March 2012
Clint Irwin: Mad World: The Wildfield →
clintirwin:
And the golden hands were grasping from the golden field, pulling her down to sit among them. They were she and they were he, and their eyes were leaves. Their bodies were stems and their heads and hands were shapes made of tiny blossoms. Their voices were crickets and cicadas and frogs,…
A storm
Thunder’s rolling in, and I wish you were here with me to watch the lightning crack across the sky, lips close to kiss me to the same tempo of the rain drumming against the roof.
A comment I got on a story excerpt.
“Holy crap… I just read a story about a mundane event and was truly entertained.”
Good?
2 tags
I was never good at those trust games. You know, the ones where your friend stands some distance behind you and you let yourself fall backwards into their arms? Yeah, I was never that kind of kid. I would offer to catch other people, sure, but never was I the one left to be caught. It seems so illogical. I never saw someone let another person just fall to the ground, and I always found it strange...
1 tag
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Little one.
katskradlexx:
One day I will meet you A pure, perfect piece of me A fragment of my heart Embodied in you Tiny, vital you
I will show you mountaintops And beflowered valleys Magenta sunsets And crisp, clear sunrises Stars fading into the blue
I will give you the world Its tastes, its sounds Its pulsing heartbeats You will know exotic fairytales And dream in vivid colors
Your delicate soul...
February 2012
0 posts
penandwind asked: What is the most improbable thing that has ever happened to you?
dirtyoldsixofclubs asked: What makes this writer write?
penandwind asked: Who's the poet who won't cop out, when there's danger all about?
My ask box is open. →
For extra awesomeness points, you could only ask questions that begin with a W since it’s Wednesday.
Thank you autocorrect for shoving Faulkner into that.
So so so tired.
Must not fall asleep. Must not fall asleep. Write, don’t sleep. Write, don’t sleep.
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“There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the...”
– The death of Ophelia
step one: take out homework
step two: reward self with two hours of internet for getting that far
3 tags
We met in a sticky summer, flushed with heat and nerves and the anticipation of electricity we’d long been denied. Her lips were pink and wet and tasted like perfect peaches. A dip into cool sweetness, refreshing given the dizzying heat and the way the smell of her hair made my head swim. Clothes in a pile on the floor and my hands tracing her curves. Windows open, without a care for those...
Well I just sat through a Board of Ed meeting about something called the “Charlie Rape Gang.” Google that shit. What the fuck. I can’t believe this is real and only a couple miles away from me. What the fuck is wrong with people?
Constancy
secretedsins:
The tide ebbs, and flows, but the blindest of fools knows the ocean remains. Such is love.
Calculus makes me want to cry.
My fave flower on QI.
Little things like this make me happy.
Series F, Episode 10.
Camellias. =)
Al gone?
Al gone.
Kat sad.
5 tags
Little one.
One day I will meet you A pure, perfect piece of me A fragment of my heart Embodied in you Tiny, vital you
I will show you mountaintops And beflowered valleys Magenta sunsets And crisp, clear sunrises Stars fading into the blue
I will give you the world Its tastes, its sounds Its pulsing heartbeats You will know exotic fairytales And dream in vivid colors
Your delicate soul Will be soft and...
1 tag
The Missing piece meets Big O. →
elysedevor:
I love this so much. Shel Silverstein is amazing. He also makes up about 90% of my childhood. LOVE.
This is perfect.
3 tags
I like seeing Nature take back what was hers. Weeds that grow through cracks in concrete, ivy that wraps around stop signs and light poles, kudzu that overtakes abandoned cars and old houses until it is simply an oddly shaped pile of leaves. There is some comfort in knowing that our marks on the planet are only temporary. Keeps our egos in check. Of course we can build monoliths us steel and...
Rides
clintirwin:
It is a track on a wave, a roller coaster with a range of possibility between being stopped dead, hanging helpless on a loop, and arriving back where you started, absolved by adrenaline, a kid again. Even in the best of outcomes, you still have to get back in line. Each time, fewer and fewer of the people you came with get back on with you. Pretty soon, it is on to a different ride.
1 tag
I'm realizing that I may have an unhealthy...
My car has a mustache, my car keys have a mustache, and my man has the most epic mustache that has ever graced someone’s face.
“I’ll tell you a secret. Something they don’t teach you in your temple. The Gods...”
– Achilles, Troy (2004)
For some strange reason I feel pretty today even though my hair is all messed up and I have no makeup on and I’m chilling in some ripped up sweatpants.
1 tag
a gentleman?
cordeliawrites:
She was cardamom and corduroy. Her cheeks, aged burgundy staining parchment skin, stretched like the silence that lingers a little too long in close quarters. She was accustomed to crossing her knees in foyers, quietting her unholy fingers—prone to flutter across dusted sunlight—in parlors and settees, pews and other wooden boxes. She guarded against pursing her lips, lest she...
1 tag
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I'm tired and bored and ugh.
Ugh.
Conundrum
secretedsins:
So often, I dream of these wicked things that I wish to do to you.
But, I know that I shouldn’t; more, I can’t - So, inevitably, I do.
5 tags
Peal.
zannus:
I swear it was in the February thunder that I heard, moored, variations of a future’s breath. It sang to me in sighs and ante- bellum threats against singularity. Audience to nature, agreement advanced, whistled, tongue- tied up in violin concertos, chance, and my girl’s quicksilver lightning.
I swear it thundered in February. Ask my future, she knows first- hands. I’ve given...
4 tags
Afternoon naps The rain pounds on the window Your fingers down my spine Even breaths lulling me to peace And legs fitting into each other These perfect moments If only they could be Bottles and saved But I suppose I’d rather live them With you