Bicycles are the AnswerI think in a future where fuel becomes scarce, and the roads clogged with traffic, bicycles will only become more and more popular. Bicycles are already common in many parts of the world, outnumbering cars in some places. I wanted to highlight a few of these places and show a bit of the cycling culture. As you'll see weather and temperature often aren't a factor in many of these places as people cycle in sub-zero winter conditions along with sweltering humid summers. Hills don't seem to be a deterrent either as San Francisco is considered to be one of the top cycling cities in America.More Like This
The Netherlands. The Dutch are really my favorite example of a bicycle friendly society, and their example could easily be implemented in the United States. The best part is that many of the paths are completely separated from roads, even with separate signals for cyclists when crossing a road, signals t
Got me all crazy.You got me st-stuttering, my tongue fl-fluttering, spitting out cut-up-words––sputtering, before my mind can utter a decent mutter, i'm drownin' in––More Like This
visions of you, starting askew, rotated by my brain back into view, you're stripping down to your shoes, do it slower–– hey I like your tattoo, come on closer so we can do this taboo.
––Now turn around, lay on the ground, face up to me; while I bound you down, make you repeat a familiar noun, let me hear that fucking sound, as I grind round and round, oh look what I found.––
Say hello to my little friend, didn't take long for him to ascend, let's see how far he extends––i'll take it slow and sexy, do a little flexing, drag it out until it's perplexing and vexing––got you clenching your jaw, scratching my skin with your claws, every time it gets hot, I pin you down… n pause.
––Ok let's play, it's worth the delay, ima ride it like a sleigh
Meeting yourselfMeeting yourselfMore Like This
An elderly white-bearded man is sitting cross-legged on a street corner on his alpaca red and green material, examining people as they observe him while they walk past. His eyes have a certain tone that matches his surroundings. He has a choker on with bells attached that make a sound every time he is in motion, his presence seems to make you uncomfortable as you walk closer to him, you become mesmerized by his aura, the radiant charisma in his air and the bliss he is tainted with make you uneasy. Trying not to stare you find yourself walking towards him, your eyes move down to glance at your feet and you see them stepping closer and closer to the man, until you find yourself sitting with him. There is no need for dialogue; your body language and eye communication are ample enough to understand one another. The old mans wrinkled hand reaches into a bag and exposes a cigarette-like piece, he lights it with a match, moves it up to his mouth an
BrayThe braying wind’s shrill echoMore Like This
From melting drift to hill
Shivering the quiet
And the crunch of boots
Upon half-dissolved snow becomes hypnotic.
You have weathered beautifully
Among the cur grasses and cattail reeds;
Whippoorwill calls provide your static.
The crunch and mire mean nothing to you.
Getting there and back again
Makes her prime, cherry
And still we thumbed out something more.
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.More Like This
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
white flag moonoh, sleep well, little doveMore Like This
with your legs tangled in his
that broken voice rasped into pillows
and you turn toward him, starved
coyote shy fingers in his hair
and he pulls you closer
holds you tighter
and when he sleep talks, it's about you sometimes
you're biting down
innocence folded against the clutch of hands
that sad look upon his face outside your window
and it's cold but you'll follow him
you'll follow him down that white rabbit hole
you'll follow him to where the sidewalk ends
you'll follow him over the edge of the world
you'll follow him anywhere
and his marred wolf palm heavy on your throat
with his scratched up whispers still
and you're sleeping well, little dove
you're sleeping well.
The Set Up“This is just weird,” Zuko complained as Katara began to pace his office.More Like This
“What’s so weird? Your best friend is concerned about your love life and wants to help you find someone new,” Katara quipped as she began to stroke her chin while she paced. “Now tell me your type.”
Zuko leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m not telling my ex-girlfriend my type.”
“No but maybe I can guess. Let’s see what do Mai and I have in common, besides breaking up with you-”
“Very funny Katara.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” she chided. “Let’s see we can both whip your ass in a sparring match. We both stood up to Azula at one point. We’re both pretty. We, uh, both dated you.”
“I opened up to both of you,” Zuko mumbled.
“Oh that’s good. Now let’s see do I know anyone else like this