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I Tried to Write this Poem
I am little more than nine numbers- strung carelessly together,
with the torn tendons of yesterday's mistakes.
An identity only identifiable by personal blunders
and a shame unsurpassed.
Ascetic fingers, attached to harrowing hands,
curled and contorted around a coffee cup.
Later introduced to a naive nervous system-
unaware these futile phalanges would later be crawling across her flesh,
and approaching pure panty lines.
You have left me as little more than a furtively skeletal frame,
a bag of bones,
an elucidated example of involuntary self mortification.
Today I Stole My Boss' Kid
My nightmares are nothing
when set next to the notion that you've found someone new.
A real looker with a little more stability and a lesser knowledge of comic books.
I'll be able to come home
to your kiss and hands on my ever shrinking hips.
if it's not as soon as you had hoped
you'll have to take it up with the bags under my eyes
and bruises down my back.
I Wonder if the Birds FeelI could sleep if only I tried.
Wide eyed and waiting
for something as spectacular as my skeletons to come out of the closet-
I much prefer nightmares of sea creatures and substandard credit scores
to bedtime flashbacks of the putrid person I used to be.
It cannot be normal to be this nostalgic.
Maybe I'll go smash mailboxes into smithereens
alongside my old best friends, Sacco & Vanzetti, or even Mr. Hoffman.
I would bet my bottom dollar that if I could ask forgiveness
of all the saccharine souls I've wronged on the road
it would work wonders for my scanty self esteem.
Dawn, you're so distraught.
If only the wind would settle, so could I.
Some People Think I WriteI can't be trusted to not drive my car clear off the Ambassador Bridge, or promise you that I won't quit my job if I have to wait for the coffee to brew, but if I did we could erase all of the memories of who I used to be. Maybe we could dance in the street and on rooftops, searching the boulevards for more beautiful things to replace me with. I am taking my cat and a permanent vacation. I know that he has been brought up too proud to purr, but won't you come along? I'm sure we could make the room for you in my heart, in my car, and in my head. I know that there's never been anything glamorous about returning bottles to pay the rent but if you could give me just one chance and one of your nine lives, I'm sure it would feel a whole lot better than this.
Considering the Roads You BothOn cold nights like this
I can remember feeling alive and elated along
with infantile and infinite
all at once.
Laughing and making a mess of myself
with a bottle of Grey Goose in one hand
and the hand of a confidant in the other.
But its always the hollow nights,
spent by playing kick the can
and doing 'God knows what'
according to our parents.
That I can recall the most clearly
when my reflection shows up in snowflakes and emergency room windows,
panicked and pathetic.
Watching you take my place in the ICU
brings back the feelings
of guilt in my gut and hospital gowns between my thighs.
But would you take a drink to a better future now?
ps- 6 hours 7 minutes andAfter 6 months of dark I'm thinking
that maybe we'll have to travel west.
To Oregon- where we can end it all-
I can't imagine living forever.
(I can hardly even imagine living another four months like this.)
When characters from movies
become my only friends.
They're safer than my old bad influences
but still leave me high and dry.
Edward Norton and John Wayne arent very good for girl talk
and they fail to speak me to sleep on the phone every night.
Oregons looking better
My Little Brother Wants to be
There are three tiny hands
carved secure by the street,
worn and weathered
trying to figure out which parts
were worth remembering.
Late nights have had me wondering
if you still listen to Cyndi Lauper
when you brush your teeth,
and recite state capitols
when youre stopped by bad traffic and trains.
I just hope like hell
youre not standing in front of the refrigerator
to be convinced Im keeping warm.
I Don't Know When the CityAre you ever coming home?
Honestly, Id like to, but I dont think its a place Ive been before.
I think I need to converse with my connective tissue
my organs are out of order
and my hearts where my head once was.
Sleeping in your car makes it hard to not think
of childhood storybooks and selfish shapes.
Sometimes I suspect
shes just trying to find her missing piece
in capsules and glass bottles.
Frankly, I imagine its fashioned like a family.
