Let's Do the Time Warp Again 1Let's Do the Time Warp Again 15 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey
- The Criminologist, Rocky Horror Picture Show
LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!: Castiel's Lost Adventures in the Song Remains the Same.
CHAPTER ONE- It's Astounding.
Prairie Court Motel: Honeymoon Suite- 1978
The first thing Castiel noticed when he finally awakened from his coma-like slumber was his own reflection on the ceiling.
He lay still for a long moment staring up at the curious image gazing back down at him. Jimmy Novak's body was looking worse for wear, which was to be expected. He knew the trip back in time would be physically hard on him, especially with passengers in tow and so his vessel's sickly pallor, disheveled hair and bloodied clothes came as no surprise to the angel.
What was surprising was the gilt edged mirror framed with blinking light bulbs that hung above him flashing out the phrase "SUPER STUD" in neon lights over his puzzled reflection.
What strange place had he landed in? And w
Band Days, Band DazeBand Days, Band Daze7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Band Days, Band Daze
Oh! To wake up in the morning to
The smell of polished brass,
This is the wake up call for a musician of the Senior Band Class.
We enter the band room organized, which we rehearsed,
It is common knowledge that the flute players go in first.
You might ask...
"Isn't that extra work? Why don't you just go in instead of making it into a big deal?"
And I would answer..
"It is only a big deal if you make it into one."
After we set up the room we take out our books and read,
Waiting, waiting for the moment that
All of us are freed.
The moment that we are allowed to take
Our instruments out to play,
This is only the beginning of a musical day.
You might ask...
"Why read books in band?"
And I would answer...
"You should not limit reading only to books."
Long tones, tuning, scales, more,
But before we start we must close the door,
And turn off the phone to make sure that
It won't ring,
So that we won't be distracted by anything.
You might ask...
Marching BandWe smell the turf, we feel it in our shoes. We march and march through the heat, and through the sun. We dont give up, for it is fun. We play our instruments and make music for the crowd. We love what we do and we are very proud!Marching Band6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Go Marching band!
SickUruha stirred as his alarm clock went off. He slapped the snooze button and reluctantly opened his eyes, squinting as bright sunlight filtered through the curtains. He yawned and stretched before glancing over his shoulder to look at the time. Eleven oclock. Practice didnt start until two so he and Ruki had plenty of time to get ready.Sick6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
At the thought of his lover he glanced down at the vocalist who was snuggled up to him. He frowned as he noticed Rukis flushed face. It looked like the vocalist was blushing. He wondered if his boyfriend was dreaming about something dirty. Maybe hes thinking about scoring, he mused, chuckling softly as he cast the sleeping vocalists soccer uniform which doubled as his pajamas- a glance.
Time to wake up, Ru, Uruha said. He laid his hand against Rukis cheek and jerked it back immediately. His skin was hot to the touch.
The vocalist shifted and opened his eyes, blinking up at Uruha. Hi
MisunderstandingPitter Patter, goes the rain.Misunderstanding9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her cry, filled with pain.
Where is he?
Where did he go?
Didn't I see him? Just a minute ago?
He was here, and now he's gone.
And now a thought begins to dawn....
He's left her, he's moved on.
She loved him, he loved her too.
Or so she thought, and in her mind, a plan begins to brew.
She'll get back at him, oh yes!
She will, she'll make him pay.
She'll even kill.
He took her heart.
She took her life.
And now that man has lost his wife.
He didn't leave her, he hadn't moved on.
He was too late....and now she's gone.
Pitter Patter goes the rain.
And now his cry is filled with pain.
I Love YouWhenever I see youI Love You4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my heart skips a beat,
It makes me warm
just to know you are there
in the room
Can the heart be explained
by science? Theology?
No, nothing can determine
how the heart will grow,
Though I may come to resent
my longing, my desire,
my love for you,
In my heart, I know it's true,
that I love you.
Just A GirlI am a girl. I'm just like any other teenage girl my age. I have breasts. I have wide hips and a round ass. But I also have feelings. And a name. My appearance isn't all it's cracked up to be. I don't have the beautiful hourglass figure guys are attracted to. You only seem to notice the insignificant things. You don't seem to notice that I am self-conscious person. I'm shy. I wear glasses for reading and worry about people calling me names like 'four eyes'. I wear baggy clothes to hide my body because I'm unhappy with the way I look. I've never had a boyfriend because every time a guy tries to talk to me I fumble, stutter and only end up making a fool of myself. You know this, you got the first-hand experience. I don't have any friends because I'm afraid to let people get to know the real me. The person I keep locked inside. My mum is my best friend. I have no siblings. My father left us before I was born. I work at a book store because my mum is always working and we need the money. IJust A Girl6 years ago in Teen More Like This
Jack Better Watch OutJack better watch outJack Better Watch Out7 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Will better not cry
Lizzie, don't pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
He's making a list
And checking it twice
He knows pirates are naughty, not nice
Santa Claus is coming to town
He saw Jack threaten Lizzie
He knows Lizzie killed Jack
He knows Will's trying to stay good
And help Jack get the Pearl back
Oi! Jack better watch out
Will better not cry
Lizzie, don't pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
Mayn LiblingYou sometimes wonder where the time goes. But only sometimes because after thinking about it, you soon realize that it gets eaten. Consumed entirely by marching band, from the start of May to the start of November.Mayn Libling6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's the last practice of the season, and you try to remember how everything started back in May when you first got the music for the show. It sounded awful, yet you hope that you never got rid of the videos you recorded from that one particular woodwind rehearsal.
