Voltage Stars React to the Knife GameVoltage Stars React to…Viral VideosVoltage Stars React to the Knife Game2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Today’s video is…The Knife Game
Watch the original video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_t2bnp8aoXw
Prince Joshua and Prince Roberto from “Be My Princess”
Joshua: What is this?
Takuto Hirukawa and Riki Yanase from “Love Letter from Thief X”
Riki: This is a smart idea (sarcastic)
Takuto: There better be blood
Kunihiko Aikawa and Haruka Ustsunomiya from “My Forged Wedding”
Kuni: Why would anyone do this?
Haruka: Is he going faster?!
Ranko Togoshi from “Love Letter from Thief X”
Ranko: No, no, no, no, no, no! I hate knives!
Shota from “Office Secrets”
Shota: Is this for real?
Ibuki Yanase from “Love Letter from Thief X”
Ibuki: I don’t see the appeal to do something like this
Kenny from “A Knights Devotion”
Kenny: There’s some seriously messed up people. This has bad id
Takuto v Riki The Spicy Pork Noodle ChallengeI was heading out after a long day at the museum when my cell phone rang.Takuto v Riki The Spicy Pork Noodle Challenge1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
“Hey! Are you leaving work yet?”
It was Hiro. What’s he calling me for?
“Yes, what is it?”
“Get down here quick! We got trouble!”
I hung up and made a mad dash to Le Renard Noir. When I got there, Riki and Takuto were having some sort of argument. Hiro and Kenshi were off to the side with Boss trying to stay out of it.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“Riki got onto Takuto for his pork noodle eating habit; saying he needs to eat other things,” said Kenshi.
“Takuto, doing what Takuto does best told him to piss off and kept eating,” said Boss.
“Then, Riki did the unthinkable…he took his bowl away,” said Hiro.
I don’t know what kind of reaction they were expecting but I still didn’t see what the big deal was.
“So?! You don’t t
a painting hung all wrong.in a dream.a painting hung all wrong.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
we find him strung up in our garage
washing line taut. neck bulging.
i covered someone's eyes.
stopped them from remembering,
almost familar features
and blue blue blue blue wide open eyes.
where's someone to cover mine?
i mirror you with swollen throat
my voice thick with blood and screaming.
a painting hung all wrong.
Cold HeartedI'm tearing them down,Cold Hearted2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Piece by piece.
Let the walls fall,
Let the pain increase.
I stare my pain in the face,
Let it rip me a part.
Show what I've always feared,
In the depths of my cold heart.
I review my lack of care,
All the people that I've hurt.
When did I become so cold?
When did loved ones turn to dirt?
What happened to me?
Once so loving and kind.
When did it get so bad?
Did I suddenly lose my mind?
I want to trust again,
To love and to care,
But is the risk to high?
Is the cost of pain fair?
I realize that it's not.
I'm safe within my walls.
So much better to be cold,
Then to get hurt in the fall.
Feelings with no namesi.Feelings with no names2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of tires on asphalt speaks to a sense of curiosity – where are they going? Why so early? – but the blankets are so heavy, your eyes are so heavy, and before you can wonder anymore, the car is long gone and you are long gone, carving out a hollow place to rest in just a few hours more.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that y
post-apocalipsticki.post-apocalipstick1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
red as the setting sun
and all men's shade
when she walks by
the dull stains
of the masses pined
like the fire's died
hips in motion
from tense to open
she's slicing a throat
when she lingers
and the hopeless
while she picks
from the fray
Still-life.The best of my paintings:Still-life.2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.
ContinuumI probably miss you like I miss painting caves,Continuum1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like an ache somewhere deeper than inside my bones
too ingrained in myself to recall.
I probably kissed you when our bodies knew strength
like the spears in our hands
and then when the snow melted and the world dawned green, green, green.
I probably laughed with you when we saw pyramids pierce the desert skies
and again when we saw masts on the horizon.
I probably held your hand when Rome came down in flames.
I probably stood on pyres with you and sang a prayer for you
and knew your soul like the words in a bottle,
like a bird in the sky,
and I surely held my breath and knew that our flight would never end.
I will wander with you through cities someday soon
and I will dance with you through every uprising.
I will kiss you hard when the atmosphere disintegrates
and land beside you on Europa,
where we will build the history of a new world
and I will love you through all of it, always.
Don't Write While You're Highwhere the scenesDon't Write While You're High2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
blend too seamlessly
to the next glance:
our twoselves soon rising
up-through white fibers—
from the thick of reality:
oilslicks slipping up-along
when later looking back: the lost
incompatible with water but—
we sought fewer thoughts
Who are the real monsters?The boy's room was dark, the only saviour from it was the little nightlight on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes in an attempt to scare the darkness, force it to recede and switch to daylight. He did everything he could to forget about the dark, because that's where it was.Who are the real monsters?2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Under the boy's bed there was a monster, one with a balding scalp and matted grey hair on its arms, chest, and face. Its smile was crooked, its teeth rotten. It was an ugly thing- the boy had seen it once when he dared a peak- and it frightened the boy terribly; what a shame his mother thought it was all a fabricated lie, blamed it on the little boy's wild imagination. She had said that, too, just this evening when she put the boy to bed at the usual time- she was a very punctual lady, there was no extending bedtime with her. But that was beside the point.
