it's not enough.i will never regret running into the freeway.it's not enough. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
if i am gasping for air, pressing my palms against my chest, holding myself together, you will never find me wishing i hadn't done it. if i am sticking my fingers in my sides to staunch the bleeding, limping down gravel roads, barefoot and wild-eyed, you will only see me grimace and smile. tell you it was a hell of a ride. tell you when that car collided with my kneecaps, i tasted heaven in the wind yanked from my lungs.
and you won't ever find me lamenting jumping into the fire.
if i am smoldering and smoking, licking charcoal-lips and spitting out ash, you will never once hear me whispering it would have been better if i hadn't. if i am beating out my own flames, stitching my own sides up, holding my own hand, you will only watch me grit my teeth and laugh. tell you that it was like having my bones dance. tell you that when the fire licked around my torso, i knew what it meant to be alive.
because i know, someday i'm going to find someone
dear t, love m_cDear M, I used to wonder if the collision of our skin would be the ignition of rapidfire passions, the birth of brilliant starlight in the cold of loneliness, of suffocating space. I used to imagine that the heat of your breath would spill across my tongue, and reignite the cold ashes in my lungs. I used to hope that the sway of my skeleton and the clacking of my bones could be a rhythm you would stay around and dance to. I used to dream of us on moonlit beaches, sleeping on the waves and swimming through the sand. I used to do a lot of things, but your shiver-up-my-spine smile tends to drag my thoughts out to quieter seas.dear t, love m_c in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Dear T, I used to imagine my bones were fractured and chipped in all the wrong ways. I used to think my heart was a poison my body kept rejecting, leaving me on my hands and knees spitting up old relationships, lies and heartache all over my carpet late at night. I used to look at the sun and wish myself blind, stare at the ocean and wish myself ten thousand le
we are a sunrise.we are no more than a softly whispered if.we are a sunrise. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
we are smoke rings in the dark, soap bubbles on the lip of the water. we are bright eyes and shy fingers touching through the veil of introductions. we are racing side by side down separate book aisles, not calling out to one another but comforted in the echo of each others' pulse. we are strangers who aren't strange to one another at all, promises scrawled in folded pieces of paper, slipped under door cracks in the middle of the night.
possibilities are glowing iridescent between us, eyes overbright as we dance circles around one another. we're shoved into rooms filtered with sundust, lips praying as palms, fingers caught into oil-dark curls and tracing faintly dimpled cheeks. futures are unwound on the spin of a syllable, one second breaking everything we thought we knew about how our lives would go.
whole existences are leaping forward from the shadows with the power of a freight train, knocking out everything we've ever known to be
don't drag me into love.i keep choking on saltwater.don't drag me into love. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
with every breath, i'm dragging the seaweed and lies deeper into my lungs. every insecurity is swelling and dancing before me, every flaw magnifying until i can't see around it. i'm crawling on hands and knees up the beach and coughing up my mistakes, but i can't stop myself from making another one. i'm sitting with trembling hands, a spinning head and i can't stop, i just can't seem to fucking stop.
i'd like to say i'm beautiful, i'd like to say i'm strong, but we know it's a lie. i'd like to say my mistakes make me endearing, my idiosyncrasies make me charming, but it couldn't be further from the truth. in reality, i'm insecure and shaking, i'm crashing down the stairs and sobbing against the bloody carpet. i'm trembling and biting my lip, throwing fists against the wall, screaming at the stars as if they have some answer to offer me. i'm begging the moon for salvation as if it's hidden somewhere beneath the scarred surface.
can't you see? i'm lost, i'm c
you're asking me.if you asked me who i am, i'd probably forget to tell you my name.you're asking me. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
instead i'd tell you that my eyes are blue and i'm shorter than most but taller than some. i'd tell you that i like walking better than driving because feeling the ground under my feet is somehow affirmation that i am alive and that i am connecting to something bigger than me. i'd tell you that i think the sky looks too big at night and not big enough in the morning. i'd probably explain that has something to do with the fact that i wake up with every intention of flying and go to sleep knowing my elbows haven't sprouted wings yet.
but don't worry, i'd say, because i'll wake up hopeful again tomorrow.
and if you were to wait around a little more, i might be persuaded to tell you i'd lost my mind seven years ago and would you be kind enough to help me look for it? i'd probably tell you about the boy with teardrop-eyes who chewed up my heart because he thought it'd be aspirin and was indignant when it burned a hole throug
i dream as a lion.i used to dream about sinking into the ocean. i used to dream about going up in flames and finding redemption in the way that the ash fell from my hands. now, when i dream, i think about the way that passion used to light my veins. i think about the pain that pinched my limbs and the cramps that woke me screaming in the middle of the night. i dream about the agony - the way i would stare at the sun and call it living. the way that i called each bleeding wound life and each burned palm passion.i dream as a lion. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i was the girl that swallowed the world and spit up the ocean. i remember the way that the mountains scraped my throat and the slaughter of the world settling into the pit of my belly. i remember the bitterness hitting the back of my throat and the way that even when i doubled over, even when i screamed out, even when i hit my knees that i was crying hallelujah. the way that the world was brighter for the pain and the way that i believed the only way i could see was when i was saltwate
we're breaking fate.i'm crying but there are no tears; i'm laughing but there is no sound.we're breaking fate. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
music is playing but i can't cage the beat. i'm just sitting in the middle of a wind storm and counting the seconds to sleep. counting the seconds until i fly. counting the seconds until i can see your face again. because your mouth is like whiskey and i'm always under the influence whenever you're around. ohoh, if i had the words, i'd give them all to you in a beat of my stuttering heart. because you always know that everything i want is everything you have and everything i have is already yours.