You are now being told to get into a fundies block starting by the curb, and all you really want to do is go back inside and pretend that you aren't in band, because running to a cadence is not on your list of things that are fun. You still fall into place as the first person in the second row on the left, in a line with all of the other section leaders.
"Left! Left! Lefty righty left!"
You repeat the line as everyone's feet hit the pavement in time
Advice OnTheArtOf DrawingLinesAt times there isn't breath to go aroundAdvice OnTheArtOf DrawingLines7 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
and I see black spots sticking to our clothes,
from wading through the rusty flecks that fall off every sound;
it matters not, you see, as everybody knows:
people turn to dust while other people watch 'em go.
I could stand here all the afternoon,
a-counting caterpillars in the rain;
none of them considers, nor will they consider soon,
If they're here at all or if they're really just insane;
some will die as best they can while others just remain.
I'd buy myself some blue paint for the walls,
and see if anybody wants to play;
I'd throw books at my telephone instead of taking calls,
explaining to the landlord there if he would have me stay:
maybe I don't own it, but I'm painting anyway.
I pointed you to ink instead of cold,
and showed you there was still joy on the floor;
I taught you how to breath again, but now I'm getting old.
When I'm in a box I hope you'll take me out the door,
because you're at the point where I can't teach you any more.
Marching Band"Marching band isn't a sport!"Marching Band8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Oh, I beg to differ.
What makes Marching Band so different?
Some say it doesn't match the definition of sports.
Well let's see what the definition is.
Sports: An activity involving physical exertion and skill that is governed by a set of
rules or customs and often undertaken competitively. An active pastime;
So... the way I see it,
marching band is no different from a sport
The Marching band uses maybe
twice the physical exertion then a lot of other sports.
Sure football players get tackled while running up and down the field;
swimmers swim so many laps they feel as though they can't move their legs.
And other sports are similar
But the marching band runs across the field to a fro,
and our only break is a two minute ballad
where we are still moving but at a slower pace
And I don't see any of those swimmers holding a instrument
and playing into it while doing what their doing.
And Marching band is an activity governed by rules.
On being punkOn being punk12 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
It's so controversial. You are but you aren't. What is it really about?
There is no uniform. No music you have to listen to, no hairstyle you need to have. You have what you want. You are what you want. You express yourself differently than everyone else, for one reason. You're not afraid.
This so-called subculture is so much the rules designed by adults who don't understand. They think that it's a way of getting attention, a way of masking insecurities. But they're wrong. Sometimes you don't want attention. You just want to be free to be yourself.
But not everyone can be punk. Putting on a tie and spiked bracelets and singing a song about "Sk8tr bois" doesn't make you punk. Everyone seems to want to be a punk today, that's the problem. They're so ready to label themselves as something that they know nothing about, and throw out the label in a few months when the next big thing comes along.
How are you punk? You just are.
A Musing Child .A musing child.A Musing Child5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The words sink across my eyes,
Like sands of time,
Too young to know,
Top to toe.
The shadows hurt,
More than the sound,
The truth found,
Lies a child,
Desperate and confused,
We are never too old.
We're band geeksWere band geeks, we know it. We spent our summer in band camp which meantWe're band geeks7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
running around the high school and considered it fun. We spent the hours on the
field marching back and forth, and even longer on playing our instruments. Then at
the end of the day we would complain on how our feet and arms and anything
else hurt, but then would get up and do it all again. When school began we all
tried to stick together, being new to this grand school, and in the morning we
would hang out in the band hallway which we had come to refer to as home.
Weekdays spent on practice and homework, Friday nights spent on football
games. Saturday was our game day; we practice like it was band camp, and then
rode on a bus for hours to our competition. And we were all excited about
marching on the field, no matter where it was or how famous it was, we were
happy. Then we would arrive home in the early hours in the morning to go home
and sleep all day Sunday just to repeat the cycle Monday. B
A Taste of Marching BandImagine yourself in a constricting, uncomfortable uniform. The shoes pinch your toes just a little. The pants are itchy. The jacket doesn't allow much movement, and the collar keeps your neck straight. The hat makes you sweat, and the chin strap is chokingly tight. You are in the band. You play an instrument. You've memorized four songs for the half time show. You've memorized numerous charts of where to move on the field. You hold your instrument in the attention position, standing straight and tall, not moving.A Taste of Marching Band9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Now imagine you are standing on the track surrounding the football field. You are in lines, waiting for the whistle to let you start marching onto the field. You look up into the stands and see over 2,000 people in the stands. They're all watching you, waiting for you to start the show. The drum major blows the whistle and you march onto the field. You roll your feet, making sure the top half of your body isn't moving but gliding to your spot. You stop and wait again. The drum
Hunter: The ReckoningMurphy's Tap House wasn't a very nice place to sit and talk. It wasn't really a very nice place to do anything but get as drunk as possible, and even then customers had to stick to bottled beers because the tap wasn't working.Hunter: The Reckoning9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
There were a total of three people present. Murphy, the barkeep, was muttering something about "Garou," while one of his two customers sat slumped at the other end of the bar. The patron smelled like garbage and looked no better, and seemed to have some sort of deformity on his back. It had given him the unwanted nickname "Hunch".
