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I said goodbye to all of my neighbors, my parents and family, my friends and foes alike. I set off for an adventure, to explore the unexplorable. In doubt I stand at the fringe of my hometown, my heart is filled with awe and fright, for I must return because I forgot my favourite pair of socks.
He swallowed it without thinking suddenly and immediately felt it wriggling around in his stomach. Several hours later, she came in and found him sitting in the dark, the only sound a peculiarly high-pitched gurgling. 'I think I may have done something a bit stupid', he said.
Two days gone. I want to blame him, but wasn’t there. Dementia means I cannot blame him now for something he cannot identify with. But at the time, wasn’t he responsible? Enhanced libido was not an excuse. Short term memory loss is his excuse now. Still want to blame him.
I heard about death today. It came at a speed in excess of 30mph. It whisked a life away. No time to say farewell. Now that other half is no more. I cannot imagine how you must feel. You both came from singularity. Now one of you is gone.
Smitten at last with synaesthesia, she went to North Africa to see new languages and smell the greens and pinks of sheets hung out beside dry sounding plaster walls. One morning she tasted Rimbaud's ghost, a multitude of sweet, hot, acrid flavours with the sad texture of alphabet soup.
"I'm gonna build a really tall statue. A monument."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Because you're not an architect. Because you're broke. Because nobody cares."
"Shut up. It's my lifelong dream."
"I bet you just made it up now."
"So what if I did?"
"You're an idiot."
"It's gonna be Bob Saget."
Nice. Who's Bob Saget?
scratch that. I googled it.
“I never saw you do that before.”
“Really? I do it all the time.”
“Funny.”
“Funny?”
“Yes. Two years and that’s the first time I noticed it.”
He looked at her, seeing her in a new light; somehow increased by being stripped of another layer. People are such strange onions.
The librarian picked it from its hiding place. "This is the one for you" she said. "But I didn't order it." I replied. "Of course not". She smiled strangely. "These things are always ordered for us. Its in your fingertips, your eyes. There’s no escaping the book destined for you”.
Extending his universal communication tendrils, Quorf addressed the Earthling in the traditional manner, "We come in peace. Take me to your leader." He was buzzing with anticipation; this was his first contact mission. The Earthling opened it's mouth, "Here it comes." he thought.
"Funny tasting bug." thought the chameleon, swallowing.
"Funny thing happened to me the other day"
"Really? What?"
No answer.
"Funny thing happened"
"Yeah? What happened"
"Funny thing" The voice laughed
"Are you okay?"
"Hehe. Funny"
"Hehehe"
It was then then that I realized something: I was talking to myself.
Xamonas that was horrible! :D
baby Same, that was hilarious. :lol:
The dust of cars and the city bus settled on the tiny flower hidden under weeds under the bench.
The man, angry, mumbling, stormed along,glanced down.
He backed up, looked surprised, and bending wiped the dust from the flower. Rising he blinked back tears. So did the flower.
Wow blp, LOVED your story. Way cool!Quote:
Originally Posted by blp
I'm really glad. I was pleased with that one myself (though now I think, if only it had had the word acquamarine in it... Oh well, maybe next time).Quote:
Originally Posted by aquamarineNYC
"I asked him for advice yesterday"
"What did he say?"
"Told me to go to an anger management class"
"Really?"
"Asked him for advice and all he said was.... Can you believe it?"
"But you don't need anger management"
"You've got that right. I can manage my anger perfectly well thank you very much."
A hand like an extended spider web. Engulfing the world. She smiles in perfect harmony. Everything seems understandable, all her troubles swept into a heap of reason, life become meaningful. His big blue eyes survey his food source. She tickles his palm, and he claws, clutching air, expelling nothingness.
After a brief hiatus as a hedonist, she deluded herself with the notion that losing the self was no longer singularly significant, and became divine. Eversmooth, everready, and as fluid as Schwarzeneger's Predator, she revealed her mystical side in proper circles, until someone discovered she'd once cleaned confessionals.
Overheard on a train: 'The man who ran me over came to see me in the hospital. And he brought me some comics!'
In the taxi she said, “We're going out to Utopia Parkway, Queens to meet a famous artist, his name is Joseph. He likes quiche Lorraine and little girls. So behave.” We walked into the gloomy house and I glanced over at a glass case with a life-sized porcelain doll.
