ok here goes Nothing!

It's raining - I hate the rain. I hate how it makes the world slow down. Buses arrive later than usual, traffic is jammed, people scramble to find shelter and stay there while those of us with umbrellas battle the elements, trying to figure out which way the wind is blowing so we don't get blasted inside out.

I always lose umbrellas. It's one of those items I just can't keep track of. I bet that some smug genius is sitting in a cosy room surrounded by all of my lost umbrellas, thousands of them. Well the joke's on him! He may be dry but I'd say about three quarters of those umbrellas are as battered as a three-legged spider. As we speak, umbrella manufacturers everywhere are counting their vast sums of money...shoddy, useless, cheaply made products purchased at high cost by idiots like me.

Want to be rich? Forget the raincoat, that sticky shiver-some wet-wipe...the umbrella is due a serious make-over. Invent for me the ultimate unbreakable umbrella, a device that stores away neatly in a small discreet bag, that covers a person and their walking companion completely and never ever gets caught in the wind. I will purchase this item from you and make you rich indeed.

It's the 21st century people! I'm reading articles about fridges that store food in liquid bubbles and the best that they can do for simple rain protection is a semi-waterproof cloth on a stick? For shame!

PLEASE ! I scream.
DON'T DO THIS! I plead.
I'M THE SAME AS YOU! I try to reason.
But yet, the looks on the faces of the ones who disapprove of my being do not fade.
WHY WON'T YOU ACCEPT ME?? I cry out.
BeCAuSe YoU aRe sTrAnGe, comes the reply
SO?! I shout. EVERYONE'S DIFFERENT!
Is ThAt So? WeLl wE dOn't LiKe YoUr kInD...
The ones who disapprove of my being close in on me without hesitation, with open mouths, glistening with sharp icicles of teeth.
AnD dO yOu KnoW wHaT wE dO wiTh oNeS wE doN't LiKe?
NO...I stammer
wE eAt ThEmmmmm ! The ones who disapprove of my being close in until they are on me and grab my skin with their teeth and tug, tug, tug and tug until it rips off and I scream in agony.
WAIT! NOOOOOO! DON'T EAT ME! I yell.
I WANT TO BE A ZOMBIE, JUST LIKE ALL OF YOU!!!
rEaLLY? says a hot zombie boy named Trevor.
tHen tHiS iS tHe fiRsT stEp ! he says and then lunges at me.


               ○ The End------(oh wait, scratch that, I meant, The DOOMED End) ○

COOL lyrics from a song: Bring me to Life by Evanescence

How can you see into my eyes, like open doors? Leading you down into my core, where I've become so numb. My spirit sleeping somewhere cold, until you find it there and lead it back home.
Frozen inside without your touch, without your love, darling!
Only you are the life among the dead
All this time, I can't believe I couldn't see, kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me, I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems, not to open my eyes to everything, without thought, without a voice, without a soul (don't let me die here, there must be something more)
Bring
Me
To
Life

As i cry myself to sleep
I hold onto what reminds me of you
i grip it sotigt
i picture being in your arms
but your so far way
and it hurts way to much
when you went away
you took my heart with you
i gave it to you
to the place i knew it was safe
in the hands that i only trust
the hands that i love
even in a room full of people
i feel empty, i feel hollow
i feel alone
as if you took mh happiness, my love, with you
you took my heart so it could love you
i hate this
my tear stained pillow hushing my helpless cries
so no one could hear me
so no one wold see my weakness
you being away hurts
i'd raher have it hurt
and knowin i cant be with you for awhile
because i couldnt ever let you go;
you were ment to be mine forever
to be held in the arms that can only give me
the hug of love
where i fit perfectly
in the hands of the only one
that can wipe my tears away
who will rid me of this pain
you are my one true love
my soul mate

When I Walk On Air
I Cannot Breathe With The Lungs Inside Of Me
I Feel Like I'm Dust
Floating Around
Like I Could Live Forever

Happiness Is Life
I Will Treasure It For You
For What I Can't Find

Walking on lava
an angel and a wing,
humbled.

what have i done to deserve this?

i thought you love me, i thought you cared, i though you and me where together forever.

why please just tell me why?  why?

i loved you gave you everything, you where my first everything. first kiss,fist boyfriend, my first Time, my first love. now im not good enough, now im not what you want, now im not the girl you fell in love with. how could this be?. ten years!.

after ten years you decided you love her not me. did i not love you enough?, did i not show you enough?, am i not pretty enough?. i need to know, could you please but me out my pain.

this is interesting, but you should consider changing where you wrote "She defied her instinct when she didn’t immediately turn" to "she defied her instinct by not immediately turning." I feel like this would flow a bit more easily, making the piece more intriguing right from the start

add *her choice,* in between "her mind" and "his words".
R&R :)

It hurt.
Her body, her mind, his words... She had never felt more alone; more empty. "But you deserve to be" hissed a voice. She defied her instinct when she didn’t immediately turn around to identify the source, for she already knew that the voice had stemmed from the withered walls of her mind, that voice that had sounded just like his after he had found out; angry, betrayed, hurt.
“No,” she whispered “You don’t get to make me feel guilty. It was you! I had to do it! You were going to kill them all! It was my mission.” She was screaming now, her voice paving its way around the mangled bodies that decorated the now crimson floor. “You were my mission, that was all that you were, Dammit!” She swore as she pounded her calloused hand, denting the church’s wall. She hadn’t looked at him yet, she didn’t want to. Because she knew that his once sparkling green eyes, the eyes that had challenged her whenever they engaged in their daily banter, the same eyes that had laughed at her the time she had clumsily tripped into his arms, and had tried all that morning to unsuccessfully convince him that she had tripped. God knows, the last thing that boy needed was something to make his ego bigger than it already was. Those same eyes that had once looked at her with longing, when she had started to forget the true reason for her joining of the society, they were eternally closed. And it was because of her.
 “Caley,” this time, it wasn’t her mind. “Caley.”
The crimson tipped stake dropped from her shaking hands when she ran to his side, forgetting that the council would be there at any minute to “dispose” of the carrion. She didn’t speak as she held him in her arms, or as the tears that had built up behind her lids started to fall freely onto his tattered shirt. His green eyes, paling from the lack of blood, still projected his sincerity, his honesty when he said his final words to her.
“I still,” his body twitched and his eyes fell as he finished “love you.”
The pain and the regret that attacked what was left of her heart was unbearable. Her head reluctantly tore from his chest when she heard the footsteps echoing through the halls behind the door. They were here. Her now free eyes bore into the stake smiling at her from the floor.
The doors were kicked open as the council stormed in. Jay looked proudly at the dead vampires that littered the floor, hand signing to the rest of the council that the perimeter was clear, as he called for his sister,
“Caley, you did it! It’s over. They were the last of the society, we’ve finally won-”His voice caught in his throat as his eyes rested on the vibrant red hair that he could have recognized anywhere. The joy turned into incredulity and terror as his eyes saw the stake that protruded from her as she lay on top of the society’s leader.
She didn’t hurt anymore.

THURSDAY NIGHT ALLEN GINSBERG NAROPA INSTITUTE AUDIO RECORDING SUTRA

I

10:00 P.M.

Hard as an angel on the concrete windpipes,
On wind currents of the infinity clock-hard, fork-hard delusion
                  Of nicotine patches and acid basements,
Elements of destruction span through me on a storm-dream night.

Hard as an angel, thrown and ready,
Steady I analyze words stern as swords and shields,
Waiting for revelation, expectant by the elation of Seraphim’s dream
                                     Beneath the tree shadow,
Amid the rosy thirst of arrows I suppose for illumination;
                  Boots out, hat out, shirt open,
I lay my hope in the dust-rise of roads disappearing
And the ever-there of horizons.

A secret mind speaks to me there, into the blood,
Between the bowers and boughs and beeches,
              A voice of ancient beards and tongue,
A voice of infinite lovers and brothers,
           Spitting proverbs, combining, entangling and shrouding,
Kitchen-sink hard, cross-hard, Christ-hard,
Cloud-hard and shit-hard,
               He says road-hard and purple-hard,
      Confiding a swirling elixir of the world-wordiness.

The cup about to overflow, explode into orbit with a thousand stars
As I listen to the old man’s exegesis of the word and the moaning,
The unbearable hustling and panting,
         The glorious screeching and screaming,
The blond vision, the talk of the golden breasts
In the holy daylight of a summer morning in the universe,
                  The poet and the maker making,
                                   The creator creating
From the unclothed rawness of the bare flesh and skin
The craft of youth in its magnificence,
                    Setting the players upon the stage,
The performance of unknown pleasures:

Hard as angels they all speak and sigh and furtively murmur in prayers,
All pure in their mindfulness, their righteous state,
                              And he listens and talks,
And he softly whistles and bursts into oriental songs,
And as he whispers of Blyth and Blake I suddenly exhale, hard as an angel,
        And reveal myself to the Universe,
And open myself towards Eternity to fill me once more.


II

10:30 P.M.

These words I inscribe,
Hand-written ‘neath sunflower daylight
                            Imaginary in backyard gloom,
Frozen cold bone, nose dripping,
         In trembling seizure of phalanxes,
Withdrawal of autumnal legions:

“El príncipe medita inmóvil, con los brazos cruzados. Quizá no sepa que lo están atacando. Piensa en la vida; está llegando al nirvana, a la salvación. Antes de la caída del sol, el demonio ha sido derrotado. Sigue una larga noche de meditación; al cabo de esa noche, Siddharta ya no es Siddharta. Es el Buddha: ha llegado al nirvana.”
Budismo, Jorge Luis Borges

                       These words I carve
On the forgotten skull of history,
    Perhaps a poem or two
                     Scattered upon the quiet tomb
          Like lonely flowers of April:
Is there something beyond these words?


III

11:00 P.M.

OM the Arrow,
The Target
And the Archer.

Headlights of the streetlife corners,
Leaving the last alleyways into the concrete passages,
                                   Iron bridges collapse in sunset,
                       Music distant,
Here beyond the perimeter
             Gothlike, Godlike silver highways begin,
                      Dark and black with language,
   Circles and cars, eyes by the windows,
                            A million cars and trucks
                                    And apparitions,
              Endless signs of vultures, crows, raven,
Flashlights,
           Floodlights,
                     Sleeping cows in the fields,
                              And the world ends in black void
                  Beyond the hills,
Endless visions as the drivers drive out tonight,
Heading for the southern starry metropolis,
                         Where bars close and open at dawn
              And workers go drunk to work
                                   In pick-up trucks
                        Forgotten by pleasure,
Heading for the peripheral landscape
                                  As the giants sink behind,
               Looking for the cactus revelation,
 The nightlong secrecy, the stars confidential,
                      The dirt intention and passing truth
     In roadside bars and secret places
                 Where your real name is sin,
Heading for America!
Tune up your radios,
                  Put on your Dylan’s and Springsteen’s,
O and the lonely are singing!
Desert!
Desert!
                Hear them among you!
Desert!
Desert!
                Hear yourself among them!
All the way to the Universe,
                                 All the way to Colorado,
All the way to Kansas and back to Denver, Texas,
                     Listen to their flower-prayer!
                             Your voice towards their song,
                And O the song!
                And O the voices of the Holy!
O voice of America!
Throw your emptiness into the backyard void!
            Throw your garments, worn and tattered,
                       Run nude into the waters!
Accept the Lord your savior!
        Weep and moan!
                    Howl for your sins!
Run nude America deep into the pool!
                        Let your beard wild America the Lonely
             And jump upon these bodies!
Chime to the harpsichord tune!
                           Murder the innocent!
                    Rape the holy and the pure!
Be rid of your body America,
   Be rid of your mind and your heaven,
           For what better paradise than the abyss,
 The unknown energy that I present you?

OM the Mind,
The Universe
And the Writer.

Neon angels,
        Billboard fences and plastic multitudes,
                 Homeward marines lost in lightning,
                       Bailed prisoners deaf by thunder,
             Prophecy of America, O decadence!
O has anyone seen the faces of the dead?
       People,
              You that roll in trains blinded before poverty,
              Skipping reality,
              O the wounded Conscience!
Have they seen the dead child, Mother?
Have they seen the light, Master?
                I will show them the way,
                                            The Way,
                     Those who waver in public houses,
                                Choked in their sacred communion,
          Thirsty with the dry blood of heroes,  
             Gone and living still, exiles at home!
They have forgotten the chalices!
They have vomited the Body of Christ!
Rejected!
Rejected!
           Reject them all, O lonely ones!
I will show you the Road towards sanctity,
                            Come!
                            Come!
I will give you language and music,
                            Come!
                            Come!
I will give you Camel Lights,
                     Cold-dripping Heinekens and illumination,
                                          Limitless Vodka,
                          Skylight elation through your chests,
And you will listen
                 To the song of the Lonely Lama!

OM the Stone,
The Ceiling
And the Architect.