i can't keep myself from you. i can't keep myself from the flames but i'm going down swinging. i'm going down hard. i'm too close to the fire and too far from the heat. i'm dancing a million miles a minute trying to get your attention but you're too far away to see and i'm sweating blood and bleeding sweat and i just want to be where you are.
remember when we were thirteen? we had hot, dirty hands and innocent eyes and dan
consider this just one more.i need you to stop needing me.consider this just one more. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
you don't know, but you're living a lie. you're closing your eyes and pretending i'm something i'm not. you're pretending i'm lovely and stable and precious. you're pretending i'm returning this kiss.
you're breathing down my neck and twisting my hair between your fingers, saying we could be something beautiful if i would just slow down. you're swearing we could be a sundust and milky way love story if i would just stop running away all the time.
you're calling me baby, you're calling me darling, you're trying to hold my hand and ignoring the fact that i'm shaking with anxiety. your salty lips keep misfiring and landing on my jaw, your greedy fingers keep tearing my coattails apart.
can't you see? i'm a mistake that you're trying to rearrange into something lyrical, a disaster that you're trying to pretend is miraculous. when really i'm anything but.
in reality i'm knocking down vases and ripping the mona lisa in half, i'm tripping down the stairs and cra
i can't see the sky.i hate the word lonely.i can't see the sky. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
it dries out my mouth like i had tried to swallow tumbleweeds, it scratches the back of my throat like i'm trying to regurgitate memories from an empty stomach. it leaves me sitting in the middle of an empty room and wishing the ceiling would cave in because then at least i'd be able to watch the stars.
instead i'm just laying on top of the covers pretending to count them in the drywall and imagining what it would feel like to have your arm behind the curve in my neck. instead i'm closing my eyes and listening to the suction in my veins because i am hollow and caving in. i keep painting you with rich, lush adjectives, but you're just a cardboard pipe dream that falls flat and leaveleaveleaves me without air.
i keep spending my nights sketching your eyes on the ceiling, but i still can't see the moon.
and you know, i keep my hands busy during the day to ignore the faint shaking they do when i know they want to be holding yours. i keep my mouth talking to ignore t
who said love was beautiful.this is not what you're expecting.who said love was beautiful. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm not going to write about the first time we kissed or the first time you whispered something beautiful into my clavicle or the first time we held hands and i swore that the earth shifted under my shoes. i'm not going to write about the first hello or the first goodbye or the first moonrise i watched reflected in your irises.
i'm not going to write about how your eyelashes are spidersilk and your mouth is a song and how when i was weaving the colors of your eyes into a sunset i got lost in the middle. i'm not going to write about how your fingers pluck symphonies above steaming mugs of tea and how looking you in the face is like holding my breath underwater.
i'm not going to write about that.
instead, i am going to write about the first time you dragged your hands through your hair and i noticed that your knuckles were scarred from too many fights and how i wasn't surprised in the slightest. i'm going to write about the time we stood in the kitchen
your warmthyou stood in the doorway, damp orange light falling across your skin, black hoodie falling from your shoulders gently, hair a mess - and you were all but perfect. you stood, leaning against the door frame a little too drunk, and smiled at me. it was that kind of smile that i knew meant more than it should have, the one i have seen too many times since - the kind of smile that meant something. i'd like to tell myself it meant the world - that when, for the first time in a year, our eyes met and you told me something that wasn't a lie - the stars had aligned or the universe corrected itself - but i know that's not true.your warmth in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we kissed that night, the alley way beside your house. you ran your hand along my legs, along my ripped tights, and i could feel your heartbeat under the sleeve of the shirt i had always loved. you stared at me, face relaxed, and told me that you had wanted that for a year.
sometimes, i think i have too.
my heart didn't explode though, and my knees didn't shudder undernea
wish upon a starthe air is always cold this time of year, you once told me as we lay in bed, warm, watching the last few seconds of christmas eve fall away. you whispered merry christmas in my ear, ran your hand along the the valley of my waist and told me that you had the best christmas present ever. i didn't need to ask what it was, because i already knew.wish upon a star in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'this time of year, miracles come true,' i could tell you were murmuring through a smile into my shoulder 'if you just close your eyes and wish upon a star hard enough.'
