Unfinished, untitled.When I was young I was a captive. Not a captive like you were. Not a captive of the school system or the general dismissal with which adults treat children. I was shackled by guilt, no I was cast in it. I wore pretty dresses my sweet mother dressed me up in, and I went to school with ribbons in my hair. I was a pretty little girl. You wouldnt know it now. I grew out of my face in high school. Then, I was pretty, and I felt terrible when the girls from south of Tenid blvd. came to class in hand-me-downs and boys jeans. I was ashamed of myself, I was so sure that my flagrant display of my mothers skills as a seamstress could hurt them. I owned their jealousy. Sometimes they took it out on me, I accepted my punishment. Id have grass stains and tears on my dress. On the way home I could barely place one foot in front of the other, they were so heavy with inadequacy. How could I sUnfinished, untitled.8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Songs From the Grate The breeze from Gower street always carried the scent of Turrinos sourdough rolls across the front window of 1321 Divisadero rd. at about 6:20am in February. Give or take about five minutes. Chelcie Antwerp the crossword slave that slept by that front window set her alarm to 6:25 so that she usually awoke to the smell of pastry. On the morning in question the yeasty Gower breeze met up with a pushy column of dense dry air from the east at Pine Street. Now a real wind, it drove hard through the light San Francisco fog and rattled the trees in front of Chelcies window at 6:14, drowning out the faint lullaby that played the air outside. She awoke to a shrill of wind and a swift slap of sourdough across her nostrils.Songs From the Grate8 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
Good Morning! she sang to the newborn day, and sat up straight as a board for a long, indulgent stretch. Time for a shower! Chelcie
The Death of a PhotorealistThe Death of a Photorealist or the insignificance and treason of imagesThe Death of a Photorealist6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
An original story by Gromyko
Once upon a time a very skilled painter painted a picture of an apple by copying it from a photograph taken by his friend...
he painted the apple so well that one might have mistaken it for an actual photograph.
He exhibited the painting and received praises for his extraordinary skill in duplicating the actual photograph...
The apple had became some sort of a celebrity among the artworks in the exhibit.
The artist became famous.
Then came the angel of God to the artist in a dream.
He told the painter..."do you honestly believe that god takes pleasure on your works?" "do you think that you are good because you have painted the apple so well that people mistakes it for an actual apple?"
No my lord, said the painter...i painted it because im good at painting things i like to paint...
"do you think the lord delights on you reason?, do you think that you are delightful becaus
pizzaThe morningpizza6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
of his fortieth birthday
he eats cold pizza
3.19.10On my way out--3.19.105 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Hanging from the lintel
baby dollbaby dollbaby doll5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
three little words
first from her mouth
then from mine
to some they mean everything
for me I don't know what they mean
but something tells me
and mean more than I understand right now
the things you said
over such a short time
touched me deeply
lonliness seems eternal
back to the hole we go
a million miles doesn't make a difference
as long as you feel some connection
if you don't make it out
stop by once in a while and say hello
I don't even know if I could have touched you
I'm sorry to disagree with you
but you were dirty
not your heart though
it managed to slide by unharmed
well, at least...
and that's the important piece
you're a beautiful girl
I won't forget you
mail order lamp postmail order lamp postmail order lamp post7 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
like hail the trees sigh sporadically.
timid, we scrub
the houses and street lights
and printed feet
acerbic light into the burrow
and punches into the wind,
like fur we wrestle
we plummet into lusting earths-
sustained by the augmented lace of waves
and periods of blankness.
Observance ISitting, looking in the mirror at thousands of faces and stories. Occasionally tipping the surface to see that it is liquid and evasive.Observance I5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not much that I like beside pencil and paper.
Strange dreams that place me on the other side of a mountain, in the sun, at the beach, observing the high waves of a deep blue ocean.
It can be a blessing when all roads seem closed.
And there is only one way left to take, even though one does not know where it goes, and walk straight down the only path there is, at the mercy of a merciless god.
The flag has been flewn over a valley in mist.
But noone has seen it from below or above, because everyone was already dead and no more able to behold its moves in the wind. At this point in time.
Except me and a couple of strangers.
And upon facing the nature of this grey darkness, this not so distant and seeminlgy endless void over emptiness, I turn around and walk down the other side of the hill.
I walk into a sunny afternoon.
Sit down and get bored very quickl
DreamsDreams8 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I own no one in this.
A night on Nelvaan. Tired from fighting a Horax, which is a beast fifteen meters high, thirty meters long, and twenty meters wide, with four tusks and two horns. In other words, it's one impressive monster. As soon as possible, I slip off to sleep. I have a huge path ahead of me tomorrow
I'm in a field, like those found on Corellia, or in the Naboo countryside. I see two figures dueling. One is shrouded in a darkness that's almost like a cloak. What little of his face I can see looks like a human skull, and he hisses when he breathes. The other is a young man bathed in light who seems to be losing. Every time one strikes, their side gets stronger get stronger and they get quicker. I want to help the young man, but I can't move.