                 Afternoon silence, Sunday quiet,
       Taken into outerspace,
Frost burst breath balling into a thousand fell snow-tide,
                         Sunlight dawn,
                              Greylight morning,
White corpses scattered across the parks,
        They passed out during the night
                              And the blizzard took them in.
General Winter!
General Hunger!
O look through the windows of the Bowery,
                       Bodies trembling in skinny beds,
                One against the other,
                          Sweating, wet, shivering,
                                         Hairy bodies together,
On a punctured mattress,
                                         Holy bodies together,
       Frozen tears clogged against their cheeks,
Their beards tangled together
                      And so their pubic darkness,
                                Lying awake,
                                      Scared of this silence
And the deadly knowledge of impossible arousal!
     O two innocents looking for rebirth in loneliness,
                              Thrown into their arms to die
    And enter heaven in union, naked, ashen, covered in dust
 And dusk, one into the other!
                   Who will speak Death unto the lovers?
O Death! Ceasing of Existence!
                          Blindness, silence of the mind!
Who will call these lovers back into their future bodies?
        Who will show them the light of birth again?
                                   O America!
Play a prayer for these doves of passion!
                 Play your ancient mandolin blues America,
                                      And kill them with rejection!
O the Time when they are born back to the earth,
One with the other,
                   Separate,
                         Divided,
And they will meet someday in some highway diner,
                  Two unknowns,
                       Strangers in their travels,
Sitting by each other again,
    Drinking black coffee and pie,
                Smoking cigarettes
And sharing once again the same ashtray!

OM the Wheel,
The Dharma
And the Enlightened.


IV

11:30 P.M.

Eleven thirty, 11:30 p.m. in the Universe!
Thursday night in the Universe!
            Bars open torment omen stone ‘em with their happy hours,
And me, O, so near Friday departure, yet so far!
Eleven thirty, ass-to-couch and hand-to-remote,
          And all succumbs to the same
                     Lonely appreciations,
                     Lowly inclinations,
The incarnation of the will into laziness:
The Man-mind begins to wallow
           And the Conscience wanders,
                                  Ruled by television
          And easy punch lines,
Ruled by the laughable futility of existence:
For who would dare watch
The Seventh Season
                     Of Seinfeld
Without studying its sociological implications?
For Seinfeld is Reality!
          Decadence! Tribulation!
                       Departed Expectations!
          Helpless exclamation of Society
Towards its outcasts and murderers!
                   O Society is Dead!
                Moans Jerry Seinfeld,
And I have killed it
                      And have smiled upon its corpse!
O eleven thirty in the Universe
    And the lights begin to dim towards starflight;
I hear the broken trumpets of solitude!
                          The call of madness and insanity!
                  Crazy, mad, raving scriptures
Fly around like holy commandments in notebooks,
            Rolling sketches,
                   Here, there,
Blazing epigrams, epitaphs, fake idols
                 Everywhere in pieces of scribbled paper,
Bearing the nonsense of reality;
        O it’s eleven thirty in the Universe!
I would to read La Rebelión de las Masas
       O Late Thursday Spirits!
But who reads the Shurangama Sutra
                    In the midst of teenage boredom?

The Shurangama Sutra:
                 A simple explanation
                         By the Venerable Master Hsuan Hua
                     Vol. 1:
Chapter Three: The Testimony of Faith:
         Sutra: Thus I Have Heard:
Thus is the True Dharma,
Thus the Word of Buddha,
         Thus Nature and Reality,
                 Thus is the Buddhahood,
         Thus Being and Vacuum,
Thus the Wheel of Fire,
Thus is Within and Eternal,
Coexistent and Infinite,
         Thus implies the teaching
Of the Buddhadharma,
Thus the verity of Disciples,
                             Thus is Fulfillment of Faith
And Time and Hearing,
Thus is Fulfillment of a Host,
Of a Place and an Audience,
Thus is the Mind,
Thus the Universe Without
      And the Path to Righteousness,
                              Thus is the Eye,
Thus the Fruit of the Tree
And thus the Vision,
Thus is Time,
Thus the Suffering Everlasting
And thus Impermanence,
Thus is the Dhyana,
Thus the Precepts
        And thus the Samadhi,
Thus is the Way,
Thus the Entrance,
                    Thus the True Self
And the Dharma-body,
Thus is the Word of the Enlightened One,
Of the Thus-Come One,
And the Unsurpassed One,
Thus the Word of the Well Gone One
                 Of the World Honored One
                 In the Illuminated Sutras,
The Great Teachings of the Master.

Speak of the true speech of the Universal,
The unison of sounds,
Left and right and up and down,
Forth and back,
Speak of the things of the Samsara,
Of the fire,
For all fires are the fire
And all Buddhas the Buddha.

Of all the kinds of offerings
The gift of Dharma is the highest.

“A Shramana diligently cultivates precepts, samadhi, and wisdom and puts to rest greed, anger, and stupidity. These three poisons, greed, anger, and stupidity, are precisely the reason you have not realized Buddhahood. If you can put a stop to the three poisons you will quickly become Buddhas.” The Shurangama Sutra, Vol.1

Surely Jerry Seinfeld cannot be the reincarnation
                        Of a Venerable Bodhisattva.


V

00:00 P.M.

Words of the Holy One,
Tathagata Experience,
                  Classroom Illumination,
                  Naropa Buddhanature,
Where do I go now?

VI

00:30

Midnight satori:

“…all the mind's arbitrary conceptions of matter, phenomena, and of all conditioning factors and all conceptions and ideas relating thereto are like a dream, a phantasm, a bubble, a shadow, evanescent dew, a flash of lightening. Every true student should see all phenomena and all activities this way, and thus keep the mind free and selfless and tranquil." The Diamond Sutra

Everything’s illuminated
      If you read it
With Ginsberg’s angelic voice.

"Charge the king," said to his knights whom lined in rows of 5. what do we do Eagle said to George while looking down from the top of the castle. I don't know he said. Well think of something or we will be killed! HEY am the king, i will decide when we do anything you got that Eagle! Eagle walked away in despair. When do we fire at the other side. In a couple of seconds. King their about to fire what do we do? Fire as hard as you can. AIM FIRE! 100s of arrows flew in the air and sorrowing down hitting knights in the head and in the back plus the chest. Ok charge the king said to his ground knights. The knights pulled out their swords and started running towards the otherside then the otherside started running. 500 knights swinging swords through other knights blood squirting out and flooding the grounds while they fall and stand fighting. Heads flew off arms and legs off bodies. After 3 hours of blood and fighting 200 to 300 bloody dead knights laid still on the ground, while few remand standing some very injured. WOW George and Eagle said looking at the bloody mess. Who won don't know George said i guess we go back and get drunk fine with me Eagle said as they both walked back to the castle cheering with their swords in the air.

I sat alone. My heart thumped irregularly, every now and then halting. I tried to breath but I didn't want to. The air was suffocating me, but I choked it in. They were everywhere. White lights. White lights glaring down at me, white lights exposing me. I flinched. I tried helplessly to run my trembling fingers through the thick mass of tangled orange hair. Trying to unsnarl the snarled locks. Trying to disentangle the tangled knots. Trying to extricate why, why it had had to be me?

I kept my eyes cast down, staring at at the cold marble surface of the counter. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in- I started. I felt someone looking at me. I looked up. It was the waiter. He's hand grazed my wrist. I jerked back, my eyes rolling in fear. He looked at me.

"Sorry miss, I didn't mean to startle ya. I was just asking what ya wanted to have." He looked at me again and I felt myself tremble. He knew. I tried to cover the scratches upon my arms, the purple bruising on my wrists, the fingerprints embedded around my neck. I tried to cower within myself, to hide from his knowing gaze.

"Ya look freezin' miss, perhaps a cup of coffee will warm ya up...what do ya think?" Eyes averted, I nodded. I tried to smile but it felt like my lips were made of steel. Stiff and immovable.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard a bell ring, a door open, a man come in. He was tall and smartly dressed, wearing a gold band on his fourth finger. The fourth finger of his left hand. From under the hat I could make out thinning black hair. His eyes were green. This morning I would have found him attractive. Now I was just repulsed. I bent my head, hiding my face. He hesitated a moment before coming to sit on the bar stool next to me. I bit my lip, trying to shrink away from his presence. He was too close. I could feel his curious gaze. Sizing me up. Judging me. I could feel his eyes as they raked over my body, undressing me. I could feel his appreciation as he took in the enhanced chest, the nipped in waist, the bare skin. I felt bile rise up in my throat. Swallowing, I pushed my knees together. The lights were too bright. Just...too bright.

The coffee came. I'd lost my appetite. But I still took it within my icy hands, allowing its warmth to spread through me, allowing it to melt the icy glacier I had built up around me. I felt myself choke. I drank. It was too hot. The creamy liquid sliced into my unsuspecting tongue, scalding my taste buds, hurting me. I gasped, trying to swallow but I couldn't. I allowed it to dribble out, scorching my tender skin, seeping through the red dress. Staining it. The waiter looked up. I looked down. I felt my bottom lip tremble, my throat clog up, blocking my air holes. I staggered to my feet, wincing at the pain which shot through my legs. I stumbled across the room, trying to find the bathroom. I felt like a trapped deer. My eyes moved wildly, searching until I found it. In my haste I stumbled, falling to my bruised knees. I sobbed. No hand reached out to help me. No hand reached out to console me. The men just sat there, waiting for me to get up. Not understanding. Quietly I got up.

I reached the bathroom, carefully locking the door behind me. I walked over to the sink, turning the taps on. The echo of water running filled the room. I dipped my fingertips into the swirling liquid, quailing as the chilled ice water struck me. Cautiously, I pulled the dress up above my thighs. I looked tentatively and recoiled at the sight of dried blood. A sense of shame welled up inside me, and for a moment I swayed, squeezing my eyes shut in disgust. And then I scrubbed. Wildly and savagely I scrubbed. Not caring at the sharp pain the bitterly cold water brought to my raw skin. Not caring as my nails shed more blood. My blood. The scabs fell away but I still carried on, washing myself. The dirt I was trying to cleanse was more than skin deep. I tried and tried to rid myself of the feel of their grimy fingers upon me, the saliva of their tongues soaking me. But the dirt remained. Helplessly I looked down at the pristine, soreness of my naked thigh. It was still there...I just couldn't reach it. It was too deep. The blood I could wash away, but this? This I couldn't. I couldn't take away that feeling of obscenity. That feeling of self-repulsion. That feeling of loss. Loss of empowerment. Loss of control. My head began to spin, making me feel nauseous. I stopped. I let down the dress, watching the tattered hemline fall and cover the gelid floor.

I looked into the mirror. A young woman looked back. Her face was pallid and wan, almost colourless. Her grey eyes were beautiful. Beautiful and vacant. As if someone had wiped away all hint of emotion...all glimpse of love. Red lipstick was smeared around her cut mouth. Her eyes were surrounded with black make-up . Black make-up which appeared to have been smudged with salty water. My eyes were inane as they took in the bites upon my neck, the purple bruising. I knew I should stop looking but I just...couldn't. Curiously I gazed at the orange hair. It was thick. Almost to much for the slim, creamy neck to carry.

"What beautiful hair...mm, and it smells good too" I shook my head, quivering at the memory. His thick fingers touching my hair. His thick fingers prodding me, hurting me. That sneer which never left his face, any of their faces. The darkness. The narrow streets. The skeleton trees. The laughter. I heard a piercing scream. It wouldn't stop. It was mine. I gagged my mouth, trying to stop the cries escaping my cracked lips.

I collapsed onto the floor, weeping. Convulsive gasps racked my body, over and over again. I slammed my hands over my ears, trying to block out all sounds, trying to smother all memories. But they just kept on coming. The nail-bitten hand smothering my mouth, suffocating me. The sickening taste of his beefy flesh, as I tore at it with my teeth. The sour taste of metal on his fourth finger. The stinging slap which sent me reeling. The blurred faces, peering down at me. The pungent smell of beer as their wet mouths covered mine, as slimy tongues thrust themselves through my throat. The iron grip of their hands as they forced my legs open. The violence with which they hurt me, over and over again. The sound of their pitiful gasps, the weight of their obese bodies as they pinned me down to the cracked paving stones. Then empty darkness. The shuffling of feet as they walked away. Taking with them my pride and security. The laughter. The singing. The silence.

Tears ran down my cheeks, as I lay there, cowering in the corner of the bathroom floor. Darkness seemed to encase me and I struck out wildly, smashing my cracked knuckles into the concreted walls. Everything seemed to be shrinking. Shrinking in on me. I tried to keep my eyes open but I was so tired. Just...so tired. The darknesses was complete. Perhaps that was better. Then no one would see me. No one would pity me. No one would feel ashamed for me. No one would ask why...why you?

I felt vomit rising from my stomach and I heaved. It splattered my red dress, my pale face and spilled to the floor, joining the crusts of dried blood. I heaved again and again, splattering the walls. And then there was nothing. I held my breath, waiting for more. But non came. Empty, I fell back against the wall. Breath in. Breath out. I felt so confused. Everything was so disoriented. Did I deserve it? Did I ask for it? Was it my fault for wearing that dress, for not taking the taxi? Why me? Why? Gently I rested my bruised and broken head in my quivering arms and closed my drooping eyes. Breath in. Breath out.