giggling, i closed my eyes and wished that i would wake up next to you. when you asked me what i wished for, i turned to face you, and through a succession of small kisses i whispered that i couldn't tell you, or it wouldn't come true.
god, we always thought we were so young.
you know, i have closed my eyes every year since then, and wished for the same thing. this year though, i lay in my double bed alone, sheets littered with cigarette burns and little pieces of wrapping paper.
introductionAlex has come to terms with the fact that his father is going to die soon. It hurts, but what can he do? Things like this happen. Alex believes that it won't be a natural death. He honestly believes his father will kill himself sooner or later. He can see it in his eyes, in the muffled sobs he hears when he calls.introduction in Short Stories More Like This
Sometimes Alex wishes he could ask his dad why he left. He was always told it was so he could get over his drinking problem, but as far as Alex can see, it's just made it worse. His father told him once that it was because he couldn't handle the cold of Melbourne winter, but he had done it for the past thirty seven years, why was it so much of a problem now? Sometimes he sits in his room and goes over all of the excuses he's heard. He wonders how his mother believes he cant swallow that bullshit.
His father doesn't usually call often; it depends on how he's feeling. The more often he calls, the more reassurance he needs that he still exists and that the world isn't
the fall of winterthere is a full moon, haunted, hanging just above the clouds. kind of the like the pictures we used to draw when we were young; back when we all thought we were artists. at this time of night, i can't help but wonder if its the same face of the moon that watched you left.the fall of winter in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
but fuck, we're not artists any more are we?
and this full moon - it hangs over us.
it watches with wise eyes the fragility of your heart in my cupped hands, and it waits. and with weak shoulders, i watch too. time and time again in the dead of the night i watch the crashing of the white-tipped ocean over our naked bodies, clasped tightly together, and every night i wait.
but i know we do not resurface.
and, oh the moon. it waits, waits, waits.
while deep on the ocean's floor, light filtering through the near-black water down onto our faces, i watch you and you watch me. and we know that we failed.
but my dreams are not meaningful things to you, because my words have never moved you like music; never awed you like p
a story about a broken heartyou called the other day, just to talk.a story about a broken heart in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you were talking about your physics teacher, or something like that,
but all i could hear was 'i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry'
i'm sorry for hugging you so tightly when i last left,
and i'm sorry for taking your heart with me.
i'm sorry that my voice still sounds the same -
the same voice i would send you to sleep with at night.
i'm sorry i can't look away when you talk,
because i can't let go.
i am sorry for telling you lies,
even if i meant them at the time.
i am sorry that we have nothing in common anymore,
and that i can't make you laugh.
and you were talking about your physics teacher, or something like that,
and i was crying.
i don't think i can forgive you.
isn't it a bit sadliving within a sanctuary, my arteries grow widerisn't it a bit sad in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
bones thicker and eyes wider - yet i am weaker
wood beneath my fingers, cracked and grey feels
as though it is not there at all, memories fade
into dust that settles and everything that was
becomes what it wasn't, everything that wasn't
is what was -
i clean so i don't think, and i write so that i do
ghost of anxiety past creeps up, awoken - alive
fingers grip the bare skin of backs, vision blurred
and words slurred, together we embody that which
makes us sick -
but we are already sick; off passion and love and
i am sick of your glances and lack of words and
my need to just to hold you, or him, her or anyone;
it has been so long since i have been held in arms
that were not water or wine -
i date things in case i die and people decide to
love me because isn't that what happens - when you
die people realise how great you were but it's too
late because you're already gone, so they read you
but it's okay because i hate everyone an
strange peoplethere is man i see sometimes that tells me he loves me.strange people in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
he wears a dress and has bare feet, sparkly nails and paint in his hair. when he laughs and he smiles and looks me right in the eye, and i call him miss because that's what he wants, i know it is only because he is not right -
but sometimes it makes me think, if he loves the whole world and is happier than the rest of us, then what is wrong?
there's a old man with a white beard to his stomach, who can't speak right and buys pink children bikes from the op shop with his change.
he has his free cappuccino with eleven sugars and lots of chocolate, tells me every day that he has a pretty girlfriend. he doesn't have a house and his legs are thinner than my arms, but when he spins his coffee lid through the air he claps and jumps like a child and sometimes he gets so happy he cries.
and i wish sometimes that i could be happy that way -
to love the things that no one else does, in a way that other people don't understand.
and you kno
two weeksmadeline wants to paint a picture on a canvas.two weeks in Short Stories More Like This
she wants to build a tree house and wants her netball team to win the final.
meet someone new every day. she wants to realise pink's an ugly colour and throw out all of her clothes.
she wants to make her first phone call to a boy and hold his hand and go to his house. she wants to get butterflies and wants to share a hot chocolate with him. she wants to have her first kiss.
she wants to listen to music until its all she can hear. she wants to fail tests and say fuck studying, she wants to get a detention and wants to tell her parents that she handed in the excursion money, but keep it for herself.