I am Thinking Way too FastArmed with coffee in one hand, and an acoustic guitar in the other
youll find me staggering over Motowns finest potholes,
wishing it were first grade again
and the only numbers I could ever crunch
were there to guide me along.
My pitiable pinky finger extended
Ill pivot to connect the stars in the sky.
Ill saunter through the park taking mental snapshots
of the middle age lovers on midnight strolls,
kids contravening curfews,
and the senior citizens fearing the future.
Well sit by the sea and smile when
I cant remember chord progressions
and the homeless man with the dog
tells us tales of how he used to be one hell of a drummer
and found himself in the geriatric ward.
Ill mouth his words to let you know
this is becoming too routine for us.
Autumn has so much more to offer.
Descriptive PortraitureYour eagerness to begin our first day together, in person, was as bright and warm as the golden California sunshine that crept playfully into your window. You waited to wake me only for as long as you could stand to, then tousled my hair and spoke to my jetlag-stricken self in singsong until I stirred.
Your own dark brown tresses, unbrushed, fell flawlessly around your face and onto your pajamas-clad shoulders as you responded to a few e-mails on your laptop. The contrast between your skin and hair in the light of dawn was absolutely striking. In mid-dress, I whipped out my camera and sneaked a picture. You mock-fumed when you heard the shutter click.
"Don't worry," I reassured you. "I won't post it anywhere."
But I did, and thank goodness you were forgiving. It was too perfect not to share. Even my smarting eyes could tell that your face had expressed the utmost sense of joy and serenity.
* * *
That blue-and-white-striped Hollister shirt had been a staple in your wardrobe for ne
Adventures of a CarAs I surveyed my car while my father in-law's phone rang, I considered the events which had led to this. Remarkably, I wasn't angry or upset. In spite of losing my car, I wasn't panicking. Rather, I was quite level-headed, and would soon share a laugh.
Purchasing the car had been a necessity. Just after replacing the radiator in my 1993 Buick LeSabre, I bumped into a Jeep Grand Cherokee which was traveling at about 35 miles per hour. The slight bump unhitched and bent the hood, knocked out a headlight, tore off the grille, and, to add insult to injury, bent the brand new radiator backward over the engine.
The replacement was a 2000 Ford Focus wagon. The dealer had obtained it at auction with only 58,000 miles. It was previously a corporate car. I had high expectations on that basis; since it was previously owned by a corporation, I was of the impression that the car would have been in good shape. After all, a company would care for its assets.
I had not expected what would follo
32. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'6/2/72
I've been doing gardening lately, since getting the chickens settled, and it's quite enjoyable. I've sort of taken over the section Larry was going to do, but he's been spaced out because of Mary Jo.
I went through this whole sort of discovery thing a while back about a way I can strive to be a good person. Washing the dishes one day I realized, with Vicki's help, that I do it sloppy, and something from a book that had been lurking in my mind came to the front like inspiration.
The book was about the cultural revolution in China, and the part I thought of was about peasants in a certain village having a meeting about their work habits and deciding to get up an hour earlier to work better, and, quoting Mao, "serve the people." It was like a bell ringing true in my head, and I decided that if I'm going to do anything, washing dishes and all, that I ought to do my best and thus "serve the people" and myself. I found a copy of "the little re
diez.Stellen Sie sich vor, Sie sitzen in einer feinen Runde am Tisch und der Salat wird serviert. Sie nehmen das Messer in die rechte Hand und die Gabel in die linke – wenn Sie könnten. Aber der linke Arm gehorcht Ihnen nicht. Schlaff baumelt er an Ihrer Seite nach unten wie der Ärmel einer Jacke, welche über die Stuhllehne hängt. Er lässt sich nicht bewegen. Obschon es sich für eine solche Gesellschaft nicht gehört, nehmen Sie die Gabel in die rechte Hand und spiessen das erste Salatblatt auf. Offenbar haben Sie ein medizinisches Problem, welches Sie aber zuerst selber in Ruhe ansehen möchten, bevor Sie mit anderen darüber sprechen und womöglich Fragen auftauchen, die Sie nicht beantworten können.