How can I put this into words, I stuck and bruised, banged up torn up
Shattered and left in a million pieces
Like a broken piece of glass
Shattered and I have no idea how to pick up the pieces
Everything I do, I cut myself and I’m left
With no feeling
Lord please say it isn’t true
My heart feels numb and the tears that fall down to my
Cheeks feel like air and I can’t
Feel them
Screaming and yelling doesn’t help get me anywhere
But broken into a million pieces unable to
Put back together again
I’m shattered, could someone please help me
Put myself back together
Again

"The grass seemed greener in Ireland than in other places," Rachel observed as she sat nonchalantly on the ground. "Perhaps it's the lack of the sun. Or, maybe, it could be that all of that rain, that graces the countries presence ever so often; gives the grass' roots more moister to grow healthier. Or...oh, I don't know; just a bunch of nonsense I speak really."
        "No actually it makes perfect sense to me,"  Elliot remarked almost enlightened at his friends statement, "the grass being greener there, I mean. Especially if there is more rain. I mean, you're the first person that's ever come to notice a thing like that-well I'm sure many have NOTICED it, but I believe your the first to point it out and give theory as to why it's so."  Elliot confusedly ran his fingers through his hair in acknowledgment of his rambling. He turned his eyes away from Rachel in embarrassment, but something drew them back to her. It might have been the wind that pierced directly through Elliot's shirt. Maybe the cold air was enough to make him look for the nearest sign of warmth available; and there she was-sitting almost undisturbed by the weather's ill tidings, not even recognizing the fact that that Elliot had not wavered his stare away from her for a good minute. When gazing upon her, all his chills subsided and he warmed. Just her presence it seemed was enough to make him forget all he knew, and all he ever dreamed of knowing. "For to be with you," Elliot thought, "I would live my life in breezes as cold winter's tide, and give my last tepid breath to say to you, 'goodbye'." Elliot King had the mind and manner of his father and his father's kind. But his heart, and all hearts alike, was that of a poet. So while he sat there watching Rachel, he realized he had no need in following in his father's footsteps as he and his father had so quaintly planned. Elliot began thinking more and more of abandoning all he had ever wanted to do. "Did I ever want to be a politician or a businessman," he queried mindfully, "or was that the will of my peers?" Suddenly, he stood up causing Rachel to let out a short, quiet gasp.
        "What's the matter! What's wrong?" Rachel asked fearfully.
        "Nothing," Elliot replied giggling, "Not a trifling trouble, which is why its so fantastic!" He began frolicking through the tall grasses near them and running and jumping all different directions. Soon after seeing Elliot's expression of cheerful spirit she began to giggle a little herself.
        "Then why are you leaping!" she shouted playfully.
        "What, leaping? Me?" Elliot began hopping in place repetitively.
        "No, why are you jumping?" Rachel's smile grew and grew until she could not bear his silliness any longer and began to howl with laughter.
        "Jumping? Would you call this jumping? No! No, I must insist we call it man-springing," Elliot said with a final exuberant leap, "Don'cha think?"
        "Well, whatever you call it will certainly be a sight for any person, man or no," Rachel wiped the tears that she had built up from laughing from her eyes with the hem of her dress. When the distortion of sight from her tears had diminished, she saw Elliot had calmed and was now standing still. She observed the young man as he gazed out at the vibrant sunset that overshadowed the distant trees with its glare. His childish grin faded into a more content illustration. He looked pleasingly at Rachel and started walking toward her saying:
        "Do you remember us as children?" Rachel said nothing but shook her head. Her smile had vanished and had been replaced with a more sober look. "I admit that neither do I, not an awful lot. But I do remember that we didn't care about anything when we were kids. We loved and respected but we did not care. I believe that when we're young we're fearless; and all the fear that we build up as we get older just makes life more complicated, which is why children always seem so happy. They figure they got nothing to lose. But when that moment comes and you realize you could lose everything, that's the day you grow up." Elliot was now knelt down a few feet away from where Rachel was sitting. She had been listening intently during his entire speech. She had become drawn into Elliot's every word and did not feel one minute tick by for six whole unearthly minutes while he spoke.
        "When did you know," she said softly. Elliot had gone into a slight daze and had awakened to the sound of her voice. 
        "What?" He asked.
        "When did you grow up? What day? At what hour? When did you realize how ridiculous and immature you might have acted throughout a past experience? Tell me-" Boom! the thunder crashed and prevented Rachel from finishing her sentence. The loud boom was followed by a quick strike of lightning that seemed, to Rachel, to brighten the entire world. Then the rain began to fall. It was swift, thick, and heavy and urged the two teenagers to part ways and return to their homes. It was not until she had reached the porch steps that Rachel turned to see if Elliot was somehow still standing on the hill; but he wasn't. He too had gone, and as she made her way up the steps, a single, unnoticeable tear ran down her cheek. It was even unknown to Rachel that she was crying for she felt no tear fall. The tear was masked beneath numerous streaks of rain water that were running down her face.
        Elliot was now in view of his home as he too turned to see if Rachel-by any fantastic chance-was still standing on the hill. He sadly discovered she had left, and with a last glance toward the hill he uttered, "If only you knew the depth of my love for it is as deep as the heavens are high and as real as the moment before you." With his hands in his pockets he turned and went inside.

General:
Story #1 of a collection of dating experiences in Chicago

Plot:
This story is regarding the rich "Fly Fisherman"

I'M NOT DOWN YET..

Plot:
LIFE AND DEATH.

Character Development:
o

Structure:
THE BRIDGE TO COCOA ISLANDS....REAL BROTHERS DON'T BITCH UP.

Tone/Voice:
HOW TO SUCCEED WHEN SUCCESS IS NOT AN OPTION.HOW TO BELIEVE WHEN FAITH HAS RAN OUT.HOW TO SEE WHEN YOUR BLIND...HOW TO OVERCOME WHEN YOU FAIL.HOW TO INHALE WHEN THEY EXHALE.HOW TO BECOME SOMETHING WHEN YOUR NOTHING...HOW TO FILL THE CUP UP TILL IT OVERFLOWS.....HOW TO BAKE A CAKE...WHEN WILL YOU FIND OUT THAT YOUR THE SHIT....I NEVER WENT BITCH.....BROTHERS AND SISTERS HATE THE LOVE BUT THE ONES I KNOW IS THEY LOVE TO HATE....

I haven't slept in days, I didn't feel like it, right?
When did we decided we had to go to sleep at night?
Why do we cling, and only sing, when it is bright?
What is our obsession, with the confession, of the light?

So I won't sleep, if I don't want to
I'll be deep, because I want to
And I'll leap, from tree to tree in twilight
If you don't want it then it's my night
And I can sing a song, fly a kite
What's gonna stop me?
Society?
Sobriety?
Anxiety?
It's trying me
It's tying me
But not for me
But not for me
See, for me, the only thing I need, is the comfort of my greed, I'm breaking free

I will sing at the top of my voice
Because I have the choice
And I will stand in the dark and I'll dance
Because the moon will instill in me a trance
You can't know
The tranquility
The stability
Of your ability
Until you've left your house at 3 and sat in a gold oak tree
Imagine me
Imagine me sitting in that tree, I'm free
Aren't I?
So if you'd be like I, and wish to just fly
Then fly
Just live whilst you're young, 'cause you're too alive to die

Topic: Relationships
First, why does everything have to have a title?
Why does he have to be my "boyfriend."
Why can't we just be us?
When you're "dating" that there has to be a "break-up."
Those blow and people would rather be miserable with one another than separate.
I just want the person I'm with to know that our love is strong enough to keep us together.
Not just a word.
I want to be freely together.
Never do I want my life or actions to be constrained only by a word.
But I will be faithful.
Because that's how I show love.
By giving it to you knowing you're my man.
Sexy man you.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a book
After breakfast
Won't sombody teach me
The definition or read?

Gimme, gimme, gimme a book
After Tea time
Won't sombody read me
A book by Jane Austen?

Gimme, gimme, gimme a book
After midnight
Won't sombody help me
Chase the Book mites away?

<a href="http://www.danielmolano.com";>business consulting</a>

Who knew that trying to save a few bucks would leave to self poisioning I thought bitterly as I threw out the heated chicken leftovers.   The slight tingling on my tounge a constant reminder of how far in the hole we are.  Making my own dishwasher soap, as seen on youtube, was not the best idea but at least it worked out well with the laundry soap.  But if things don't improve the next few checks she told her husband they might have to resort to making their own toilet paper.  Sadly when he didn't laugh she realized he finally understood how bad things had gotten. The silver lining of the day being that fact that the dollar store pregnancy test only displayed one line and not two.  Two lines are the ones that change your life forever.  Two lines would mean that she would not get the chance to go back to work, to regain her self.  Two lines would mean it all would start again, the sickness, the weight gain, the worrying.  It would mean having to break down and get the worst thing of all...the minivan.  They have tried to avoid going down that road so many of their friends have already taken, many speeding down it.  They were not those kind of parents, they did not do the soccer mom expectations.  She loved her girls with every fiber of her being but most days she felt like she was waiting for her life to being.  Nothing helped.  She got on YAZ with the hopes it would suddenly make her happier and settled but still she felt she needed more.  Then there is the other stay at home mom, or Mormons as she called them privately.  Those were the only other stay at home mom she knew and she never felt much like them because she had not chosen this career.  She resented the fact that they led her to feel guilty for not wanting to stay at home.  But hopefully that would all change soon, she just had to get through the next few weeks.  Life always seemed to get better in a few weeks.  Just looking at the calendar gave her hope that by a certain day in a week or two she would have less stress.  But then she realizes that there are only four more paydays until she has to buy school clothes, and only six more until her husbands trip.  Then after that only three months until Christmas and the shopping.  She lets that calendar drop against the wall as she head to the small bathroom to find the pepcid.

Dancing Fires
By Writing0Freedom
copyrited by me


As the fires burn, I dance. As the flames fly from wall to wall seeking out life, I twist and twirl. The smoke floods the barren room with hatred and anger. Hot red emotions suck the breath from my lungs and tear the thoughts from my head. While the heat moves toward my spinning form, my raised hands and my arched back of my dance carries me away. The fires burned through the music but my song plays to my ears anyway. The melody sings through my shaking body and my leaping legs. Beats of my song hit in time with the rhythm of my heart. The bright red fingers climbing up the walls of the dance studio reach for me – searching for my soul. As my veins pump my blood, my tune runs alongside a part of me- the routine I follow as my legs point and kick, away from the fires chasing me. As the fire flickers and reaches for me, I move into the rhythm of my song. My dance is my life, and this is my performance.

………………………………………………………………

The struggle for independence entered my life in 1990 when political tensions and ethnic hatred set my city on fire. I was eleven when I first remembered being spit on for being Croatian- I still see the look in the older boy’s eye of pure hatred for a struggle my generation inherited. I still feel the sticky spit on the side of my face clinging to my cheek, branding his hate.   Yesterday he shared his dried fruit with me after I skinned my knee in tag but in today’s world all it takes to brand me different from him is heritage.

Yesterday after best friends Katarina and Sava, older by two years, helped me up and sat with me, he ran to get water for me to clean my knee. Today I am Croatian and he is Serbian.  I didn’t wipe his hate off my face because I didn’t understand. I walked along the dusty path towards home that day counting my footsteps till I could feel what made me different. My feet waded through the seawater by my city feeling the tug of the tide against my legs. I looked out at the green ocean and wondered what his eyes saw when they watched the fallen leaves be carried by the water. I wondered what his feet felt walking out of the ocean into the dry sand as it stuck to his skin. I wondered why he hated me and what made me so different.

Every time the struggle touched me, the wooden dance studio was still standing –waiting for me. I was three when an Aunt left me there while Mami was in labor having my baby brother. A tiny dark haired woman was giving instructions to a group of girls moving in beautiful twists and leaps and turns. I thought the woman would break as she showed a girl how to bend her body backwards to the floor. I drifted into the middle of the room watching-trying to follow.  My legs moved after the other girls, my arms held me tight as I twirled a beat off. I flicked my wrists as the girls leapt but my heart was there –in tune fitting in this beautiful movement.
          

That woman Adrijana Amir taught me that if you twist up and let go, you could fly. She taught me that when you pirouette into a ball change and a turn if you break it down, what side of border your parents came from doesn’t matter because you aren’t anyone but a dancer. The girls at her dance school were mostly Serbian as was she but to her if you lived, breathed, and slept dance like I did, it didn’t matter.  When my brother came home bloody from stones hurled at his face when he walked by certain sections of the city, I ran to the studio. Inside nothing touched me, nothing but the blood running through my veins carrying me into each dance move. Only the beat of my heart beating with the rhythm of the song mattered.

