Damaged GoodsDuct tape fixes anything,Damaged Goods6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
COMMON MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT GLOBAL WARMINGMYTH 1: Global temperatures are rising at a rapid, unprecedented rate.COMMON MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
FACT: The HadCRUT3 surface temperature index, produced by the Hadley Centre of the UK Met Office and the Climate Research Unit of the University of East Anglia, shows warming to 1878, cooling to 1911, warming to 1941, cooling to 1964, warming to 1998 and cooling through 2011. The warming rate from 1964 to 1998 was the same as the previous warming from 1911 to 1941. Satellites, weather balloons and ground stations all show cooling since 2001. The mild warming of 0.6 to 0.8 C over the 20th century is well within the natural variations recorded in the last millennium. The ground station network suffers from an uneven distribution across the globe; the stations are preferentially located in growing urban and industrial areas ("heat islands"), which show substantially higher readings than adjacent rural areas ("land use effects"). Two science teams have shown that correcting the surface temperature record for
The Parable of the WriterThree writers came to the table, manuscripts in hand.The Parable of the Writer8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
One writer said,
"I wrote this piece to be edited. There is plenty to be cut and moved around."
Another writer said,
"I wrote this piece to be published. Between these pages you'll find everything people want to see."
The last writer said,
"I wrote this to be read."
Then he set his manuscript down, and walked away.
mouthbreatheryou'll call me pretty things because you don't know my name yet:mouthbreather5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
today: empty doorways.
i am empty doorways. a prosthetic limb with vermillion coated oceans oozing from beneath my kneecaps, and you'll say you love me as you swim in the soaking floorboards.
(& i'll call you beautiful as i trace your stained skin with my ivory fingertips. i love you back.)
yesterday: november sunsets.
i am november sunsets. a starry-eyed shoreline, crashing beneath the supernovas, and washing your feet as i drag you closer to me. after that you'll show me your split lips and touch them against mine.
(& i'll touch yours back, and tell you november sunsets can't compare to you.)
i am honey. the sweet on your lips and the rays of daylight smothering your chest and warming your heart, and you'll cuddle close to my crinkled denim and fidget with your glow bracelets; then ask to spend every afternoon like this, on the bleachers.
( & i'll say yes and then brush your hair be
Cat Lady"You a single lady?"Cat Lady6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A MotherSighing, she finished their sundaes too.A Mother6 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A Story About Me [200th deviation!~]On Lined Paper write your words; I’m what I’m told, I’m what I’ve heard.A Story About Me [200th deviation!~]2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
Leave your mark (or leave a scar) - what you say will be preserved.
What will you choose to write on me? What words do you want them to see?
Will you write for someone else – or are you smarter? Are you free?
Words have power, words shape will, peace and war both start with quill:
Sticks and stones may break your bones – but truth be told, it’s words that kill.
Let me give my words to you? I can’t force them – that’s untrue.
But if you write a story here, and learn the words, then you’ll see through
The lies I tell (I tell them well)
My lies are true – and most can’t tell.
A storyteller spins his tales – he tells his best, he twists and trails
Through world of wonder, skies and seas; you’d never guess it when he fails.
My words will leave my writing dry – worth knowing? Reading? I’ll deny.
And not just writi
A Lost Sense of Humour“This...isn’t me.”A Lost Sense of Humour8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
He shook his head, ruby red eyes filled with a deep lost confusion staring back at him, “This can’t be me when it just feels so...wrong.”
The pained stare disappeared as Carbon shut his eyes, reaching his feet quickly from his slouched position over the water. Even this sacred place seemed pointless to him. This ever calm flowing river where he spent many an afternoon when relaxation was needed. Even this home away from home had become just another place he passed by on his daily route. He turned his troubled expression over to the footpath before him, his lids half opened and half interested.
He had these moments. Times where he felt low. Unaccomplished. Defeated. But this bout hadn’t shown any signs of wavering any time soon, lasting far longer than its predecessors. It felt like an eternity had passed by him now, this horrid feeling within him growing to crippling proportions.
When had his joy left him, his blank mind pers
Bleeding DeadBlue veins, under skin ~translucent~Bleeding Dead5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But dirtied despite the view of fair.
Scratches, scabs, the metallic blood...
It flows freely out and within.
Even though the heart is dead.
Still, a dead heart beats ~broken~
It casts shadows in the chest.
it thumps ~beats~
Every action ~life~ an effort.
Empty hands grasp at hopes ~unreachable~
Empty ~forever~ they'll remain.
Every breath (though dry) drowns the lungs,
Every water drop bruises ~purple~ black..
Every path is invisible ~untreadable~
Every flight must fall ~land~
thoughts, they burn.
Memories vanish ~deterior
A Teen's Guide to SuicideHey, kids! Now, those of us over here in the government have noticed that the suicide rate has gone up 8% for you teens in the past year. Now, we know that life can be incredibly difficult (what with angsty teen drama, th need for high-end fashion and technology, and oh so difficult classes). Some us in the government believe it or not! actually understand your desire to kill yourself! Yep, that's right! We can relate to you!A Teen's Guide to Suicide5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We remember times in our lives when we thought suicide was the only option. Now, looking at these scores, we realize that we're not the only ones in the country who have thought like this!
Did you know that 2 3 out of every 100,000 females will commit suicide? 11 12 males will commit suicide as well! Those numbers are daunting!