madeline wants to get high and get a piercing and tell everyone she's fighting the power. she wants to try being vegetarian for a week. she wants to skip school and go to parties. she wants to stumble home in the early morning.
she wants to detox and spend all sunday sleeping. she wants to apologise to her parents and try so very hard to
harlequinade smilehe has a harlequinade smile and sometimes we fuck under the stars. in the backyard; a mess of drunken, tired limbs shaking in the breeze and shaking under one another, we disregard everything we care about for as long as we want and everything is perfect as long as we keep it that way.harlequinade smile in Teen More Like This
we collapse into each other; our heartbeats slowing and our breaths becoming deeper as we lay next to each other and watch what we can see of the stars from our suburban backyard. he tells me they're beautiful, and all i can remember is the real stars; the real night sky without the purple haze of pollution clouding the sky. i want to show him the real night sky one day.
he tells me he wishes moments like these could last forever, as we lie side by side watching as the purple-black sky fades into blue and the stars cease to exist for another day. his dark, tired eyes stare through me and i haven't slept but it doesn't matter, because his smile is warm and his hands gentle, resting in the curve of my back
boy who belongs to the sunhe asked me once, 'are you afraid to die?' and i didn't know how to answer. i'd like to say that i am; that it scares me more than anything else, but i can't help but think that the world becomes a better place when you die. i told him i wasn't and he stared out the window at the dark street. resting his head against the slightly-frosted window pane, he breathed 'neither am i'boy who belongs to the sun in Short Stories More Like This
we're all just dying, though, don't you think? we're not living, we're dying. every day is another day we won't ever get back and another day that we won't ever remember. at least we're dying together, though. at least we can say that we've spent time watching our lives pass us by and not doing anything about it. i think that's the best thing we can do, really.
i realised the other day that there's nothing to be afraid of. that even if we are dying, that even if we are lost, thats the point. that maybe we're supposed to get lost and find our way out. that maybe if we spend long enough dying when the time real
Sittin' at the soda fountainI walked into my old favourite hang-out today. The name of the place had changed again. The patrons in the booths were reading menus that looked like obituaries and the ones at the soda fountain were all sitting on headstones. The names on the stones were familiar; I had known all of them.Sittin' at the soda fountain in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Somehow I don't feel like eating ice cream today.
taxicabThe fragile glass that held happiness within, cracks; the spirits escape. Doors fallen off rusted hinges let modern air that never knew the bricks before, heat and cool them as it will. The bricks remain, sleeping and dreamless. It is time to go; I cannot live here, but can only die slowly, oh so slowly, as memory dances circling the ashes. This house will never know firewood again. It's moving day; I call for a taxi.taxicab in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
writingmusicIf you know me, you know that I dislike writing about writing. I like to write about things other than paper and pen and lighted pixels and plastic keys with symbol markings on them. I want to write words in flowing rivers and blowing clouds, storms of fire and water sweeping across lands with no fences no borders no lines no rules and great clouds of feeling flowing across the worlds and sparkling choirs of stars forever forever foreverwritingmusic in Philosophical More Like This
Almost thereGetting close. I'm almost there. Flying low. I can see the south edge of town. Slowing down. There's the hill and the park down on the base of it, and the narrow little road that goes to the top, and the foot trails climbing up the hillside. Where I remember sledding down. The loop of the end of the bus line that ends in the park. Used to be a trolley line not long ago. I fly on over the hill and look a few blocks north. There. There. The house where I'm a child.Almost there in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I don't see anyone in the street. There's a car here and there in a driveway. Just a few. Maybe there are a few people at home in the houses, car or not. Anyway, I don't think that they can see me, so I land at the end of the little concrete walkway that goes to the front steps of my old house. Me and my Mom and Dad aren't home right now; I made sure to pick a time when we weren't. I knew I wouldn't be able to see us without breaking down, immobilised with the emotion of it. It's a little easier just to look at the little hous
NikitaNikita and I are walking through the park, side by side. The back of his left hand keeps hitting the back of my right hand pretty hard as we walk at medium-fast cruise, swinging our arms freely. Not on every swing, but pretty often, about one out of three, sometimes two in a row, then a bigger gap. It's summer; the day is warm with a slight breeze coming off the Moskva River, and our arms are bare. This contact can't be an accident, can it? There are lots of people in the park, but there is plenty of room on the walk for us to be far enough apart that our hands don't have to keep crashing in to each other. I suppose I could move just a bit further to the left even though my feet are close to the edge already. And he has plenty of room on the other side. He doesn't look as though he's joking around trying to start a play fight or that he's angry. He just seems to be looking at the other people and things in Gorkii, and maybe just thinking about stuff. It seems to bNikita in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
gypsy princesgypsy princesgypsy princes in Philosophical More Like This
A pair of gypsy princes. That's how I see us. Wandering through the forests of the world. Avoiding the civilised. The cities, the towns, the villages, the congregations. Us against them, that's how I see it. We the noble different. The ones who really live. No rules, no rulers. Artists? Are we artists? Yes, certainly we are. Our life is art, flowing, poetry, vivid colour, rushing blood within us. Princes of ourselves, but without a tribe. We sing and play our instruments, nothing too big to carry anything but a tune. Mobility, that's the key to unlocking yourself. Agility in what you believe, what you live. Adapt to changing circumstance, to knowledge new. Wildness without hating. Smelling every flower, climbing every tree, loving every one. We princes keep our company, our feeling of how it's done. When they organise against us, we tell ourselves we're right. For us, we are. Let the others live their own way, but not make us live ours like theirs to reassur
1 ciggerate fori distaste the stench1 ciggerate for in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
of overspread nicotine,
and if i am able to i would
drain your misery with a towel
and ingest the intoxication
fluently soothing inside your system.