I still feel my fear when I got caught throwing rocks with my schoolmates through someone’s abandoned home. I can still feel the chase as teen boys and girls hunted us throughout my city of Dubrovnik. My heart still beats faster when I hear voices behind me as I walk on the street alone. I got separated with another girl from school, we ran past the city buildings to the harbor. We flew feet pounding in unison to where the ocean of four years ago laid an escape. I threw myself into the sea, graceless and fearful. I splashed out to where I couldn’t be reached from the beach. When I looked back Katarina was standing in the shallows not following. My gaze glanced on her back and as I swum closer I saw why she wouldn’t turn her back and swim to safety. No longer a game, one of them held a gun pointed at Katarina. 
          

  At eleven I accepted if not understood that today you can be giggling with your best friend and tomorrow she might point a gun at the forehead she kissed the day before. Katarina looked her in the eye and spoke clearly “Sava, if it makes you feel better shoot me.” The air drained out of my lungs, I expected her to later tell me when it was safe and to be my shield.

Sava backed up, mouthed, “I’m sorry love” and shot Katarina in the middle of the forehead. My heart became too heavy for me to hold and my tears fell down my cheeks, staining my face with disbelief and grief. I sunk beneath the waves- terrified and traumatized. I walked home that night putting my feet down a different way- seeing the world in the raw reality I just witnessed.

Whenever something didn’t happen right for one group of people, they got angry and the streets became embers of a fire waiting to be sparked to life. One word could set the mobs off. The tailor down the street, the grocer, the butcher, and Tanya’s dad become a hating mob, not people I have walked past on the street everyday of my life. They become people made brave by being with others and they scare someone’s grandmother to make them feel strong. They hit people that can’t fight back-cripples, children, and old ones.


When the hate is lit in their eyes, the young ones like me strong enough to run and young enough to be innocent escape into doorways and empty buildings. I run to the studio –there I am safe. Every time I barely miss being grabbed and I arrive out of breath, there are more empty places.

     People are trying to leave- I noticed their absences numbly until I ran to the dance studio and there was no one but Adrijana. Her dark curls fell over her eyes masking the tears I could see falling and I watched her hurriedly stuff belongings into bags and boxes. She wouldn’t tell me what happened to make her leave now when she had been standing strong before. She didn’t need to- I could see the cuts on her face and the bruises under her eyes. I could see the slowness she moved as if my dance teacher had been broken and her body had lost the strength to dance.  As we packed together I stared at the cracked mirrors that had held my image for so many years. I tried to memorize the feel of this place- I wanted to be able to come back here always in my memories. I wanted to never forget.

We heard voices of the mob coming down the alley yet she stayed calm. She held me tight to her with her tears mixing with mine. I told her if she left,

“I would lose everything. The music wouldn’t play and I wouldn’t dance.”

“No, Dannica. You will dance- it’s in your blood and it is who you are. The life you live is your song, everyone is dancing a routine but the performance you dance is up to you.”

Those are the last words I heard from her, and she was gone. Just not there and I had a silver key pressed in my hand. I threaded a piece of string through the key and wore it around my neck under my clothes.

The war exploded above our heads in giant balls of shrapnel and fire that burned through flesh and ripped apart people. In October of 1991, my world burst into flames. The shells left craters and scars in people that held us entwined in the knots of hatred and anger that were constantly being pulled tighter.

Every time a shell hit it left a wound in the heart of Dubrovnik. When it hit buildings they burst into flames leaping high into a raw heart-wrenching reality. The shells bombarded my city constantly- they didn’t end. I went to sleep at night to  ‘boom-boom-boom-boom-boom’ it became the rhythm of the war.

The gates of my city were filled with people searching for somewhere safe. Refugees chased from their homeland- the most desperate but also the most unwanted in our midst. I watched grown men walk by beggar children and spit. I saw women of my neighborhood who would stop their work to soothe a child’s fears make faces at the children who stood barefoot in winter. The refugees camped in the gates too afraid of the rebel fighters shelling the city to turn back, and too afraid of the shame they felt among the people who still had a home to come forward.

I sometimes sat when I didn’t hear the shells and watched the children. The little ones ran in the dirt and giggled when you smiled at them. I saw my baby brother Andro giggling as I picked him up and spun him around.  The seven and eight year olds played tag games and refused to cry when they fell, determined to seem older than the innocent children they were. I saw my sister Slavi gritting her teeth as Mami dripped water over the gash in her leg. The girls my age helped carry water in grimy wash buckets plugged with clothing scraps and they smiled and giggled at each other at inside jokes as they walked.

 I thought of how Sava and Katarina used to be, heads together – twinned in spirit. They were inseparable- always laughing together or holding hands and skipping or eating lunch together. I envied them their sisterhood once.

         The boys ran around causing havoc everywhere they went attempting to show off their strength and maturity to anyone who might watch or listen. I saw my classmates getting in the way as the men tried to build a boat by the seaside. The mothers smiled grimly at their children and worked side by side to survive, glistening stars of pain always about to drop from their eyes. I saw Mami pretending to smile through her tears as Papi told her about the struggle for independence. I saw her shake her head at the foolishness of the men who were getting people killed. I saw her concentrate on not feeling the pain of what this war has done to us and focus on taking care of her family and surviving.

I watched the refugees and I watched the city- we are the same- same blood runs in our veins-same language we barter for food in- same feelings we have when we swim in the waves in the summer heat- same pain we feel to hear the shells ripping our world apart around us.  I think the city people hate the refugees because they know when Dubrovnik is no longer standing then we will not longer be city people –but people without a home too. I think my mother and father and my teacher and my friend’s family are afraid that this war can take away more from us than we have already lost. We are afraid.

I was holding a refugee baby, her awkward weight slipping in my arms, when hungry people ran by chanting. They had sticks in their hands and starvation in their faces. The baby pressed her sticky lips to my cheek as I tried to shift her weight so I could back out of sight. The people were tired of being afraid in their own city, they wanted the siege to be over, and they wanted to not be hungry,’ they screamed at the refugees.  Mobs of hunger-driven hating people descended on the refugee camp, determined to find someone to blame for their family’s pain and their children’s cries from hunger cramps. The baby’s mother took her child from me, cradling the child in bony arms.

          As the mob walked through the camp, ghosts come back to reap the living, blasts shook the city. Rain of fire came down around us, barely missing crying babies and shivering children.  I turned my back on the gates and ran. Fire erupted around me, the hatred and anger burning up my city. I scrambled through alleys and dodged building corners. The ferocity of the shells was different. The shells were more concentrated but I ran.

I slipped the tattered thread from under my shirt and thrust the tiny key into the lock. The door opened after three shells almost hit me. I slipped inside the wooden dance studio, finally somewhere it seemed safe. As the shells dropped around the studio I walked up to the cracked mirrors reflecting whom I had come to be. I pressed my cheek to it and held up my hand.

 The movement mirrored me- my body began to sway- my movement carrying me into a twist. No music was playing but I knew I didn’t need any. An explosion deafened me. I felt the body shake and creak with exertion. I began to feel added warmth to the air. I heard crackling wood-soaking up oxygen from an abandoned building dry in its in use. I twirled and I twisted – a never-ending spiral of limbs. My hair flew around me-wisps of brown hair whipping my neck and cheeks. My body bent into forms that evolved into leap and jump. My feet moved following an intricate pattern changing as I moved.

“The life you live is your song, everyone is dancing a routine but the performance you dance is up to you.”

Flames encircled me, dancing as my partner from wall to wall. The door fell with a bang, as it erupted into flickers of orange heat. While the fire leapt out toward me I backed away and turned. When the tendrils of yellow flame tried to hold my hand as we moved in unison- I bent my arms back to the floor and my movement carried my body over to my feet.  My routine was steps my body felt and then became- as the fires burned I danced. While sparks leapt to wooden floorboards I flicked my wrists and twisted into a bow and spin. I don’t think out my routine because my body knows the rhythm.  I avoid the fires out there for me- a continuation of the dance I have perfected with the practice of living it. As the fires burn, my routine is my movements, my song plays without me needing to hear the music and while the flames reach for me I perform the performance of my life.

Have you ever been in a group of people where there is one person in the group who glitters above all the others?
They are like the  star on top of the Christmas tree, well Sarah Francis Baker did she was the star of every group. In fact Sarah glittered wherever she went due to her amazing ability for what the Irish would term, 'The gift of  the gab.' or what I Anna called her  Ms Blah!, Blah! Blah! She was a drone in a hive.
Sarah Baker shone in every aspect aesthetically, intellectually, emotionally, but she shone best   for her verbosity. There was no lack of information, conversation and humour, mental stimulation when you were with her or when she was around. If there was a gap in a conversation Sarah could fill it in with an insightful question or if the conversation dried up like a river in drought, Sarah Baker could resurrect it by producing an interesting new topic  on current affairs, better still if the conversation, discussion, became awkward by someone disagreeing  strongly with another party she could appease the differing parties by making each feel heard and validated and it wasn't accomplished by flattery or charm nor lies, it was an astonishing gift she was born with, she could make a boring conversation come alive with her wit and jokes without the person feeling small she made them look good did Ms. Blah! Blah!
The problem was she was too good she was too bright she made everyone else seem dull,
unintelligent, dusty, I hated her, a terrible thing to admit nonetheless t’was true I do; she hogged the lime light, left no room for any other person to shine and what was worse in my mind she knew it and purposely made sure she did, she took pleasure from seeing others lights just flicker or go out. A cruel woman in disguise as a beautiful, complete woman, a devil woman appearing as an angel of light.

Sarah talked constantly a dripping tap wearing you down to breaking point and I Anna Benson had reached mine. I decided I would silence Ms. Blah! Blah! Blah! if not permanently I am Anna Benson I am twenty five years old and I live in the city, I am a secondary school teacher, single and  unfortunately I mix in the same social circles as Sarah whom is a teacher, single and is twenty five years old like me  and lives in the same city.



Later on in the evening Anna sat in her apartment with candle as her only light, fuming, she had returned from another party with friends, colleagues, frustrated, unheard, alone, because of Ms. Blah! Blah! Blah! Anna had come to the point she had enough it was time to silence her, it was how this was going to happen to be decided. Plotting, scheming, planning to silence Sarah went right on through the night till the morning and in the morning the plan was sealed, Sarah’s day of silence was forth coming, joy does come in the morning it’s true like the proverb goes.

A fortnight on in the darkness of the night a figure which was well concealed unlocked
 the apartment door; crept along the carpeted hallway, the figure was petite, clothed in black from head to toes, eyes covered with dark glasses. It came to the lounge area of the apartment it scouted around looking for a discreet place to hide the camera she couldn't waste time, however she could not place the camera in an obvious place either.

"Think' she said to herself,

"Come on, don't be dense, and think”

All of a sudden she saw exactly the right hiding spot, a small vase with an ornamental bunch of flowers sitting in it high on a shelf she grabbed a chair from the kitchen and climbed up, placing the camera inside the vase.

“Right that’s’ done” she thought.

“Now the next thing.”  She returned the kitchen chair tidily to the table quietly, sneaked out the apartment door into the night un-noticed, stage one of the plan was completed.
Anna two days after  felt a glow inside she was now ready to implement the next part of the plan she would wait until it was late at night and again creep into  Sarah s' apartment this time carrying besides a small torch to show the way and a bag.
Anna  opened the doors gently in the apartment until she found  Sarah’s bedroom she  stopped for a few moments her heart raced in her chest, fear ran  through her an injection filled with vaccine the cure to it was to complete her task and to be at home safe.
Ah! Here was the her bedroom she opened the door gradually, listening for any sound,
movement, until it was open enough for Anna to slip through then shutting the door carefully and creeping, feeling, her way towards the bed where she lay Ms. Blah!Blah! Blah! Till she stood over her watching her blissfully unaware she was there whilst she slept.

I took the small plastic box from the bag I bought with me opened it and took the bottle
of chloroform and cotton gauze out, next I soaked the gauze in chloroform and placed it over her mouth and nose for a couple of seconds; my hand shook for if she received to
much chloroform it could kill yet if she wasn’t given enough she would wake up before I completed the plan, it was a risk I knew but it was a risk I knew was necessary. Waiting in the dark was torturous to make certain she was out to it, subsequently I reached into the box again taking the linen cotton and needle after that I threaded the needle and commenced slowly, surely carefully sew evenly spread out stitches through her ruby lips sewing them together leaving a slight gap so she could get whispers of air. Finally I took an injection needle putting it into her top and bottom lips filled with the barest amount of pain relief then pausing to check my handiwork to see if there were enough gaps for air.
My intention for Ms. Blah! Blah! Blah! The super star was not that she would die No!
I very much wanted her to live, I certainly did not want my revenge and time to be in vain, and I smiled to myself in the dark. I picked up my tools placing them gently back into my bag making sure I left no trace of ever being there and slipped out into the night again, well pleased with my nights work.



Sarah Francis Baker woke up restless from agony in the early hours of the morning; she was in immense pain lying in her cosy bed she’d gone to moan from the pain and was
silenced, her mouth could not open she was confused, frustrated, she tried again alas the pain bought the effort to a halt. The awful revelation dawning that it wasn’t possible to open her mouth struck horror, fear attacked her body, mind, soul with her hand she reached out touched her mouth tentatively and felt the dried blood, the puffy lips  squeezed together with only a slither of a gap between. Tumbling out of her bed, turning on the light she scrambled over to the mirror, staring back at herself was her ruby red perfect bud shaped lips stuck like glue, shock punched her in the stomach she let out a petrified scream inside her head then ran to the kitchen to find her keys to the car she wanted her lips back, she needed her voice desperately the thought of not being able to speak ever drove her to madness, it was her life she was nothing without the ability to speak..