But we also realize another, even more horrifying number there are 308,000,000 people in this country! On top of that, there are 6 billion people in the world. Wow! Those numbers are s
Ransom Note From Your Local Public School DistrictDear Parents,Ransom Note From Your Local Public School District2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As you might have noticed already, your children are missing. You may wonder why. Rest assured, they are safe with us. We have taken them against both your will and theirs. Do not call the police, for the law is on our side. If you want to see your children again, you will be required to do more than just pay us money. Here is a brief list of things you must do:
• You must surrender custody of your children every weekday, and give us as much time as you can possibly handle to have your kid away from home, and possibly longer than that. We encourage settings and methods that stifle creativity, teaching them only what the government deems fit to teach them, rather than to teach them to be leaders. We will train them in the ways of hedonism and complacency. We are training robots, we are training sheep. They will be assimilated. Do not resist. We have those in our midst who try to undermine our goals. They will be weeded out, and any curriculum that doesn't
Art Needs YouA scene can be painted with words as well as brush strokes. The words are like the colors. There tone, the specific word, can change the meaning of a sentence drastically. The page, whether it is a computer page or paper, is the canvas.Art Needs You9 months ago in Philosophical More Like This
It is the blank slate that an artist must put their mark. The idea can be daunting-How am I to fill a space so white? So blank? Then the words-or the paint-begin to flow. The idea was there all along, just waiting to be freed. It may not be what was originally intended, but it is art nonetheless. It doesn’t have to be Da Vinci or Hemingway. It may never reach greatness. However, you created something, no matter how novice, or how professional. Its practice, learning, and heart. You can’t have art without heart.
You pour heart and soul into everything you create. It makes the art come to life. You post it with faith and hope. Faith that you’d done the best you could. Hope that others would like what you worked so hard to create
La vagueIl est trois heures du matin, je narrive pas à dormir. Jentends le bruit de la mer, des vagues qui sécrasent contre la falaise en soupirant, en rongeant de leur larmes les pierres insensibles. Jai toujours aimé le bruit de la mer, cette compagne de solitude. Le bruit sourd, régulier, avec les petite arythmies dun être vivant.La vague7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Quand jétais enfant, je pouvais passer des heures à guetter la septième vague, celle qui était plus grosse que les autres. Mais le problème, pour trouver la septième vague, cest de connaître la première. Car quand une septième vague est plus petite que la précédente, cest bien que ce nétait pas la septième ? Laquelle alors ? Cest tout larbitraire des commencements. Il y a eu un jour une première vague, et une septième vague, plus forte que les autres.
Sans doute personne nétait là pour
Bottom Of The OceanA beast that dwells,Bottom Of The Ocean2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the deeps of the sea,
It's ungodly smell,
How could it be me?.
Murdered and drowned,
And left to be,
Sunk so deep,
I no longer see.
Through the waters,
Like a babies whisper,
Or the voice of a daughter.
But how could they be,
Down so deep,
Tethered to me,
In eternal sleep.
Stare to the skies,
And they remember your lies,
While engulfed by the sea.
Bottom of the ocean.
What's Poetry, What's Not?I write if I'm happy, and I write if I'm notWhat's Poetry, What's Not?11 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I write I'm sad, depressed or distraught,
But I know when I write, I put in a lot of thought.
It may not be neat or amazing like your work,
But don't dismiss it, like a snobby jerk.
So what if it's my daily life, or how I feel at the moment?
You don't have to read it, look at it, or comment.
All that matters to me, is that my art carries emotion,
you only write poems, in a rude and selfish motion.
You say I can't write poetry, because I speak from my heart,
Compared to your works, you probably hail my work as a fart.
You say my works have no story, but that's you inability as a reader,
I thought you were supposed to know, how to look between the lines, to see each word clearer.
Writing is composed of words sometimes five, maybe six,
but each letter each sound has a significant to it.
If you can't see that, then that's to bad for you,
You're just a silly writer who pretends to have a clue.
Bur I write when I'm sad, depressed and what not,
It's OverA wonderful twenty-two-year-old woman stood in the middle of a red brick hallway. She made her way towards the end of the hallway. The woman placed her forehead up against the brick wall in front of her.It's Over1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
She thought about how much it hurts. The woman remembered what happened earlier that day. She reached her hand for the door to her studio apartment.
The woman took a step back, as the man of her dreams buttoned up his shirt. She could see a girl around her age lying down on the bed next to her man. Streams of tears drifted down her face.
She could only imagine what the man did with that girl. The woman took a step back from the studio apartment door. She could see a smile across the man’s face.
The woman closed the door, as she headed down the red brick hallway. She stood at the end of the hallway. The woman was waiting for him to leave.
She placed her hands up to the top of her head. The woman brushed h
All This TimeAll my life staring at stars in the skyAll This Time1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And glossy magazines on the shelf.
All this time sitting and wondering why
I was fated to be my boring old self.
Austria X Reader - New Piano TeacherAustria X Reader - New Piano TeacherAustria X Reader - New Piano Teacher2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
(Name) walked to a large manor where her new piano teacher is waiting for her. Her old piano teacher recently passed peacefully while playing the piano. (Name) reached the large dark chocolate brown twin doors and press the door bell which released a small chime traveling through the manor. Inside the house Roderich Edlestein hit the wrong key breaking the musical flow to the piano piece he was about to finish playing. That must be my new student he thought as he approached to the doors.
"Are you Miss (Name) (Last Name)?" Roderich asked (Name) with a warm welcoming smile plastered on his face.(Name)had a light shade of pink appeared on (skin color) and gave a small nod. Roderich held the door open and motion(Name)into his beautiful manor. This must be Mr.Edelstein. He's so young. Not to mention he's handsome and very gentleman like too. (Name) commented in her head. The teacher and the student approached to the grand piano sitting in the