for her who is me in those eyes and lips, who is me in those smiles. i'm running and she's stopped, standing with her little lips apart like that, puffy bottom lip dropped and sunshine all sparkly white-blue in her eyes. she's stopped and i cannot, i'm running, i'm running, oh silly me, running downwards towards her on the cliff and i have her in my arms, my fairy princess! my brighter-than-sun darling! we're dancing and then, oh, toes, foot slips, we slip and are falllily6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
my morning starhe always called her his morning star because they both loved waking up to watch the sunrise.my morning star6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
they would wait for the crack of dawn and he would trace the creases in her palm with the very tips of his fingers in that almost-darkness, almost-light that precedes dawn.
they always wondered why the world seemed so empty when the sun was rising. every Sunday they would drive and drive until they couldnt hear the interstate anymore, and if they didnt think about it too hard, they could fool themselves into believing that the world really was empty except for each other, the ground beneath their feet, and of course, the sky as it exploded in slow motion.
they would drive and they would sometimes listen to old cassette tapes and sometimes just each other. they always thought of how curious and wonderful it was that they never, ever ran out of things to say.
sometimes they would drive north, sometimes west, sometimes east south east, sometimes they would end up at picnic
this aprilThe moonlight falls through squinting blinds, bowing softly to hug the arc of his naked body. The blankets are strewn about his toes as a girl, no more than sixteen, lays wide-eyed and warm-bodied beside him.this april6 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
She silently watches the dreams come and go beneath his eyelids, she quietly feels his chest rise, rise then fall and she listens to the heavy breathing that accompanies it. Beautiful breathing, she thinks, tracing generous lips with fingertips.
The air is cool but she is alight.
Everything in this room bathes in blue shade. She watches the alarm clock beside the bed, numbers coming and going out of fashion before her eyes. Now it wears 0, 4, 2 and 9. Melbourne will burn beneath the April sun shortly. She does not need the sun for warmth anymore but the city always will.
His arm no longer sleeps wrapped around her and she feels the emptiness below her breasts as though nothing is really something after all. He sighs in sleep and it is not a heavy sigh but a light-hearte