Anna Jenkins a few hours on sat and watched from the comfort of her home on her luxurious leather sofa with a glass of sparkling wine, chicken flavoured potato chips a video of a woman in a bedroom sewing a woman’s mouth up. The reaction of viewing
such a horrendous event triggering a verbal outburst of indignation,

“Someone must be nuts to do something like this to another human being.”

What are the words from an old song?

“Silence is golden.”

Cool idea.

Have you ever been in a group of people where there is one person in the group who glitters above all the others?
They are like the  star on top of the Christmas tree, well Sarah Francis Baker did she was the star of the group. In fact Sarah glittered wherever she went due to her amazing ability for what the Irish would term, 'The gift of  the gab.' or what I Anna called her  Ms Blah!, Blah! Blah! she was a drone in a hive.
Sarah Baker shone in every aspect aesthetically, intellectually, emotionally,but she shone best   for her verbosity. There was no lack of information, conversartion, humour, mental stimulation when you were with her or when she was around. If there was a gap in a conversation Sarah could fill it in with a insightful question or if the conversatin dried up like a river in drought, Sarah Baker could resurrect it by producing an interesting new topic  on current affairs, better still if the conversation, discussion, became awkward by someone disagreeing  strongly with another party she could appease the differing parties by making each feel heard and validated and it wasn't accomplished by flattery or charm nor lies, it was an astonishing gift she was born with, she could make a boring conversation come alive with her wit and jokes without the person feeling small she made them look good did Ms. Blah! Blah
The problem was she was too good she was too bright she made everyone else seem dull,
unintelligent, dusty, I hated her, a terrible thing to admit nonetheless t’was true I do; she hogged the lime light, left no room for any other person to shine and what was worse in my mind she knew she did and purposely made sure she did, she took pleasure from seeing others lights just flicker or go out. A cruel woman in disguise as a beautiful, complete woman, a devil appearing as an angel of light.

Sarah talked constantly a dripping tap wearing you down to breaking point and I Anna Benson had reached mine. I decided I would silence Ms. Blah! Blah! Blah! if not permanently though for  a long time somehow if I did nothing else I would do this.
I am Anna Benson I am twenty five years old and I live in the city, I am a secondary school teacher, single,  and unfortunately I mix in the same social circles as Sarah whom is a teacher, single and is twenty five to and lives in the same city.


Later on Anna sat in her appartment with candle as her only light, fuming, she had returned from another party with friends, colleagues, frustrated, unheard, alone, because of Ms. Blah! Blah!! Blah! Anna had come to the point she had enough it was time to silence her, it was how this was going to happen to be decided. Plotting, scheming, planning to silence Sarah went right on through the night till the morning.
In the morning the plan was sealed, Sarah's day of silence was forth coming.



In the blackness of the night the figure was well concealed as it unlocked the apartment door she crept along the carpeted hallway, the figure was petite, clothed in black from  head to toes, eyes covered with dark glasses. Coming to the lounge area of the apartment  she scouted around looking for a discreet place to hide the camera she couldn't waste time, however she could not place the camera in an obvious place either.

"Think' she said to herself,

"Come on, don't be dense and  think."

All of a sudden she saw exactly the right hiding spot, a small vase with an ornamental bunch of flowers siting in it high on a shelf she grabbed a chair from the kitchen and climbed up, placing the camera inside the vase.

“Right that’s’ done” she thought.

“Now the next thing.”  She returned the kitchen chair tidily to the table quietly, sneaked out the apartment door into the night un-noticed, stage one of the plan was completed.

Anna two days after the first stage felt a glow inside she was now ready to implement the next part of the plan she  would wait until it was late at nightnight and again creep into  Sarah s' apartment this time carrying besides a small torch to show the way and a bag.

Opening doors gently in the apartment  until she found Sarah's bedroom she stopped for a few moments her heart raced in her chest, fear ran  through her an injection filled with vacine the cure to it was to complete her task and to be at home safe.
Outside

l

Excellent idea!! As soon as I have a chance I will be coming over to submit some things.... thanks!

I am glad I found this website. Just what I was looking for

My eyes had morning sickness
My fingertips had flue
My brain had nausea
So who creates all those numbers?

this seems interesting and most of the stuff I read here were great but ofcoarse there are way to much to read it all!

This seems pretty interesting, I may add something a little later on when I get the chance.

happiness is when u think about something and you have butterflies in your stomach!

Tell you the truth this place can be a little confusing, Particularly in the beginning. The book info, does kind of say ( The WE book community ) First thing any-one wants to do is jump in. Well Jumping in head first, has gained the most regret.  Not to mention the Title, ( JUST WRITE ) Thought it may have been an audition?? LOL!  First place you went after joining, Forums 4 rules. Or projects, for post.

if this is read... please give feedback!!  i could really do wiith honest criticsm.

Why is everyone writing on the feedback section? am i missing something here guys?

She walked forward, not faltering when something behind her slammed, soon she would hear nothing, soon she would be safe from the world, soon she would be...

Although I don’t read Tolstoy, familiar with him, “yes.”
In how we lose forever, in this game of the, “retrospect”.

High school was a gas, of what I could recall.
Although I hit the landing, I didn’t sense a fall.

With water of uncertainty, murky are there depth.
The diving in head first, has gained the most regret.

A back flip might seem risky, a cavalier event.
Step, a hop, and twist, the plan quit simple,...yet?

You don’t feel it come-in, aired go rushing by.
It’s all fun at first, of course, you never cried.

Back there I don’t remember, back there I can’t forget.
Was it graceful, hell no! No doubt. Dumb luck, I guess?

Holly Crap, 1100 like objects. Life in 1 word. Repost,...Repost people.

Here I sit, it's dark, I'm Bitter.
In the limed light, I sit and Twitter.

Three hundred friends I had tonight.
Until one turned, and said goodnight.

I sit alone here, at my bit.
I sit alone here, as I Twit.

Don't know what this is all about.???

Saturnalias of Eden  

                                  

          

 

The dying man weeps in his own deathly and silenced tongue

His utterances fade from his own control and he weeps from his crumbling rung

 

Deep inside he wells

His own bravado shatters and he swells

 

Toward his demise he creeps knowingly

Never could he have seen

That his hands would worship his own melancholy

 

A superfluous trinket is a repercussion of the slowly falling darts

As man wears it upon him as a prize, deafening his tinny looking hearts

 

“I could never have seen this coming,” he says

And although I believe him I cannot suppress a memory from Eden’s salty shower glens

 

The egotistical fall in a madrigal, or a miniaturized symphony, perhaps

But never will man, entirely cease to deny

 

His Existence

 

The Blood laps upon my brow as I digress

Never could the dying man slumber, as his choking fist’s loving caress

 

Pride and Glory, as it came to be

Disappeared into preached exaltations mourning for the messiah they seek to flee

 

From the depths and skies, He will come, they said

What Now, I ask, what are your latest biped

 

Schemes to honor the indefatigable auras of Domino

Wept as their cold foundations throttled forth

Only to dissipate gently into the great tremolo

 

Which oozes the acrid and blanched dilute of catastrophe

I cannot tell, only the pale mist which purifies, howls megalomaniacally

 

I walk amongst those who could have been my enemies

Though naught matters now

When all that remains are waves of plundering dysenteries

 

The forestalled apparitions which haunted the prophets’ minds

Writhe in their egregious fury as my people walk along those long forgotten lines

 

Which promised revelation in the arms of discovery

Now I lay limp before the blooming limbs of treachery

 

A love is what solidifies our insanity in the face of a greater foe, I preach

But what is this indifference whose wispy tentacles extend beyond my mutilated reach

 

As with every maelstrom, there comes the burning light

The gift of fleeting accompaniment accompanies the grasp of every plight

 

The thunderheads rear once more tonight

As identical forces will be harnessed in their every need and right

 

A pure and divine anger courses through our souls upon the tip of the dagger

As we lay those souls to rest whom we shall guide through the fiery stagger

 

Infectiously bleeding its crimson gurgle

Whose limp, immovable gods may not ponder their long forgotten nergal

 

The dark epicenter which lies within the hearts of theirs and ours

Has melded into one

As we suffer their true and frugal powers

 

When the nights had become ours

And the days, a mantra of a thousand wrenching devours

 

We Succumbed

 

To the awe of a divine force inflicted

From the core of a newly adopted sanity

Whose axioms were left to be afflicted

 

Though sorrow filled no hearts of ours

Only the red hot catacombs of instinct

Were left to ravage the tattered shrapnel of ironic towers

 

Shimmering in the distance lay the lake

From whose depths we rose joyous to be

Sanctified, only to break

 

Once more, the arsenic swept

Sinking within the depths of Mind and Soul

As our lake wept

 

For our return its cries plunged the dense air

Into a cacophonous melody which reached into our deepest gone lair

Harmonizing till its roaring cataclysmic finish

Empathizing in a strange tongue, perhaps Yiddish

 

Pallid hues of despair dissipated

And we heaved our shivering masses

From the entrenched and excruciated

 

An undying specter flourished stylishly within the blood drenched havens

Whilst its arrogance and perfidy, was mocked by the ever howling ravens

 

We had slumbered long and well

Before death knocked on our door and our spirits fell

 

Our Passions remained, though unkempt

Even as our demise was perched before us seeking

A meal worthy and well spent

 

The stroke of dawn magnificently approached our common predicament

And pondered the forlorn question as if considering to shred a frostbitten ligament

 

The clammy lips of extermination touched us and shortly departed

In an obvious attempt to mask a bloodlust which was so sorely wanted

 

Infernos of silky damasks speechlessly carved our imminent path to Enlightenment

When we refused and shattered apart

Protesting the might of the eminent establishment

 

My revived corpse crawled north as my companions ventured west

Only to come across the unthinking path

Of human plight, and we laid on the lotus crest

 

Which plunged our might into the lascivious domain of Submission

And we lay once more amongst those mistresses who had relinquished our souls

And had come once again

To emanate slyly, their uninterruptible cast of intermission

 

The power of dominance was merely a chore now

We were only blessed to escape the repercussion of their final departing bow

 

Aboard the rusty caravan we voyaged endlessly

Until our fate was painted by Humanity almost restlessly

 

Hoarding masses of unadulterated magnanimity lay across

The paths which I had pleasured my soul in weeping moss

 

Jaundiced flesh crept across the mourning sky

When expectations were destined to writhe and deny

 

Hallows erupted from within the confines of the almighty new souls

When they came there was nothing, left of our weathered soles

 

Dawns and dusks came as they fell

When the cackling bird sang

Shriek as you wish, there is none to tell

 

The directive and calculating harnessed the reins once more

And we lay listless, pondering the depth of the deathly silence which had tore

 

Heroes die without haste, they say

Although none may seek to deny, their hollow pschents may

 

The infralittoral laps upon my brow

As my drown is muffled, slaughtering my involuntary vow

 

The gyrfalcon pecks upon the intravenous flesh

When the key is found, dissipating the pulsating mesh

 

We stand proud on the sand as we wait

Though our merciless brains ache for the chance to hush a sinewy gait

 

The placid Messiah arrives and rests, shivering in drench

Where no one sees him but the fellows of his own trench

 

Now, the rhetoric fear emanates without question

Only the ghastly consequence remains, not the intention

 

The Raven, The Falcon, And The Cackling Bird all sang

Come now, the fruit of blood awaits you in Auld Lang

 

The metaphor flashes disconnected to the heart

As my limb reached down into the cool mist, bitter and tart

 

Serenity floods the islands with fire

And mourning birds sing, as I cackle with a broken lyre

 

Flesh and Bone strain to its nearest blood

With intimate success, when the man became one with his own mud

 

The angelic mists flutter

And I need to cry, but seem to stutter

When my soul broke his

Leaving him limp, as I can only mutter

 

The incessant consolation deprived from a labyrinth

Lies cold and insipid, whilst the heart

Reminisces the deafening pulse

Of an empowering electrosynth

 

Laughter echoes in myriad arcs

Straining through the fibers

Of many failed starts

 

A cosmic incident perhaps, amputates my grip upon surreality

As a howl pierces, swelling in its atonality

 

The sun gazes questionably

When a star razes its path quite impeccably

 

A melancholy tremor quivers, welling in urgent need

While I ruminate the reverberation blooming within the vile seed

 

The saturnalias plead silky, tranquil and soft

As Apollo weeps into a million suns, shattering his coalescing loft

this is a fat book

5 9 88
I have a B.A. honours
and a general doctorate
it’s the same one as my mothers and
the same as my best mate
I studied briefly for it
in the main I qualified
in theory not in practise
it was on the job applied
I can safely say it’s varied
with a host of ‘ologies
psychology, biology and first aid
to fight disease
I’m qualified to lecture
to assist and to advise
I’m a graduate for Bluffing
but still training to be wise
I can be the household spokesman
and a boxing referee
I can solve a business problem
whilst I cook the evening tea
I can keep four people’s diaries
I’m a hostess and a cook
I’ve studied food and diet
but accounts I never took
I’m a cleaner and a teacher
and I’m a gardener you know
I plant the veg and flowers
I can hoe and I can mow
I can nurse and I can counsel
interpret dreams and way lay fears
I can comfort battered ego’s
I wipe away sad tears
I earn a business income
and I run a charity
I campaign for unpaid workers
and the money comes to me
to explain the situation
I’m a mother, wife and char
and I’m qualified to satisfy
just like my dear Mama…………..