love lettersit's the day of our anniversary andlove letters in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm reading old love letters and i suddenly miss the sweet scent of daisy perfume curling under my nostrils. i suddenly began waking up every summer morning because you always left for work and you wouldn't ever leave without kissing me goodbye. i'm reading every sentence over and over again while wondering why God sent the only person i loved towards a different direction.
maybe life is,maybe, just maybemaybe life is, in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
life is just some fucked
up dream you're having
until you wake up in
you're my starhome is feeling comfort&feelingease. it's a bittersweet sunshine painted canvas, and whenever i'm home, you greet me with your porcelain smile. i found home in your arms and we're bathing in warm sunlight percolating through transparencies.you're my star in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
the window has a connection with the outside world because it feels like the sun and every other planet are looking through narrow keyholes and they're omnipresent. i realized you'd blend flawlessly with the night because everyone would know you're the brightest star that crashed onto the earth.
and i'm so glad you crashed upon me.
on my way to heaventhe pills are kicking in and,on my way to heaven in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm tightrope walking on paper thin pavements in a buttermilk sky and i believe i'm on my way to heaven for the very first time. but the clouds suddenly become billows and hell's flames reaches me. burning the thread i'm walking upon and letting me fallfallfall dead-eye in nagging memories.
the greatest show on earthlast night, I glimpsed a great white egg,the greatest show on earth in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
in the dark behind my eyelids. it was being
broken open by a dull, green beer bottle. out
poked the snout of a drunk, under-age Tyrannosaurus
Rex. he spoke in a spray of tiny bubbles.
"I've decided that 'The Kensington Landlord' is
a hilarious title for a fake, black & white, British,
horror film. at first, I didn't know if it was hilarious
or if it was only funny to me. then, I realized they meant
exactly the same thing."
"back in the 1940s, Webby was a tough, bright yellow,
baby duckling who wore a faded brown cabbie hat. he
took no nonsense. he ruffled a lot of feathers
...things are different now."
"it is unusual for a panda and a lion to go out on
a blind date. however, it is more unusual for them
to hit it off over a few drinks - only to discover
they share a close family relation, make identical
flimsy excuses for sudden departure, and leave
the bar, awkward & ashamed."
"in a fight between a giant squid & an angry cow,
location is everyt
a letterdearest dear,a letter in General Non-Fiction More Like This
there is a butterfly breathing its way out of you. there is a red & blinking button pressed to bear releasing. I am ever so sorry, but still collecting your colors. In the midst of apologies, still pressing your fragile frame to pages; special focus on forever. tomorrow, I will visit you inside your house. shortly thereafter, I will hide underneath your bed; making a nest of your blankets. the following morning, I will infiltrate breakfast disguised as a warm sip of tea.
that will become my favorite section, in retrospect. the part when you learned to call me "honey", honey. the part where I whispered and tickled your chin.
I hope this letter finds you well:
la la la-la love
at intervals of twothe man with the backwards baseball capat intervals of two in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
visits the same grocery store
every thursday, buys exactly three items,
and then leaves quietly. he doesn't want
to cause any problems.
"always the same old thing", he says to
the undercover cop posing as the
lady at the check out counter - it's quite odd
for him to tell her this because he's been gone already
for over five hours and she doesn't speak
meanwhile, on the other side of aisle six,
a woman discovers something is very
"this won't be the last you hear from me." she
yells defiantly into the camera. the director
yells cut, but going through the motions
has become all too natural and unfortunately
the caterer has brought only egg salad sandwiches
for lunch. they wash this down with ink from a nearby
quill and, though the timing is perfect, no one seems too
happy about it.
I can't say I blame them. But secretly, I do and,
publicly, it's all their fault anyway. It was, of course,
the fourth and final time we ever heard
Dear Will Smith,Dear Will Smith, in Editorial More Like This
Hi. How are you? Doing well, I hope.