In diesem Moment fühlen Sie, wie Ihr linker Arm ausgestreckt nach oben wandert, und im nächsten Augenblick sitzen Sie da wie ein Schüler, der im Unterricht artig die Hand hochhält, bevor er zu schwatzen beginnt. Aber
31. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'4/25/72
A lot is getting together on the chicken coop now. Winnie has been the main one working on it with me, after the post holes were dug (Binjo and Larry helped on those) and Nancy and Vicki have helped too. I'm well into working on it now. It's fun to work with Winnie, though sometimes I feel a crazy competition streak and have silent contests to be able to drive a nail as fast as he can--which is not a bad goal, but little silly since he's got about a thousand more nails hammered behind him than I do. I get better at it all the time though.
Have been working on embroidery in the tipi for Winnie's and Mary's birthdays, but other than that my energy isn't spread out much on other things.
I went upstairs to Pat's bed just to relax, and was watching John play with Molly across the way, and I drifted into thoughts about how it must be really something to have a kid around from part you and part from a man you love or have loved. Then I thought
30. The True Journal of Fake 'Communist'4/9/72
Soon to go feed Mike H's animals, pick up some manure, etc. Another warm, sunny day. Larry and Jo got it on--she was up here for two days and wonder of wonders, they got around to telling each other they like each other and sleeping together and having fun. I think it's really great. Larry told the story a few times--he is quite happy and somewhat wired about the whole affair. As Pat said, he's a heavy romantic!
Had a women's meeting last night. Talked mainly about Stephanie's trouble with Binjo, how Binjo wants to get it on with Pat. Steph let out some tears and talk of her frustration with her anger, because though she feels she must have a distance from Binjo, she feels afraid of pushing him away further, and sees herself as just being cold and creepy. Her anger against Pat upsets her because it isn't entirely reasonable and Pat is always understanding, and she's not sure what to do about that.
The meeting depressed me to the
UntitledIn the midst
The hardest part of a fight is often around round six and seven depending on the length of the rounds. In an even match you have scored and been punched in equal measure. She seems so much stronger than you now and your first wind has all been used up. You do not listen to your second as she cleans you and uses an ice pack to stop any swelling or nasal adrenalin swabs stuffed up your nose to quell the blood dripping onto your chest and bra. You feel slightly sick and wonder if you will throw up. She thrusts the mouthguard in and jolts your shoulders back to bring you back to the fight. “Seconds out, round seven.” Suddenly you are up on your feet and your opponent is snarling and on top of you so quickly. The first few stinging blows to your head and body somehow flick a switch to bring you out of your lethargy. You smell and feel her near you, her concentration is on hurting you. Such desire, you are the sole focus of her attention. This is not romantic love, i
S.M.I.L.E. - His CurlsThe first thing I ever noticed about him were those dark curls of his. They were so wild and thick, making the giant defensive tackler seem like a small child. It was my first time seeing someone with real, natural curls. A part of me wanted to stand on the tips of my toes and reach my fingers up into that untamed mess, but I held back. After all, I didn't even know his name.
We only shared science and study hall together, sadly. Our lunch periods were the same as well, but he always sat far away, surrounded by his friends. Whenever I was able to, I would sneak a glance over at him before quickly looking away whenever one of them were to notice me staring. I could never seem to bring myself to talk to him, but for some reason he always seemed to notice me anyways. He would redirect me when I got lost in the hallways, made an effort to bring me into the conversation, even convinced me to participate in the dreaded School Spirit week.
It was such a strange concept to me. We had neve
Basculin (has 2 forms)
[Mega Charizard X]
[Mega Charizard Y]
The Air From The Vent Is OnlyYou know I hate to tell you this
but I was actually trying
that night when I
slammed the door
and walked around wearing my gym shorts
outside in the snow thinking maybe if I lost my legs
it wouldn't be so bad.
I probably would have stayed longer too,
if it wasn't for that sticker
in his bedroom window that says 'Santa stops here!'
even though Christmas was
practically a month ago,
and I'm standing where someone pissed
the words 'FUCK YOU'.
Too bad we're too old
to play pretend
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More