5 9 88
I have a B.A. honours
and a general doctorate
it’s the same one as my mothers and
the same as my best mate
I studied briefly for it
in the main I qualified
in theory not in practise
it was on the job applied
I can safely say it’s varied
with a host of ‘ologies
psychology, biology and first aid
to fight disease
I’m qualified to lecture
to assist and to advise
I’m a graduate for Bluffing
but still training to be wise
I can be the household spokesman
and a boxing referee
I can solve a business problem
whilst I cook the evening tea
I can keep four people’s diaries
I’m a hostess and a cook
I’ve studied food and diet
but accounts I never took
I’m a cleaner and a teacher
and I’m a gardener you know
I plant the veg and flowers
I can hoe and I can mow
I can nurse and I can counsel
interpret dreams and way lay fears
I can comfort battered ego’s
I wipe away sad tears
I earn a business income
and I run a charity
I campaign for unpaid workers
and the money comes to me
                to explain the situation
I’m a mother, wife and char
and I’m qualified to satisfy
just like my dear Mama…………..


5 9 88
I have a B.A. honours
and a general doctorate
it’s the same one as my mothers and
the same as my best mate
I studied briefly for it
in the main I qualified
in theory not in practise
it was on the job applied
I can safely say it’s varied
with a host of ‘ologies
psychology, biology and first aid
to fight disease
I’m qualified to lecture
to assist and to advise
I’m a graduate for Bluffing
but still training to be wise
I can be the household spokesman
and a boxing referee
I can solve a business problem
whilst I cook the evening tea
I can keep four people’s diaries
I’m a hostess and a cook
I’ve studied food and diet
but accounts I never took
I’m a cleaner and a teacher
and I’m a gardener you know
I plant the veg and flowers
I can hoe and I can mow
I can nurse and I can counsel
interpret dreams and way lay fears
I can comfort battered ego’s
I wipe away sad tears
I earn a business income
and I run a charity
I campaign for unpaid workers
and the money comes to me
                to explain the situation
I’m a mother, wife and char
and I’m qualified to satisfy
just like my dear Mama…………..

Kites

     by Poe Hawthorne

I've never been any good
at flying kites.
Maybe you can tell.

But there's the smallest dusty love
(never quite grounded)
that believes
I only need a place where
the wind is as soft and as even
as your  breath on my pillow.

I can fly any kite without wind.
But I am scared
I'll let the towering
spruce grasp the fragile
flying flesh
of the skeletal frame

Still I wish you
would free the string
from that spool (if only so we might see
that kites fly).

           The Kiss
        
                      by Poe Hawthorne

Satan kissed her in a dream
and it was unholy in its intent.

His lips were cold and unyielding
With marble smoothness, ice in their tone.

It seemed so simple to her then
and she might have followed
dawn by that kiss. its perversion of desire.

Yet something made him vanish
leaving spectral images of demons dancing
when the morning cast its shadow.

She has almost forgotten his visit
but never the depths of his dark kiss.

Hi well done, good piece of work.  Good Structure, nice tone
shame about the team ........
good presentation

Instead Of is the sweetest poem ever...

"Star" Wars; Return of the Geordie

------------------------------

A long time to go, in this galaxy..

4 years after the dramatic attack on the Match of the Day studio (which threatened to show unrelenting bias to the top 4 and gradually work down the minutes, until all other game highlights consisted of merely goals and the kick-off), Will Shearer has returned home to ThaToonScene, in an attempt to rescue his friend Fab Colo from the clutches of the vile gangster, Ashley the Hutt.
Elsewhere in the country, the BBC has secretly begun work on a new MOD studio, even more powerful and less likely to show even the kick-off in top-4-less games than the last.
On completion, this studio will spell certain doom for those unable to afford sky in the current recession and the small band of rebels vying to restore impartiality to all football highlight programmes.

--

The cloaked figure took down his hood, “ahm Will Shearer, a Geordie Knight and ahm heor te negotiate the release of Fab Colo and my other friends”.

Ashley the Hutt, accompanied by the high-pitched tittering of his annoying side-kick(you so know where this is going) Dennis Wise, let loose a low, thunderous belt of laughter, before pointing to a wall-hanging bulging with the outline of Fab(with the title above simply reading “He moves faster now than he ever did”) and ordering the arrest of the young Geordie.

A few hours later, a now defrosted(but still static) Fab Colo, together with his faithful friend(a hairy girl from Sunderland, often called by her native indian name of "chews-back-hair", who every so often managed to let out a faint roar to show she hadn’t choked on her own moustache) and Will, were sitting just above the Newcastle United training pitch(a well known death-trap) in Ashley the Hutt’s 4 X 4, in preamble to execution, when another car, piloted by either Ant or Dec, arrived at the scene and a massive battle erupted, causing irreparable damage to said 4 X 4, the self-destruction of Dennis Wise and the escape of our heroes.

On return to an undisclosed location, the trio learn of the BBC’s plot to build a new studio which will give the evil Emperor Linekar supreme power over the country. Fab is chosen as head of a team to infiltrate and destroy one of the main BBC broadcasting towers , in order to allow another band of rebels to complete the destruction of the studio from within.

Though he travelled with his friends, Will fears that his father-turned-bad-guy, Darth Good-Analysis-E-Vader(who had developed a bad case of asthma due to too many trips to Smoggieland(I mean Teeside)), would sense his presence and endanger the mission and thus sets off to the Match of the Day studio, with intentions of bringing his father back to the Black and White(+ completing the prophecy Will had been told about by his ghostly mentor, Onli Wan keegan, “Lead us to champions league and domestic glory he will“).

In the studio, the Emperor Linekar reveals that Will’s friends are walking into a trap that he himself had set.
Fab and his team are indeed captured at the broadcasting tower, but following a surprise counter-attack by, what most believe to be an inferior but somehow adorable population, known as the Channel 5 sports crew, the rebels strike back.

Meanwhile, the gang of rebels charged with destroying the studio arrive at BBC headquarters to find the lights still on and the show still broadcasting, with a vicious slanging match with BBC producers ensuing.

With the female dog fight visible from studio, the Emperor tempts Will to give in and join him on the MOD sofa.

A table-football game erupts between Will(denoted England) and Darth Good-Analysis-E-Vader(Cameroon), during which Darth discovers Will has two sisters, whom he says would turn to the BBC if Will didn’t, forcing Will, in a sudden burst of rage, to stop his pretty possession football and adopt a more direct tactic, which led to an open spell, with many chances for both sides and several great saves from England’s number 1. However, after a sweeping move from left to right, with Cameroon’s goal at his mercy, Will spares his father and resists the Emperor’s goading, declaring himself a Geordie who would never turn.

Angered by Will’s continued defiance, the Emperor pushes a weakened Darth Good-Analysis-E-Vader from the table and takes the handles, his long ball style evading England’s midfield and causing confusion in the defence. Leaking goals and looking down and out, Will’s agonized pleas for help stir the former Geordie hero, Darth, to repent and he throws the Emperor from the window, allowing Will to make up the score-line and win the game(for bragging rights).
Fab and his hairy friend destroy the tower, allowing for the destruction of the MOD studio following Will and Alan’s escape.

There is joy throughout the country, as a new, unbiased highlights programme is launched and, after a brief stint in jail for murder, Alan Shearer returns to Newcastle United as manager and completes the prophecy, with his son the new, talismanic striker.

great wrok my friend will look for you at vote god bless mike

Beyond success is where my words rest easy
Because the truth never left me
This is where we say like now not eventually
The present moment is what we now reside in
I'm here now don't worry where I've been

Pushing
It so further
Back,
That it's
No longer there
When you reach
For it
Once more.

Reflection:

She stands in the mirror picking out her imperfections.
She flinches at her own reflection

Everywhere she goes the past is in her face.
She stumbles and falls, she cant keep the pace.

Shes being rediculed for everything she does.
Her escape is to stay in a slicing fuzz.

Shes falling in love with a man that will never be hers to keep.
When shes alone she crumbles into a razor torn heap.

She sees no way out,will she find her way out?,maybe never.
So shes forced to live this life of pain forever.

Virginia Beach is not tha nice,
every night there is another fight,
between us.

I guess I just took too long,
to learn the words to the same old song,
we keep singing.

Life is short I can't believe how fast my life is passing
Loves  lost and loves found,life is like a Merrygoround,
Lots of children I have had, they drive me  mad, conpletely in sane but I Love them dearly I shouldn't conplane.     
Their my Angel always there 4 each other I'm so proud I am their mother.

A place where we could run amuck
seems fine from where we are
But I have run a muck and its not easy
inventory control in a muck is a nightmare
Muck customers never know what they want
and what do you call it - Mucks r Us?
And cleaning up? Don't get me started
There's always such a budget fuss

With everything this perfect, I'm just waiting for the pain.
I feel like it is all just building up, only to just be taken away.
Once you rise to the top the only place left to go is down.
Right now it's birds and butterflies, but I can almost hear the crashing sound.
This light is so wonderful, but It makes a sharp contrast.
As the light gets brighter the shadows grow, thus I'm haunted by my past.
So now I'm headed towards a tunnel wondering how long this light will last.
But still the sky is getting darker and it seems night is coming fast.

When I lift my face and smile
Another will drag theres and frown
Happiness only lasts for a while
It will run and hide when you are down
I discovered that when you frown
Cause yourself to give something away
Another will wear the crown
And be happy for that day.
So the ongoing question may be
Do I frown or do I smile?
Do I fly or set another free?
Do I walk a million miles
Just to see another smile?

Take me somewhere new
Somewhere  where it is only just me and you
Somewhere where these rhymes are actually good and not so crude
A place where we could simply run a muck
A place where there are no shackles to make us feel stuck
A place where none could interrupt
A place where we could just forever... blush
However
This place to me doesn't seem so far away
In fact
In my eyes, I see this place today
I see dragons, horses and dogs in play
Yet, this is a fantasy
My fantasy for you
I hope that maybe one day for you it will come true
I hope that maybe one day you will be rid of blue
And maybe one day, it will be all just about you
Ah yes, just you and me
Unwinding under a tree
Feeling free
embracing the breeze
as it cools my feet
In the distance; the Beach
Everything seems so sweet
but what makes it Perfect
is that you are there right beside me

I like these poems they are so true!

Love & Hate

Woman
(reads a letter):
                     Love cannot be defined.
        Love is a state of mind
        That only the bold and willing can understand.

        Not God himself could speak of love
        In such a truer fashion.

Man:        You are blinded by dreams.
        Love is nothing but God for the weak.
        Love is a poison for the ignorant.

Woman:        You speak of something you know nothing about!
        If love is a poison then give me a pint,
        For I would rather love a moment
        Than live for eternity.

Man:        You pierce the skin of rationality
        Like an arrow through a heart.
        You give up on life and use love as the excuse?
        Love is ambiguous! Where does it begin?
        And where does it end?

Woman:        Love is life! It’s as he says
        A life without love
        Is no life at all.
        Love is faith, love is belief.
        It starts in the heart,
        And it never ends.

Man:        Your ignorance pains me.
        You speak of love
        Like a priest speaks of god –
        There is no proof!

Woman:        Proof?
        Proof is written throughout history.
        Wars have been fought out of love –
        Love for one’s country, love for one’s religion.
        What of a mother’s love for her child?
        Is that not love?

Man:        I speak not of maternal instinct
        Or patriotism.
        I speak of you romantic ideals,
                     Your Prince Charming.
        Where is his horse and sword?
        You say I know nothing of love
        And what of you?
        Are you so well educated?

Woman:        Love is not about education,
        Or about Prince Charming.
        Love is about faith.
        Not faith in God,
        Faith in life,
        And a belief that in life comes happiness.
        What could bring more joy in life
        Than the ecstasy of love?

Man:        I wash my hands of you.
        You spend your days dreaming of love
        Yet you have experienced none!
        Life can offer success, accomplishment,
                      Satisfaction.
        You will waste your life on nothing
        But a dream, a belief, never to be realised.

Woman:        And I pray to never surface
        From that dream.
        For your life is full of success and satisfaction,
        But where is your happiness?
        Where is your heart?
        For all it’s worth,
        It may be sold to the devil.

Man:        My heart contorts
        By that knife you wield.
        What creature can speak of love,
        But speak with such hate?
       