The boy closed his eyes tighter, trying to sleep and dream of a huge metropolis of a city, but the thing under the bed giggled loudly, distrac
An hourglass between his knucklesHe quit smoking because heAn hourglass between his knuckles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
didn’t like the taste of his own
mortality; bitter, brackish, black
as his lungs. Didn’t like the pull
of nicotine, ashy fingers,
the way a cigarette looked like
an hourglass pinched between his knuckles.
The ashtray began
to fill up again after his wife
died. Every day at first; an entire
pack after her funeral; a box
every three days; one flicker
of light in the evenings spent leaning
on the balcony railing,
watching the city go by through
a veil of smoke and memories.
I bought a pack for him once, just
to use my ID for something.
It’s still sitting on his coffee
table, one cigarette short.
Sails of the DragonA shining vessel in waters darkSails of the Dragon1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
White sails proud amidst the storm
From fierce clouds, the lightning stark
mocked the glow of fire warm
Proud she stood to fight the wind
Her dragon tall in growing light
While thunder roared in ceaseless din
Hating the fair craft so bright
On she sailed in crushing waves
Towards the first of sunrise's rays
Enraged, the roiling storm gave chase
But slowly faded in the warmth of day
Thus she emerged in shining form
To sail in light for evermore
Never again would there be a storm
That dared to challenge the Dragon's roar.
Flaking Photographs We see the greatnessFlaking Photographs2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of faces belittled
in little boxes
you lied the night you kissed me.there is a thick exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my shouldersyou lied the night you kissed me.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
till they hang and to my knees until they buckle. and I will sleep for days on end,
and when I wake up I didn't really.
I hate you dear, I hate you so.
because there is so much to do, I could travel to the other side of the country and
paint a portrait of a stranger and I could sit on top of someone's roof and look at the
stars with a boy I don't want to know and I could fall asleep in his bed and listen to
him playing guitar without clothes and he'd take me out for diner and anywhere I'd
want to go and we'd have sex in his car and on the trampoline in my back yard and
we'd eat at my grandparents with Christmas and it would never be enough because
he's everything you weren't.
I think I lost myself, I think I fell out that time you ran away holding onto me and my
skin tore. I looked for her in that empty hole in your chest cavity, but all I found was
lost so long ago, and you wouldn't show me where it went b
Poets and ParadoxesTo be a poet is an endless paradox,Poets and Paradoxes1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A constant contradiction of your thoughts
And division of your soul.
Paper cuts will scar your skin,
And fill your ink well up with blood
So you have no choice but to write from your heart.
It means you cry and lie
And lay awake each night
Thinking of new ways and new words
To hurt you and heal you all at once.
It makes it so that the beat of the stanzas
Is a heartbeat,
Hammering in time with your own
And speaking to you about every moment
That you have been compelled to pen.
It means breaking yourself apart
Into ink and sharp shards
Small enough not to cut anyone
And maybe those foolish and wonderful enough
To try piecing you together.
I Have Loved the Stars Too FondlyThese vast expanses broader than the skiesI Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And deeper than the ocean, just as blue
Are unobtainable from where the view
Is struck by light and hidden from my eyes.
Oh marvels of the farthest-reaching space,
Oh nebulae, oh planets, ancient stars,
Already naked eyes have fought such wars
To glimpse beyond the darkness to your face.
And light which grows with centuries has bled
Still higher in the night and drowned you out.
My city home has left my eyes in doubt
That worlds of breathless beauty I have read
Exist, nor are they found where'er I look:
All space confined in pages of a book.
this is about forgettingThis is the thing about forgetting:this is about forgetting3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
For weeks you bury your face in the clothes you wore when he was near and the smell is a comfort and a torture. You decide that the torture is not worth the comfort so you leave them draped across the back of a chair and place things on top of them to stop yourself until one day you shove your hands through the pile until your fingers wrap around the fabric and you yank it free only to realize it was pointless. Even his ghost is gone.
The next thing that leaves is the way his voice looked in the dark. Those few sentences become blurred and rough around the edges. What you remember drops in your stomach in a different way.
You run your fingers over your
AbsenceI still hear your voice in the wide open meadowAbsence3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Laughing like honey bees
And Currawong cries.
In the shivering of gum leaves
In the shadows of steam trains,
Spied between fences and snowflakes' tears.
I still hear your voice at the foot of the staircase
By the swing-set at sunrise
In the car when it rains.
In the whisper of piano keys that play every evening
And haven't been touched in years.
Artists.YouArtists.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
can be the painter,
paint words on my lips.
will be the writer
and write kisses on your skin.
for those slipping into the backgroundThe tax collector hadfor those slipping into the background2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
an appetite for berry smoothies
and a secret love of robotic exchanges
between baristas and caffeine addicts.
An empty emptiness fanatic,
who dreamed of giving
the girl at the bus stop
(with the quiet lip-syncing lips)
a daisy because by the way she
stared forlornly at the pigeons pecking
at nothing, he knew
she liked simplicity
even more than him.
A child plays in the yard.And she fell in the arms of autumn,A child plays in the yard.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
- in a crust of broken leaves.
And when she hit the ochre bottom,
- by little, winged thieves,
her breaths were stolen away.
And she fell in a blanket of foam
- in waves of roaring blue.
And she reached her final home,
- where singing winds blew
smelling of freesia.
And they said she sank in clouds of white,
Like a bird diving too deep for prey,
And they said that in the swirls of the night,
They could hear her voice say:
A child plays in the yard.
Art.Your body isArt.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your soul is
So much depth
Your touch is
Your presence is
You are the most
work of art
that I have ever