The only other sign of life in the bar sat in one of its dark, dingy corners. She was about twenty with long dark hair. She was the only one that didn't seem to notice when the door opened and another, more rowdy patron entered.
When he pulled a gun and shot Murphy and Hunch she couldn't really help but notice. He opened the cash register and snorted in disgust, removing the only twenty dollar bill inside.
He seemed startled by t
Pact Between Parent And ChildReject the lies you've been told,Pact Between Parent And Child3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Understand you're a part of me;
Bearing the same blood and flesh.
Yes, we are united as family.
Come into my arms as they're
Open whenever you seek comfort.
Storms may strike but wise
Men know all will be peaceful.
Our bond braves the tests of times,
Smiling as we experience life.
Cannon Ball RockCannon ball, cannon ball, cannon ball rockCannon Ball Rock7 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Cannon balls last and cannon balls blast
Rowing and blowin' up ships is so fun
Now a great battle has begun
Cannon ball, cannon ball, cannon ball rock
Cannon balls shoot at stomping of boots
Fighting and smiting in Port Royal Square
In the salty air
What a bright time, it's the right time
To rock the night away
Cannon ball time, commit all crimes
To go sailin' on a breezy day
Oh bugger, cannon ship, trim all the sails
Sailing beyond the docks
Mix and a-mingle as we all set sail
That's the cannon ball rock
That's the cannon ball
That's the cannon ball
That's the cannon call rock
Revue ReviewGod, I hate piano players.Revue Review7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The piano is something too powerful to be put under human hands, (like the ruling of a country or the writing of advice columns in a small-town newspaper) and there are these people that don't seem to get that, who can just sit down at one without any reverence whatsoever and command the voices of angels.
Especially the good ones, like this guy. I don't like his kind.
His music ends like my cigarette, trailing off so gently that you hardly notice it going until you realize that you want more and there's nothing left to take. His hands rest motionless on the keys like two lovers basking in the afterglow of a fit of passion.
He knew how good he was too. I hate that. I lift one foot up onto the bottom rung of my stool.
"It's good. What's it called?"
"The Ninth Child." He lifts his hands from the keys and rests them on the music stand, which was empty. Freak had it memorized too. I wish
Poem 82Love in its purest formPoem 826 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Did he and her share
Forever and back
Enough to make Romeo's love
Seem a school boy crush
As the young man sang her love songs
The girl would gently yawn and lay against him
Watching the fountain in this sacred garden they stole away to
And he held her close as he sang
No darkness to behold
As the two were bright in the light of love
He brushed her hair from her face
Looked into her beautiful eyes
And whispered softly the three words
That only they could truly ever know
To Be a PunkRemove The Glitter from your FaceTo Be a Punk6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Replace it with a Smear of Dirt
Remember, it's not about Lace,
It's not about Hurt.
Self-Sufficient Survival In a Spined Shell
Necessary Denizens of a Self-Created, Wondrous Hell
Fire-Rust, Acid-Paint, Bleeding Beauty from the Hole-Punch Piercings
Metal, Flesh, Cloth, Scraped Knees and Brazen hearts.
It is not your Safety Pins, it is not your Skulls
It is not your Leather Glitzpunk Dolls
It's a Way.
It is an Awareness and a Bravery in its own Right.
It's not Glitz.
It's Embedded in Wit
The realization that Our Mortal Coil is a Malleable Thing
Push a needle through the skin, add another Ring.
It is not to be a Creature of Metal,
But to make your Body a mere Shell for a Soul
Painted, Inked, Needled, Clothed
To Reflect the Burning Awareness Within
And in This Way
A Single Person.
It is to Refrain from Becoming a Chalice,
Catching what the Cups of Leaders Overflow
Until skin softens and hair becomes
Snow white, inex
Roxas' Faiding: FY styleRoxas' Faiding: FY style5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"I...I guess this is...good-bye..."I looked into his eyes, the pain and suffering over whelming.
"...to everything...every one..." He sighed and looked over his shoulder at the body behind him, it had fiery red hair and an arm missing, it was surrounded in a pool of crimson blood, his eyes rolled back into his head and a loving smile tugging at his cold lips, giving the body an ominous feeling.
This is when I realized that the boy standing in front of me, who was so much like me we could have been twins, was covered in the same blood. It coated his hands, legs and the large, floor length cloak hanging from his skinny shoulders. The blood left small splatter marks in a diagonal line across his stone face.
I took a step forward.
"Isn't there anyone you want to say good bye to first? I mean, it's not like we have to do this right now, a few more hours wouldn't hurt..." I placed a hand on his shoulder, the blood slick between my fingers. The boy looked away, his face pale and emotionless b