        We are done.
(exits)

The words before him swept across the page:

Jason,

He asked me to marry him and so I knew it was either say yes or lose him.  I am so sorry things had to turn out this way.  I honestly do love you though, never forget that.  Please don’t forget me.  If you had only said how you felt sooner or if I had said what I felt for you sooner… But things never seem to work out the way you imagine do they? Maybe in another life, or another time we can meet again and things will turn out differently.
I am so sorry,
,
Jennifer
 
It looks like she finally made her decision.  Nine months of waiting, wishing, hoping, and believing that he had the slightest chance of having her. Nine months.  Nine months of his life that he could never get back.  He should have known, he should have realized that because he started dating her after him that this is what would happen.  So what if he was the other guy?  He had liked her for two God damned years before this guy ever came along and now it’s too late. 
What is this, this hurt, this throbbing in his chest?  The feeling of despair closing in on the crumbling organ that once pumped him with life.  Perhaps if he wished for death long enough and hard enough he could miraculously die of a brain aneurism or something.  At least then this shit feeling inside of him would subside.  He walked into this knowing she had a boyfriend, which should make him the bad guy right?  Wrong.  She had a choice to pursue him and she did.  They were both to blame.
As he scanned the hall closet for a box of razor blades he recalled what a wonderful family he had and the heartache he would cause by leaving them this way.  It might seem worse like this but in the end I’ll be doing them a favor.  When he found the box he walked to the bathroom.  Tears cascaded down his cheeks and the taste of salt crept into his mouth.  He began to undress, first removing his shoes and socks, then his jeans, followed by his shirt.  He decided that he should keep his underwear on so that when they found him he wouldn’t be naked.   
He turned the knob and ceremoniously anticipated the bliss of nothingness awaiting him.  Better make it nice and hot so that it’s quicker. As the steam arouse from the bottom of the tub he felt a pang of thirst in his mouth and down his throat.  Suddenly a craving for orange juice consumed him.  This can wait for a few minutes I suppose.  He walked to the kitchen and poured the liquid, all the while savoring its sweet and tangy flavor.
He could distinctly recall the first time that he saw her years ago.  Gliding down the stairs as if she owned them, a feminine figure gracefully descending to the lobby in which he stood.  Her waist length blonde hair swaying to-and–fro and the enticing blue-grey orbs that called to him as they undoubtedly had to countless other men.  Her face was a perpetual smile, a present waiting to be opened.  Luscious lips within which there were rows of perfectly white teeth.  The epitome of physical perfection, in his eyes anyway. 
He had every opportunity to make the first move and yet he could not.  Her face and figure were so intimidating and beautiful that he was reluctant even to look away.  He found himself staring at her, unable to break his gaze and he was frozen until she approached him. 
As he slurped his cup of pulpy goodness he reflected on the awesomeness of orange juice.  Now I must finish what was started.  He placed the glass in the sink and filled it with water so that his mother wouldn’t have to scrub to remove hardened orange juice from the bottom of it after they find his body.  He slowly made his way back to the bathroom and while he did so he noticed that he had left the water running and the entire hallway was covered in wetness.
He hurried to turn the knob but while doing so he noticed that the water that had spilled was searing hot.  He hopped from foot to foot and as he did he lost his balance.  The world quickly swirled past and he could only feel the crack of his head on what must have been the ceramic sink.  Blackness quickly encompassed his surroundings and the spinning and swirling continued to rage on…

Instead…..




Instead of running
I decided to fly

Instead of winning
I wanted to crush

Instead of love
I desired beauty

Instead of support
I commanded slaves

Instead of friends
I liked flatterers

Instead of goodwill
I dreamt fame

Instead of respect
I earned fear

Instead of life
I breathed doom…..

I used to think that  life was forever until one day I found out that was not the case and since then I have been running trying to catch up with time and lost time because lost time can never be recovered, but here we all thought, we were all forever, until one day by the grace of god or fate, life snatches us away and we know not who we are, where we go nor where we came from, but such is life, better off living it day by day not taking advantage of what life has to offer but of appreciating every god given day as if it were the last day on earth, because so it shall one day be for all of us and its not use fretting about getting old or how it used to be or what lies up ahead because we are what we eat and who we are depends on who we were raised to be.

Its not easy accepting the realities of life but when we do, we will all be so much happier for understanding the life is but a passing thing and we pass through life taking nothing from the material world, yet some people think, they are taking their belongings to the other side of the world, which is not the case at all but try to make a rich man understand, and it was never an easy thing to do so.

My experiences with life have taught me that in the end its about surviving at whatever cost and of course, not everybody knows what it means to starve or go hungry to bed, but to those of us who do know the meaning of poverty, this economy does not scare us, does it? does it scare you to think that instead of recession we are really in a modern day depression?

How to survive in a depression when unemployment is rising by the day can become a hard burden on some people but to those of us who were born into poverty, the depression or the recession, what ever you want to call it, it does not harm us as it harms those used to living it up on credit cards, because come to think of it, we have become a country who has depended on credit and almost everything in our country is bought on credit and now, the result of this bad habit is coming to light, too bad for some of those people, raised on credit so to speak.

The year is 2009 and the month is February and already thousands of people have lost their jobs, where even though President Obama would like to help the country, as usual the partisanship in Congress almost always gets in the way and nothing gets accomplished due to outdated political vendettas at play, as the recent situation where the Democratic Party had to do away with much needed education funds in the stimulus package to satisfy the gop demands on the stimulus package where once again the gop has shown its true colors of never really every giving a damn for some better education for everyone, which is why they will no longer be in the white house for a long long time.

I felt like writing tonight because my concerns over the state of the economy have reached a concerning level and as a taxpayer I am really hoping the gop gets it together instead of constantly causing the friction they have always used to divide the country, because its now or never and unless a stimulus package as President Obama promised, gets underway, I really do not see an end to the depression and recession our country is experiencing, but I have hope in the Obama / Biden Presidency.

My soul is tortured as I attempt to escape this place
This constant, haunting misery of visions of your face.
My thoughts are inundated with unrealistic illusions,
Repeatedly questioning past and present conclusions.
My breath is cut short in an attempt to relieve my soul,
To rid you from my thoughts is my one and only goal.
My torment is recessive, not evident at all;
But the image of your face just causes me to fall.
The inevitable desire of having you be here,
Has become my secret torture because even your voice I will not hear.
Pathetic little notes slightly express my long pain,
While these quiet, unshed tears will soon drive me insane.
I feel trapped in my own heart because I cannot let you out,
The desire for closure is all I think about.
You have robbed me of my dignity,
That I so strongly withheld,
Remembering your love has not allowed me to propel.
I hate you for this prison that I live, with no escape,
You don’t respect my sanity, your face is mental rape.
You’re locked inside my mind, your presence is not desired
Your departure from my thoughts, is strongly required.
You have held me hostage inside my own heart,
I would like to break away from you
And tear my thoughts apart...

BEWARE THE SYMBOLS!
All human thought is bound up in symbols.  We assign symbols to sounds because we think in pictures and not sounds or words. 
Those symbols combine to create words, those words combine to create sentences and those sentences combine to create ideas, philosophies, beliefs, dogmas.   In so doing we bring into our sphere of knowledge that was hitherto unknown.
We learn through symbols.  It is our most important invention.

If we lack the symbol we then lack the word, the sentence, the idea and thus the ability to know what is unknown.  Creating a new symbol opens a new universe of possibilities to us. 

Think on this for a heart beat or two.

What is life, God, the universe and death without the image the symbols combined into words conjure in out heads?

What are we not aware of? 

What can we not see?  What exists in parallel to us but we cannot even contemplate? 

We need to open our senses from the imprisonment of our limited symbolic language.

ARCHEYPE © 2009 Garalt Canton

Ruined Gold
By:Courtney Walker

She use to shine but now she is very dull.It all started when she was 13years old.She had big dreams of leaving her small town for California but it never happen because of tragic.At the age of 14 she was molested she never said who it was.When she was 16 she was very lost and decided to test out drugs.They made her feel found but little did she know thats when she was most lost. She use to be Gold now she's ruined.Speak up!We are all GOLD

Forgettable People
By: Benjamin Mount
Characters:
Eric……………….A young boy
Mr. Swardson…...Eric’s father
Mrs. Swardson….Eric’s mother
Mrs. Reynolds…..Eric’s history teacher
Thomas………….A drug dealer
Eugene…………..A homeless man
         (Mr. And Mrs. Swardson are sitting in their living room)
Mr. Swardson
        That boy had better get here soon! 
Mrs. Swardson
        Calm down.  I’m sure he has a good reason for being late.
Mr. Swardson
        He’d better.
(The front door suddenly swings open. 
Eric walks in)
Eric
        Sorry I’m late dad.  I was….
Mr. Swardson
        Eric, you’re twelve minutes late!  It’s almost 5:30!
Eric
        I’m sorry, I…
Mr. Swardson
        Where were you?
Eric
        Well I was on my way home…..when some guy tried to sell me….marijuana.
Mr. Swardson
        What!
Eric
        I tried to turn him down, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.
Mr. Swardson
        What happened?
Eric
        I finally got away from him when I told him I had no money.  Then I came straight home.
Mr. Swardson
        Hmm…..well, okay, but get upstairs now and get your homework done so I can double check it before dinner.
Eric
        Yes dad.
(Eric leaves. 
Mr. Swardson sits down next to Mrs. Swardson)
Mr. Swardson
        I swear, sometimes, I just don’t know about that boy.  I think he might be lying.

Mrs. Swardson
        Just don’t give up on him dear.  I trust him.
(The next day. 
Eric is in class)
Mrs. Reynolds
        So class, the roaring 20’s occurred in what decade….anybody?
Eric
        (to himself)  What, seriously?  She’s been drinking again, hasn’t she?  What kind of school would allow her to teach?  (looks outside)I’m so bored, and this class is pointless.  I know more about history than she does.   How much longer am I in here?  30 minutes!
Teacher
        Eric? 
Eric
        Huh, what?
Mrs. Reynolds
        Okay, someone whose been paying attention, please?  Yes the thirties is correct?  I mean, what?  Wait.  No.  Wait.
Eric
        (to himself)How can she be a teacher?  She doesn’t know anything.  It’s like they don’t care if we get an education or not.  How long has it been since I checked the clock?  30 seconds!  I just want to get out of here….
(The fire alarm suddenly goes off)
Mrs. Reynolds
        Goddamn it .  Okay class line up outside, and get ready to follow me.(She quickly closes and locks her desk to hide a bottle of vodka.)
Eric
        Nows my chance. 
(He quickly sneaks towards the exit while Mrs. Reynolds stumbles out of the classroom.  After making it past the school’s fence he is stopped by a man hidden in an alley)
Thomas
        Hey, Kid!  Want some pot?
Eric
        (to himself )Oh man, it’s Thomas.  (out loud) Hey Thomas.  What’s going on?
Thomas
        Not much man, where you headed?
Eric
        Nowhere.
Thomas
        I know the feeling.  (pauses) Wanna get high?
Eric
        What do you have?
Thomas
        Good weed.

Eric
        Sweet.


