75% of communication is body language.
On her heels you’re bellowing like a furnace and by all means this is a demand for her to back down but
she looks back at you, propulsion system sputtering and feet unclear of the navigation and there is
flint in her eyes that tells you quite simply, no.
And then the contest begins.
In true reality, there is nothing attractive about this – no
Chariots of Fire, no
inspiration rock or heavy-metal thrashing to
keep the feet pushing, distract the body when it just wants to collapse,
curl up in a corner in sleep.
Runners always are in pain,
eyes narrowed and
faces contorted into comical masks at the carnival.
They wheeze.
They wince.
They curse and trip over branches, forcing themselves to move though they don’t want to.
There is nothing beautiful about this showdown, the heavy drumming of shoes beating at the grass and soft dirt and the legs straining and the
animal-like snarl, the teeth bared.
There is nothing gorgeous about thi
UntitledRoadWay
She Without Clever NameLightpost Mist
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D. Reese
illusionarymind
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Literature
Porcelain
Porcelain
She is as she always was: ceramic.
Sitting high on her shelf in her lacy dress,
pretty and fine and (hiding the deep
fractures in her body from when she fell and
broke in two and) blue, she
smiles down to catch the glance of
they that dwell below the shelf (where
she sits by herself), and they sometimes smile
up, remarking on her (from a distance) perfectly painted
face, which is (fading and yellowed and) so beautiful.
Sometimes they speak of art, of music, of
(things which are not like her or) philosophy,
glancing up to her, occasionally, and then
resume their daily discourse which is (not
like her) mundane as laughter. All the while she
stares down endlessly with her
painted-on eyes that (she lies with and
dies with and) are slightly chipped,
(cracked and apart) but
no less mysterious, and
gazes at the life below and (they are so
beautiful below! and they know,
they know) oh, she wonders what they
think of her, so high, and (cracked and apart and)
why they
She is as she always was: ceramic.
Sitting high on her shelf in her lacy dress,
pretty and fine and (hiding the deep
fractures in her body from when she fell and
broke in two and) blue, she
smiles down to catch the glance of
they that dwell below the shelf (where
she sits by herself), and they sometimes smile
up, remarking on her (from a distance) perfectly painted
face, which is (fading and yellowed and) so beautiful.
Sometimes they speak of art, of music, of
(things which are not like her or) philosophy,
glancing up to her, occasionally, and then
resume their daily discourse which is (not
like her) mundane as laughter. All the while she
stares down endlessly with her
painted-on eyes that (she lies with and
dies with and) are slightly chipped,
(cracked and apart) but
no less mysterious, and
gazes at the life below and (they are so
beautiful below! and they know,
they know) oh, she wonders what they
think of her, so high, and (cracked and apart and)
why they
aillesdors aillesdors
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Yaaaaaaaawn...
Tsururadio
24
8
Literature
Cleaning House
He read the paper, half-watching her at the sink.
She stood, slightly turned to the right, her hand fumbling for the drain-plug. The metal rod at the end scraped against the brass drain until she finally aimed it correctly and sealed the hole. Steam rose from the hot water filling the sink as she poured in the dish soap. Reaching to the side, she picked up her half-empty glass, drank, and washed it. She placed the glass in the dish drainer and watched the water evaporate quickly in the cool air. Then she returned it to the cabinet above the toaster and blender.
Over the top of the paper, he stared at the bubbles flowing over the edge of the tiled counter.
She dried her hands on a dishtowel hanging on a cabinet handle and dropped it on the floor. Stepping over it, she walked to the pantry and pulled out the mop.
He lifted his feet and crossed them in the cushioned dining chair across from him as sh
She stood, slightly turned to the right, her hand fumbling for the drain-plug. The metal rod at the end scraped against the brass drain until she finally aimed it correctly and sealed the hole. Steam rose from the hot water filling the sink as she poured in the dish soap. Reaching to the side, she picked up her half-empty glass, drank, and washed it. She placed the glass in the dish drainer and watched the water evaporate quickly in the cool air. Then she returned it to the cabinet above the toaster and blender.
Over the top of the paper, he stared at the bubbles flowing over the edge of the tiled counter.
She dried her hands on a dishtowel hanging on a cabinet handle and dropped it on the floor. Stepping over it, she walked to the pantry and pulled out the mop.
He lifted his feet and crossed them in the cushioned dining chair across from him as sh
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Just Smoking -
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deviantID
UntitledRoadWay
Ms. M.
United States
|
Ah, the angst we write when we are young. I'll be purging a lot of photography and stories from here. These are old pieces, and show a lot of kind of lame teenage angst. Maybe grown-up things will be uploaded. Maybe they won't. Favourite photographer: David Burnett Personal Quote: "Did you ever dream they were alive, those whom you miscall as dead?" |
- Listening to: Tchaikovsky's Nocturne in D min.
- Reading: Wormwood, Gentleman Corpse
- Watching: Entertaining emoticons
- Eating: Waffles -- low fat! *gags*
- Drinking: Lipton Tea
SO I HERD U LIEK MUDKIPS??
Cute.
Cute.
Comments
I know you don't come on here anymore, but I thought I'd let you know that I had a dream about you. I kept calling you "Writer" (a penpal's name), but I know it was you because I said, "And this is my friend from Colorado, though she lives in Wyoming now. Surprised I still remember?"
I think my subconscious knew I very rarely talk to you. But we (myself and a few other friends and family) were all hiding in this huge basement from some crazy tornado. You and I watched Tru Blood and Wicked xD
Hopefully you'll get to read this sometime <3
I think my subconscious knew I very rarely talk to you. But we (myself and a few other friends and family) were all hiding in this huge basement from some crazy tornado. You and I watched Tru Blood and Wicked xD
Hopefully you'll get to read this sometime <3
I've been great, thanks. How about you?
Unexplainable yet unquestionable passion. I really liked your poem.
Unexplainable yet unquestionable passion. I really liked your poem.
Sounds like fun x3 I'm getting more and more inspired to work on my writing. I might be bold enough to ask your opinion on my writing one day :'3 ...when I stop being lazy and actually write something else. -cough-
Ah, well, my trip to Nashville didn't work out this time x3; But hopefully I'll be able to go next year. If I wasn't already going to IL this summer, I'd ask mom if I could go to Texas for a different one. Ah well >3>
Ah, well, my trip to Nashville didn't work out this time x3; But hopefully I'll be able to go next year. If I wasn't already going to IL this summer, I'd ask mom if I could go to Texas for a different one. Ah well >3>
Yeah c: I like it here, though I wouldn't mind to move. I'd like to go to college locally, buuut...eh. Like I said, I could go anytime xP
I'm so anxious for summer. I'm going to visit ~KitsuneGurl <3 We'll also be going to visit my cousin in Maryland c: You have any plans?
I'm so anxious for summer. I'm going to visit ~KitsuneGurl <3 We'll also be going to visit my cousin in Maryland c: You have any plans?
Thank you, I appreciate your words on that piece (my Untitled poem), and I'll make a point to comment on some of your work later, but right now I'm actually on a coffeeshop computer smoking a cigarette.
Uh, here you get your permit when you're 16, and you have to wait 180 days to try out for your license. :c Oh well.
Eh, so-so. I don't have bad grades, but I'm ready for summer :B I'm a little stressed from it.
Eh, so-so. I don't have bad grades, but I'm ready for summer :B I'm a little stressed from it.