First off, I'm going to level with you. The Willenium hasn't been all that great for me so far. Sure, I've gotten jiggy with it a now & again. I've gone down to Miami a number of times for a variety of reasons...some of which I'm sure you and your wholesome family image wouldn't approve of. Hell, (pardon my French) I've even made it out to that wild, wild west you were so crazy about for a little while but, I'll be honest with you, Big Willie - the past 8 years, overall, haven't been that dope or even ill. I suppose I'll give it at least another two years before I make up mind completely though. I'm hoping in 2010 the Willenium rises again. Now that would be an odyssey.
I'm glad we can talk like this, Will. I just hope I didn't upset you at all. I mean, I know you're a hell of a nice guy but I wouldn't want to get on your bad side. I've seen the damage you've done to all sorts of evil-doers, from vampires to aliens to robots to talking dogs (
this is not my cardiganGod, he is smiling at the waitress with big eyes as she brings him his dinner. i can see the gnarls of his hands from a dozen feet away, his chair pulled close to the wooden table. i watch him reveal his little teeth, presumably polydented dentures. he is wearing a yellow sweater, a cardigan with elbow patches.this is not my cardigan in Biography & Memoir More Like This
the chair across from him is empty and in the same grain pattern as the table with his towering pile of supper. my brother asks if i know why he is alone and i tell him to keep silent. his wife died, he told me, with a smile. the old man turns his eyes to his meal and slowly begins to eat.
God, please forgive me for not sitting with him; forgive me for not telling him i am so sorry and i love him; please forgive me for not crying into his sweater or being enough
epiphany # 244: we will find this man again someday, and show him love still exists at the bottom of our hearts and a teacup.
incendiaryit was the city -- you know, a self-contained organism, a microcosm of reality in which we all take part. it's like a play, with our very orchestrated roles rehearsed perfectly until we can pull them off as smooth as ice.incendiary in Short Stories More Like This
it doesn't matter which city, because really, they're all the same -- paris, milan, barcelona...lawrence, pittsburgh, atlanta.
what matters is only that we were in the city. i was myself, playing the role of a love-struck jeweler, praying i could find just the right gem to put on my lover's finger someday, and she was herself, playing the role of sara.
sara, my love; sara, my heart; sara, the snow beneath my feet, the ice begging for me to slip
but still, we were here. glimpses of this city swallow my hunger -- i might never eat again if this were my home, the way it filled me up. but the moment i broke eye contact with this entity, this city with its glittering skyline, i felt the hollows in me ache again.
it felt rig
man at the cafehe's sitting there at the cafeman at the cafe in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
sandwich on thick white bread
and straggling beansprouts
and i hate the look in his eye.
he is by himself
so he's thinking
and his hat is tilted over his face
so he's in shadow
and he won't look up
from his sandwich
so i am actively watching him.
i know he is sad.
i know he is waiting for a girl
to show up,
or maybe he's just thinking of one,
maybe he's just wishing
she were here
because when she's not,
maybe he's never seen her,
but his heart knows she's out there
and his soul can't sleep
until he's found her.
maybe he thinks he knows her,
and maybe she's an ocean away.
maybe he thinks the longer
he stares at the dangling beansprouts,
the sooner she can be
by his side.
and because maybe he knows her,
he won't look for anyone else
and that hat tipped low over his brow
keeps it so his eyes are really
only for her.
nonexistent people"something's wrong."nonexistent people in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"what makes you say that?"
"your shirt is white."
"so, it's just white. there's nothing on it- no dirt, no ink, no blood."
"i guess you're right."
"then what's wrong?"
"i don't remember how to speak."
"you're talking right now."
"yeah. i'm running my mouth but i'm saying nothing. i'm thinking all these things, and can't say them. i'm sitting straight but everything's angled and i think i'm falling when i'm only standing still."
"i think you said that very well."
"then maybe i forgot how to see."
"maybe. i'm missing something. like it's on the tip of my nose but i won't cross my eyes to see it. "
"cross your eyes."
"i don't want my eyes to get stuck."
"look at me."
"what do you see?"
"your eyes are sad. you have a crooked mouth. your hands never touch flatly on your thighs. you look wrong, but beautiful. oh- sorry. i shouldn't say that."
"i don't think you're blind."
"i don't know. maybe i have fo
ghosts in a slideshowghosts in a slideshow in Short Stories More Like This
the skysick sun, fading woozy, throwing up.
dripping on the backs of conveying camels.
bodies of water, yes, every touch moves through.
grassland often. skinny belly atop the garden hill's slope.
train-track thap-thapping. smile, God's tap dancing on a saturday sundown.
you're watching the show frontrow. i'm watching you.
i say, "those mistakes on your arm look nice in this light." but i don't. not aloud.
instead i say, "do they hurt when it's cold?"
and you say, "it's not cold right now."
so i say, "i didn't notice." but we don't. not aloud. not allowed.
so i say, "you look hurt." no. i say,
"you look pretty."
yeah. i said that.
then you looked at me. then you cried. because i'm a liar. only to you.
i mean, to you only, i am a liar.
i mean you see me as a liar.
but you know what? everything's alright in my mind.
and that's good for me for now.