Saturday was the day she loved best.He was coming.Handsome, tall, dreamy blue eyes that promised something rare and memorable in the short time they had together.Her prince charming. The limo pulled up and she raced down the steps into his arms."Papa" she murmurred."Papa"
After I died, the main change was to time and space. Suddenly it was all quick cuts, no fixed viewpoint and all the boring bits left out; like a Hollywood film. After a day of this, I realised I was in Hell.
P.S.
I'm unable to store those drums you left in the walk-in any longer. Arrange to remove them ASAP. Mother's coming to visit and plans to bring her calligraphic accoutrements (such belles lettres!).
Be assured that the thrill of your banging will forever remain deep in my memory.
Fondly --
lol! Funny!Quote:
Originally Posted by lavendar1
Shocked silence. Not one word spoken. Quiet.
He turns around, blissful smile on his face, expecting his new variation to be praised.
"What have you done to it?"
Confused, he asks: "To what?"
"The song! What have you done to it?"
They knew each other from somewhere but it was different now as they shared their greetings while the wind blew their words beyond their yesterday into today and through tomorrow for ever. Amen. Awomen.
Words. Words. So many of them, jumbling in her head. Why are they making so much noise? Why can't they let her be? Trying to listen to them all at once gave her a headache. Oh well, she already knew what they were saying because that’s what they said every day... Only one way to stop them.
Too much advice. Too many advisors. Too much pushing, in too many directions. I feel like a small twig afloat in the confluence of many great rivers, unable to influence the conflicting currents; currents which are dragging me under. Sometimes I just want to go quietly, politely, Englishly mad.
Chorus:
Do we fret over these suite words?
Yes! And No! It shouldn't be so!
Remember when it flowed seamlessfromthesoul
Before we got cot up in the rhythm and rhyme and rite and rong of writing?
"Unscrew the locks from the doors!"
Free us again. And at last.
I decided to make Mary say something else. 'Say foot', I said. She said, 'foot' - with a rasp in her voice.
I once found a hole, a most extraordinary hole. It had a diamiter of 50cm and it was 3 feet deep. In it was 4 twigs and 12 leaves - it was a most extraoderinary hole.
Message, clearly for all to read, red ink and bold on one part, "go now!".
Readied to the task, Commander raises and twenty angels are dispatched. "Too late!", cries crew to tower, turning ship to the Sun, their heads look away and some to home. One angel slips silently away...
The sound of an alarm clock tuned to a popular station carried with it a familiar semblance of his dream, in fact the words uttered by the radio personalities were an exact reproduction of a dream element. The great mystery left unsolved in his time spent asleep was thus manifested in waking life. (this happened to me this moring, sort of creeped me out)
As she was carried along in the undulating crowd she stopped short.Turning,she slowly searched the faces passing by looking for the eyes of the one she loved.The presence faded away and with broken heart she turned and stumbled on, wondering what he looked like.
She woundn't say no, even if he wasn't in the room. He pushed the piano lid up and banged! Looking around her space, there was no reason she could think of to look at that clock anymore.
They say you can’t deal with Death. I did.
“Keep her alive!”
“WHY?”
“You want a death, I’ll give you one!”
“AND I’LL WANT ONE TOMORROW.”
“OK, every day!”
“OK. IT’S A DEAL.”
22 days, 22 bodies. You needn’t fear the reaper darling; at least, not until I’m caught.
Ten years ago, we were just a group of kooky kids with what seemed like it might be a pretty good idea for a website. Who would have thought that in that short time we could have become such a bunch of coked out, toxic buffoons?
Long ago, in a secluded forest, there lived a lonely man in a small house. Everyday of his life, he woke at dawn, toiled until dusk, ate, played his flute until midnight, and slept. He died at midnight on a rainy day, after playing a beautiful tune on his flute.
Lavender blooms on Mountain Laurel, brown eggs in straw or scrambled on a plate, a cap gun with caps, a book worth your time, beer in the fridge, days on the lake, death of futile desires, camping, good dogs, mischievous cats, Caribbean beaches, snorkeling, spearing lobster. This is good fortune.
I suspected an ineffable crisis in Magda, as if she was suppressing some murderous violence. She tried to force her cutlet on me, swooned vaporishly about some ceramics she’d seen and nodded earnestly at all my jokes. When the waiter told me my card had been refused, I kicked him.