Beyond them are two men. One is clouded rather harshly pulling some taught, thick, jet-black ropes that I just now notice leading to the man in black, and is saying things like "Use my knowledge, I beg you." and "I can feel your anger. It g
suicide attempti tried to kill myself.. i tried my damndest you wouldn't believe.. there were complications i ended up losing a leg.. also now missing my left middle finger.. but its out of my system.. i dont want to die anymore.. i tried so hard life made it clear im not allowed out.. which did not ignite fear but rather that i must have a heck of a reason for being here and i must stay.. but im not afraid of death either.. i saw whats after it.. a voice in my head showed me briefly whats there.. oblivion is immaculate.. theres nothing to fear.. peace that passes all understanding.. i would have gone if it had let me.. but that wasnt that point..suicide attempt8 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
the sequence knocking 555 222 000.. 222 is dewy telling me to relax (dewy my ex cat still with me) 000 is infinity.. it has meaning 0 = let go of hurting.. 0 = to learn how to love.. 0 = to go home.. home is the end.. connecting of the original pieces.. family 4 becomes 2 becomes none. then nothing after that.. oblivion.. the chaos part is either 555 or 0 =
I hope its going to clear upI hope its going to clear up, it can't continue rain for long. I think I'm going to take a look outside. The drapes always give me a hard time; oh, I think I broke them. Oh well I might as well just go outside. I better put my jacket on so I don't get to wet. Damn stairs, why do I have to live on the top floor. Maybe I should look for a new place, maybe a new city. I love the people here, but I get so damn bored. Maybe I don't evolve here; sometimes it feels like I'm just doing the same thing over and over. Only four stairs left. But I did just move back to this city two months ago, has it really just been two months? Yeah! I guess it's the people that make the places and the rest is just view. So I might as well stay here, for now at least.I hope its going to clear up8 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Ok, finally at the bottom. It's still raining. While I'm down here I might as well take a short walk, after all the air is so lovely when its rain like this. Makes you feel like you don't have to breathe on your own and I love the way the rain
The Daisy McQueenA GrampaThe Daisy McQueen8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Just down the street
I thought that he was really neat
He had big feet.
He wore big clogs
Made of wood
Just like every Grampa should,
Just because he could.
And he always said,
As he scratched his head,
He said, Timmy, mboy,
I think itd been keen,
I couldve seen
The Test Flight
Of the Daisy McQueen.
Grampa Sam, or Grampa Joe,
(he had so many names, I didnt know
Which one was really real, so
I called him them all, and he didnt mind.
Their total number? Ninety-nine.)
Grampa, I asked. Who was he?
The test flight, or something, of Davey McBee?
No, no, mlad, he said with a smile.
Davey McBee is a crocodile.
But the Daisy McQueen, now thered be a sight
To see her sailing off into the night.
And then he said,
As he shook his head,
He said, Timmy, mboy,
It wouldve been keen,
Requiem.¿Cómo decirte la verdad?Requiem.6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
¿De que manera explicarte lo cansado que estoy de estar aquí? Tengo dominio sobre las lenguas que el hombre usa desde aquél fatídico día, en que la torre de Babel se derrumbó y sin embargo, no me entiendes. Conozco el poder de los nombres y el significado detrás del primer verbo, pero no hacer que atiendas mis palabras.
Desearía que te marcharas de una vez; que tu memoria pereciera como lo hace tanto lo hizo tu cuerpo. Me encadenaste al ayer, dejándome ciego ante el presente y sordo para el futuro. Lo único que queda son los temores de un niño jugando a ser adulto en un mundo gris y carente de amor.
¿Por qué insisto en torturarme así? El frío viento en mis huesos debería bastar; mi espina curva y deforme tendría que ser suficiente; mis piernas endebles sujetas al bastón en mi arrugada mano deberían aportar dolor suficiente para entumecerme, Pero no lo hacen.
Make Believe: Chapter ThreeMake Believe: Part ThreeMake Believe: Chapter Three9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The dragon that wasn't necessarily real opened his fierce eyes,
And took in his surroundings,
His heart skipped a few beat when he realized,
He was back in the Land of Reality,
The land he loved deeply,
Looking around he spotted all of his beloved treasures,
But most of all he wanted to see his Woman of Gem,
He looked deep in the bowels of his cave,
Where he kept his most precious of treasure,
And there she was,
Just where he had left her,
Waiting for the dragon that wasn't necessarily real's return,
The warmth returned to his heart and he once again felt complete,
But it was to be short lived,
For as soon as the dragon that wasn't necessarily real lay his claws upon his prize to hold it close,
All was black,
The dragon that wasn't necessarily real roared in anger and agony as he realized what was happening,
He was returning to the Land of Dreams,
He clawed madly at the darkness,
Screaming and pleading for it to let him retur
alonealonealone5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you dont have "her"..
regardless of if you have before..
it doesnt matter anymore..
in this eternal moment..
is in the hear and now..
which is all we will ever have..
I don't know whether I'd rather have sex..
or be dead..
sex is one moment of heaven..
death is the final trip..
(the blade gets more and more tempting everyday)
rasytirayti ant pasviro paviriausrasyti7 years ago in Other More Like This
sunku nes raidės ne
vorai joms reikia linijų
ir kopėčių kad ramiai
gulėtų mauose langeliuose
ir mano akys jas rankiotų
i pernelyg taisyklingų korių
in the hemlocks 2 jadeconversation with jade: in the hemlocksin the hemlocks 2 jade5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want my poison striaght
I'll put the hemlock leaves between my teeth
to kiss you
the suicide pact between us
how many moments
between heart beats
before we can anticpate
another is not coming
(we'll count and see)
when we forget to count again
we'll know the dream stopped