"hey, V?" that's what you said.
"yeah?" i said.
"where are we?"
"we're here, dear. we're right here."
tell me i'm lying. tell me there's a me a
Dear Kira,Dear Kira,Dear Kira, in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I feel it's necessary to say 'dear [insert name]' at the beginning of every letter, because that's how we were taught to write letters, but some people just say the person's name without 'dear' and it makes them sound upset. I personally would like to say 'oh sweet' or 'oh so lovely' in place of 'dear' sometimes.
Oh sweet Kira,
Sometimes I imagine being a famous actor, author, or musician's son. How cool would that be? But the more I think about it, the more I realize it probably wouldn't be as exhilarating as it seems if I actually were. Their kids probably don't see them as superstars. And that thought reminds me that the family I have are superstars, even if it's only in my galaxy.
Oh so lovely Kira,
Mail-Order Childhood [Age: 5]Mail-Order Childhood in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Everybody's talking, but the room is quiet.
The lights above glow with the warmth and luster of a dozen plump candles. Soft, yet radiant enough for me to see the nebulae in my father's eyes, even from so far away. There were neither props nor backgrounds, save for the children in costumes and the little STOP sign choking in my nervous grip. I had no choice. The show had begun.
My class sat in squealing tin chairs as we took turns prancing up to the mic to say our lines, just how we remembered them. The boy in the full-body milk carton had the most lines, the proud prick. But it was after his fifth when I was the next up. I squeezed hard and tried not to trip as I stood and made my way to my five seconds of fame. Mouth before mic, I held up the sign: STOP. The world seized spinning and the air was shot dead.
Super Parent My daddy is stupid. That's what mommy says. He would work all day and when he came home, he watched TV with me for one show, then went to bed. On days off, he either worked on his computer or on his car. I tried to help, but that ended quick when I spilled coffee on his pants and accidentally dropped a wrench on his foot. I only wanted to be with him more.Super Parent in Children and Teen More Like This
One day I even got up real early to see him before he left for work. He read the newspaper while I told him about a gamma ray burst that I learned from the science channel.
When I said, "It looks like there is two suns in the sky."
He said, "That's a shame," and flipped a page in the paper.
After he drank his coffee and told me to get his
David FirthThere was a little boy named Sheila. He didn't like the name very much, but it was what his parents gave him in pretty Hanukkah wrapping paper for his third birthday (in June), and he lost the receipt a while ago.David Firth in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sheila lived a few houses down from me, and you would often find us shooting at whatever living things we could find at the park till the sun got bored and fell down behind the ground-pimples.
One day, Sheila got very sick. He went to the hospital, and I visited as soon as I could and came into his room. There was a very old man in a dusty coat stroking Sheila's forehead, but Sheila didn't know him so he asked the man to leave. The man revealed that his name was Death, and he told Sheila it was time to go. Sheila couldn't prove the man wrong, so he got up and left with him.
To this day, I haven't seen Sheila again.
But I have tea with Sheila's tortoise, sometimes. Her name is Thomas. It seems the apple fell closer to the tree than Sheila would have liked to know. Hehe. He.
Freedom(Open-mindedness is not a power.)Freedom in Philosophical More Like This
Hold up your hand.
Straighten it and make a fist. That arm is a solid structure, a column of cells, a staff.
It's simply a cylinder, and that is all.
(Open mindedness is not a force.)
Go up to a trashcan, place your hands on its side, and shove as hard as you can.
Try it. Watch the trashcan fly, its lid clanging open and its guts spilling over the pavement.
You did that. Notice the veins bulging from your arms.
Do you feel at peace?
(Open-mindedness is not a form of knowledge.)
These I know to be true: the sky is blue, blood is red, and the Earth is round.
"Do you deny sunsets, then? Do you expect only oxygen, and disregard calculus?"
i dont want to be wrong, its embarrassing
Now go outside.
Imagine yourself immersed in sky, wrapped in the great blue blanket.
There are thousands of clouds above you, some heavy with rain and others bursting with sunshine, and seagulls dip and dive around yo
I've taken you for granted.Momma,I've taken you for granted. in Short Stories More Like This
I couldn't fall asleep last night. As my hands wandered aimlessly over the wrinkled topography of my bed sheets, my fingers drunkenly ambled their way into the crevice at the head of my bed, and I pretended that your dream spirit was there. I took your transparent glimmer of a hand, and I whispered to you. I said, "I miss you. Although I've fallen in love with the frozen wasteland surrounding me, the familiar memory of your warmth is fading, and my first goal upon getting home will be to throw my arms around your shoulders."