(later we find Thomas and Eric sitting at a small table in a run down house filled with smoke)
Thomas
        So, you like the fire alarm thing?
Eric
        That was you?  Thanks.
Thomas
        No problem.  So I have another idea for you.
Eric
        Oh yeah.
Thomas
        Yeah man.  So I have a new idea for a band I’m gonna start.  And guess who I want to have make it’s official poster on Myspace.
Eric
        Another band huh.  I don’t know man, my dad found the last poster I made for you.  He thought evil spirits had possessed me or something.
Thomas
        Yeah but this time it’s different.  It’s not like my old bands.  Im going in a completely different direction from Limbless Cadaver or even when I did Beheading the Homeless.
Eric
        Really it’s better than those.
 Thomas
        Hell yeah.  The band’s name is M.I.L.F. Killer.
Eric
        M.I.L.F. Killer, huh.  Okay.  What do you want me to draw?
Thomas
        Okay, so I want a picture of this hot M.I.L.F. being atabbed to death by the Jack in the Box guy.  With, like, Zombie Vietcong killing other M.I.L.F.s in the background.
Eric
        Alright.  I guess I could do that.
Thomas
        So, you like it?
Eric
        Yeah man, sounds cool.  Oh shit!  What time is it?
Thomas
        Uh, like 5:42.
Eric
        FUCK!  I gotta go man, thanks for the weed.  (runs out the door)
Thomas
        (yelling after Eric) So, yeah man.  Whenever you wanna get that picture to me.
( Eric is seen running on the sidewalk)
Eric
        (to himself) Fuck!  Shit.  I guess running won’t help me any at this point.  (he stops running and begins to walk)  God Thomas is dumb, I hate listening to his stupid ideas.  Shit!  My dads gonna kill me.  Why is he so fucking strict?  Does he think it’s healthy for me to do nothing but schoolwork all the time?  Goddamn, and art used to be my big escape from that, but now my dumb friends ruined that with their stupid ideas for what I should do with it.  Fuck Thomas.  He’ll never get a band going, and now he’s got a kid to support.  Fuck.  Everything just sucks in this town, if I’m not careful I’m gonna be stuck here too.  I know, I’ll run away.  Fuck going home, fuck school and fuck my dumb friends.  I’ll leave and make a new life for myself.  Yes, I’ll become famous and I’ll never have to see this town again. 
(he begins to look around, noticing that no one is there to see him.  He begins to sneak away, but then stops and notices a man laying in the gutter) 
Eric
        Hey man.  (nudges man) Are you okay?
Eugene
        (groans) Get away from me kid.  Don’t you have anywhere better to be?  I used to be like you.  Thought I was better than everybody else.
Eric
        What?
Eugene
        Yeah just wait till your parents aren’t there to help you!
(Eric is frightened by Eugene and begins to run away.
Eugene continues to talk to himself.)
        Yeah and this one time I had a squirrel for a friend.  We would have so many adventures out by the Taco Bell dumpster.  Mmm good eats. 
Eric
(begins talking to himself again)
No, I can’t do that to them.  My parents would just die if I did that, and Thomas is a lot of fun, plus he gives me free weed.  I guess school may be bullshit, but It is important to get my diploma.  Yeah, and Thomas will get a job somewhere.  I guess M.I.L.F. Killer isn’t the worst idea in the world, maybe this band will make it.  Whatever.  I’ll just go home now, face my dad.
(Eric walks into the front door of his house)
Mr. Swardson
        Eric, where were you?
Eric
        I was hanging out with some friends and I lost track of the time.
Mr. Swardson
        Well, okay son.
Eric
        I told you…...wait what?
Mr. Swardson
        It’s okay for you to be with your friends sometimes.
Eric
        Um, okay.  I don’t have any homework tonight, can I go back out?
Mr. Swardson
        Well, I don’t know.  Dinner’s almost ready and….
Mrs. Swardson
        Dear!
Mr. Swardson
        ...Uh yeah that’s fine son
Eric
        Um okay, bye then.(leaves)
Mrs. Swardson
        Thank you for letting him go dear
Mr. Swardson
        I don’t know why you want me to go so easy on him.
Mrs. Swardson
        Well I think he works hard enough that he deserves to have some fun once in a while.
Mr. Swardson
        I don’t know.  All I ever see him do is draw disgusting things and read comic books.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him really think something through.  Whens the last time I actually got to check his homework, huh?
Mrs. Swardson
        Well whatever I’m going to go have some dinner.
Mr. Swardson
        Alright, fine.  Let’s eat.
An End

I love doing this....it's kinda like a doodle, it give an insight to how you're feeling at the moment.  I be a frequent contributor to the post.  :D

~*~*The Holy demon *~*~
       Book One of the Rain Kuro Adventures
 
 
 
Rain Kuro, the main character of our story, is the person I’m here to tell you about. Rain’s main mission when she first left home was to find her place on the battlefield, but soon fate changed that. On her quest she met a boy named Dark, falling in love with him almost instantly although she didn’t realize it until he was snatched away from her. First, a little about her past her father left her to be raised by her brother and uncle when she was little to settle a score with an old foe.
 
In truth, Storm is Rain’s half brother. While his mother was a death god, her mother was a human with a pure heart and good at magic. Their powers are completely different from each other. They may look alike but while Storm has the power of a death god, Rain was unique. Rain is the one and only holy demon. In order to control all elementals though, something had to be sacrificed. Rain’s mother died soon after her birth and natuarally became an angel; after all, for a human to give birth to such a powerful being, and at that a demon it was going to be way too much for her to handle. Rain was raised well even without a mother though.
 
Storm and her uncle raised her well and taught her everything she needed to know- from controlling elements and wielding swords to mastering material arts and suppressing her inner demon. Like most demons Rain stopped aging about half way through puberty, at 16 years of age. In other words, Rain was twenty-six mentally and sixteen physically. Rain's modern day world, on a planet in a distant galaxy, seems to becoming to a sudden hault  now that her family is leaving her to fend for herself. So let us begin her story at the time she first left home.....

http://www.webook.com/project/The-Holy-Demon-Book-One-of-The-Rain-Kuro-Adventures

Sometimes when I see mustard I'll think that it's cheese, but only for a second. Then I'll wish that it was cheese because it comes out of the bottle just perfect. Like it's been melted to perfection, but it's not like steaming hot. Plus, cheese tastes better than mustard and could replace it wherever you use mustard.

I like mustard and cheese on my burgers. Plus, lettuce and pickles and onions and a tomato, throw some bacon on there and some mayo, and ketchup of course.

I don’t like people knowing how I take my burgers.

Akin to having your co-workers know whether you‘re persuaded to the left or to the right, when it comes to getting dressed in the mornings, having a whole takeaway “restaurant” know how you take your burger seems rather like a violation of privacy.

After enjoying an evening of drinks and jokes with some friends I could not fight the urge to get take-out. The siren call of greasy burgers laden with salad (lettuce to you and me) and cheese was something I couldn’t fight. Entering the only takeaway that remained open on this dreary Monday night I was confronted with a room full of people, headed with almost fanatical dedication by a crack team of baseball-cap wearing fast-food adventurers. After placing my order with one of these fast-food ninjas I took the last remaining seat and went about my waiting-for-an-order-routine. Seemingly every time I find myself waiting for something and or someone I sit there hands fidgeting, eyes darting scanning the room for anything of interest to read or simply sit and ponder on. A minute or so passes and I’m sat there watching two guys rearrange the posters on the wall so they can fit theirs on advertising a jungle night at a local club. Then I notice a noise, it’s repeated a few times and then intrigue takes over and I turn to look. There my gaze is met by Ming the Merciless head of the fast-food ninjas I can tell by his tone that I‘m being asked something, however what that was I had little to no idea. Hearing this the ninjas eyes all set on Ming. Aware of the deadly gaze looming down on him the leader rears his head and shouts, this time that little bit clearer, just clear enough for me to make out what I’m being asked.

“HA DU YU TAK YUR BAGGER?”

Given that he was basically screaming at me I had to reply with the exact way I take burgers. Utterly violating. Why not ask me when you take my order? Ask me when you take my order and then you won’t have to scream at me, write it down, have fun with it, whatever you need to do to give rest to that horrible noise and the personal invasion.

“Hey man, when you pee and you’re finishing up, how many times do you shake?”

“Oh I’ll just have a little bit of ketchup and some salad please…

… great now they all know how many times I shake.”

After a swift escape from the ninjas, fingers and toes in check I had a brisk walk home. The streets were animatedly frothing with potential foes and booby-traps, down alley-ways and possibly up trees. Gliding home swiftly I made it to the door, entered, grabbed a plate, went upstairs and unwrapped my delicious meal. And now I’m writing about it. What an astounding night. I’ll be needing to get out soon.

she lay in the snow and curls her hands against the cold
im thinking about brotherhood while hopelessness takes hold
because when i look out the window the sky is still grey

i let the doctor know im insane and she just wrote me a bill
says im right and writes me a prescription for a pill
but im still the criminal because i was hungry today

the man in the black suit still proclaims the end is near
as long as your just like him you have nothing to fear
if you'll only trust him he will show you the way

someone is taking all your cash and wraps you in chains
binding you to something not even he can explain
but you've been told this is freedom every day

soon you will wake up and realize it at last
anything you can remember is just a cry in the past
there's no point in trying is all we have left to say

crashing dreams and haunting realities surrounding
a painful overboard endless series of drownings
desires and emotions twisting our minds into action

if in the morning you are no longer you
don't let them put a price tag on that person too
because everything we have was given an attraction

if words never lost their meaning i'd offer you my trust
instead we blame each other's faults on the other's lust
someone will always find unwanted satisfaction

One noise
Suddenly breaks
And makes the wind
carries his notes to me

The song of my heart
is playing along with his
What a wonderful feeling
this is...

A sudden relief
My heart took
washing away the pain
with the beautiful melody

The notes that the wind carries
Tenderly caress my skin
Curing wounds
Healing me

A melody of love
a new intrigating passion
a complex amount of sensations
a healing and renewing hope

My heart enjoys it
and sings along
a small heal for my lost dream
a source of happiness

Make me fly
Let my issues on the earth lie
Heal my heart
Perfection is what I feel

An irrational source of happiness
I found listening to your song
What an amazing feeling
Beauty is all I can see now.

My own personal medication
This song is
Let it play forever
I'd gladly sang for eternity.

Why would somebody write something in all capital letters?  It may grab attention, but only long enough for somebody to realize that if they read any further, a headache will set in. 

Why do people name their children Ben?  I have met many Bens in my life, and nine out of ten times I would have been better off without them ever crossing paths with me.  Is that just me?

Why do people care so much about what others think?  Your life is about you, so live it that way.  Courtesy is one thing, but when it turns from taking daily showers to changing the way you live you are compromising who you truly are. 

Why do people preach about things that they clearly don't understand?  Opposing gay marriage isn't always ignorance.  Advocating abortion isn't always ignorance.  People should learn about why they believe what they do, and why others oppose it.

Why do we sit and watch, read, and listen to other peoples' creativity and not consider that there are people who would love to experience our creativity?

Why?

Nobody is better than me in any way, they might have different abilities and skills than me. But yet you see the light and darkness and if you look into the light down the long skinny thousand mile long tunnel you might find that no one is better than me or better than you.
It is real displeasing for people to think they are gods gift, but yet everyone on this planet from Obama To Clinton are equal in human and man kind.

YOUVE MADE ME A BETTER PERSON
I LOOK AT YOU AND SEE AN ANGELIC SPIRIT
I TOUCH YOUR HAND AND FEEL INNER PEACE
IVE TAKEN A LITTLE PEACE OF YOU FOR ME
YOU'VE MADE ME MATURE IN WAYS UNIMAGINABLE
YOU TOUCH MY SOUL
WHEN WE'RE APART IT FEELS LIKE AN ETERNITY
WE WERE MADE FOR EACHOTHER INSIDE AND OUT
YOUR PASSION AND MY DESIRE
YOUR HEART TALKS TO ME EVER SO GENTLY
I'VE DISCOVERED WE ARE ONE
THE LOVE WE SHARE UNLIKE ANY OTHER
YOU GIVE MY BODY SENSATIONAL CHILLS
I QUIVER AT THE THOUGHT OF OUR BODIES INTERTWINED
I AM HEAD OVER HILLS FOR YOU
THE PERSON YOU ARE HAS GIVEN ME JOY
YOU'VE TAKEN ME TO HIGHER HEIGHTS
YOU ARE MY FOUNDATION AND MY WORLD

i met my dear husband on the internet back in 1997 . We met 6 weeks later and started a journey into the unknown of a relationship based purely on love..i had four years to be with man who loved dearly and in 2001 he died..i would love to tell you all what it is like meeting a man when you only knew him for 6 weeks..we married in 1997 when he swept me off to san fransisco where we married infront of his friends and children..what an adventure i had ...

My adoptive mother told me about a girl from former  Yugoslavia.  A real dramatic one, which were her favourites.
The girl in question was saved by her remaining family who lived in Holland. And all the girl had, besides her aunt, was a picture of her family.
I assumed that, as usually, she wanted to hear my "oh what cruel", or something like that. But I was out of sympathy and responded: " Wow, I don't even have that"

why do we respond well to the command of "express yourself", when if a young child was asked to "express themself" on a piano , something that they had never seen before in their life, we would be inclined to "express" our emotions and shut the lid on his fingers?

Hidden in secrecy
Lost within lies
My Ebony Veil
Disguises my Eyes

Prowling the back streets of uncertainty
A Lover abandoned
Cheated comrade
A daughter disowned
Forlorn and Unknown

Stupid winter.

A child wanders the land as darkness falls. Moon light silvers her blond mane and casts dark shadow at her feet. Mama, are you there?

Milk, eggs, cereal, fabric softener, um.  Diapers, milk, fuck.  Diapers, macaroni, baked beans, kitty litter, tights, size 6t.  Gymnastics on Tuesday.  Power bars, margarine, kool-aid, track shoes... size ?.  Check that.  Um.  Look for a cool scarf.  Lunch-money.  Capri-Suns, bananas, bread.  Thanks, that was great.

why the fighting?
why the war?
cant we live in peace?
this is one earth that we all live on
and now we are distroing our home
why the guns ?
pointed at the innocent familys
do you enjoy killling people?
do you like to see people suffer
but these people are not afraid not afraid of you
you may have weapons but you are a fraid
afraid of children and rocks they throw at you
and that doesnt make you better thats makes you a cold heartless person who does not care or knows why they are killing these innocent people and enjoy it

She walked alone from midnight til three. The trees whispered hello and shouted goodbye to misery and despair. Why can't she see the moon? She alone can light up the night sky, but loneliness is its own punishment; serenity her own reward.

Interesting.
I like it,
I'm gonna go just write about just writing.
Always have to end a good feedback with a crummy joke.
=D

Choices
receive or leave
try or goodbye
give or get out
contribute or switch to mute

smile or face about and pout
laugh or depress with doubt
take advantage or take your ass away
choose not to lose

I put the start of a story that i'm writing, read?
I'd really appreciate it.