I talked about how I wish I could have known you as a teenager, young and spunky and beautiful as the butterflies that flit though our backyard, the butterflies you're so very fond of. I imagine you in tattered jean overalls, a "country girl" with hair as golden as the sun-soaked wheat you'd help your father harvest every summer. You'd have two brothers, but you'd have more balls than the two of them put together and then some, and you'd work just as hard as
The Wing/Steel SeagullThe wing is solid, determined.The Wing/Steel Seagull in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It pulses with its own mechanical heartbeat, and I can practically hear it panting,
its metal underbelly clenching in anticipation.
Unnoticed on the surface, of course.
(wish the goddamn sun would shine a little brighter)
We back up like a wind-up racecar, and, predictably, we start to shoot forward into the brisk Cincinnati air. I stare at the wing, feel it grab hold of the winds beginning to kick like a frightened stallion, feel the steel rumble with feral intensity, unwavering, poker-faced. Yet, I can see that smile in the curve of the wing, that glint of adrenaline reflected as a diamond of sunshine in my eyes.
And as the steel crescent beside me grunts with ecstasy of the hunt, we
our roller-skate feet, leaping onto the back of the great Animal that the wing has so effortlessly tamed.
I swear to you, there's a lake in the sky. There's a great white iceberg that traps his reflection beneath an infinite sheet of waterglass, and when y
a spiritual agnosticismthe search for truth in the universe,a spiritual agnosticism in Editorial More Like This
is not a denial, but an affirmation -
that there is a mysterious 'godliness'
in the way the cosmos proceeds in
its endless evolution:
- 'bending toward justice'.
- spiritual, not religious, pervading
every atom, therefore pervading us.
- common to everything.
- connecting everyone.
- a patient faint consciousness,
in touch with all sentient awareness.
- no 'one' answer; each of us connects
in our own way... or fails to.
not having a need to believe in 'a' God,
leaves one open to have common faith
with everyone, to think of all others
as brothers and sisters.
we are all 'of' the universe.
if, there comes a time when one feels
a connection to a special religion
or concept of a God, then one may,
without dogmatically condemning others,
'decide' to accept that as one's own form
it must be done voluntarily... and
with true humility, in that one keeps
in mind that faith is a personal choice,
that there is absolutely no honest way
one can 'kno
quest for the almighty dollardrug company ad:quest for the almighty dollar in Editorial More Like This
take these little pills; you'll feel
better, stronger, sexier... whatever.
if they don't destroy your kidneys,
drive you flat out of your mind,
or just outright happen to kill you.
llp - aug2012 - dA
at a losshave you, like i,at a loss in Philosophical More Like This
used up too many words?
has inspiration slipped away,
no verbal thrift
to gift that rainy day?
where look to find
a case to plead,
the field to harvest
this is not selfishness
our souls require release,
crave space to play.
llp - may'10 - dA
please let me get what i want.For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up. I woke up with this bone-deep ache that never went away. I woke up to an incessant question playing in my mind that would never be answered. I woke up alone.please let me get what i want. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up without you when I woke up at all. The thing about time is that it never does make anything better. It just means more space to think. It means sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. When it went wrong. How to make it better. It means slowly losing my mind. But it never once meant getting over you.
It's funny how the things you think you've forgotten always come rushing back when you're standing face to face and in one swift breath, you remember it all.
You remember everything.
The sky is always biggest right before it rains. That's how I learned to always couple disappointment with expectations since no matter how beautiful something seems, a disaster is always right on the horizon.
The waves are crashing quickly on the shoreli
our sleeping patterns collide.I wake up tired.our sleeping patterns collide. in General Fiction More Like This
I wake up tired and it's afternoon again.
I wake up tired and I am alone.
It's like every night i fall asleep with you on my mind, and I quickly sort through my thoughts leaving the prettiest ones on top so I can try them on in the morning. So everyday, I wake up and try on being in love with you. Except every morning, it's three inches too big or a centimeter and a half too small or it's brushing my kneecaps like it's too long. But I wear it anyways, since I'm used to being a shade left of ordinary or two steps past crazy. I'm used to wearing love and I'm used to you.
I'm used to falling asleep next to you and waking up alone.
You call me.
You call me adorable and I like it.
You call me your own and it feels like a fairytale.
We spend the weekends curled up on iced lakes like mirrors, scratching our stories into their frozen surfaces, and you write about adventures you'll never have and places you'll never go with a girl I wish I could always be. And I write about
gravitational collapseI remember being seven years old, sitting at our scratched kitchen table and being able to see the moon through the reflective glass of the window over the sink. And I remember being terrified, because here I was sitting in same place and already the whole world had shifted and moved and rotated and spun and tilted and hurled through space at a rate so quick I could never comprehend it. To me, this was the sort of mystery you didn't try to solve.gravitational collapse in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I remember being curled up against the solid frame of your body with your right hand claimed in between both of mine. Our pale skin blending together as I traced constellations on your palms. You later told me that you thought it was because I loved the stars more than anything closer to home. But I tried to explain that an ever expanding universe scared me because I couldn't figure out where exactly it was spilling into, and how it most certainly seemed to be making a whole lot of something out of nothing, so instead I started making my own s