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FamilyDon’t rely on those
who love you
for everything about you
that is beautiful,
because that is not enough
to merit trust.
Instead, turn to those
who love you
despite everything about you
that is ugly
because when you let go,
they’ll still be holding on
and when you give them your back
they will still be there when you turn around,
ready to forgive
even before you’ve mustered the courage
Turn to those
who you call brother and sister
though you don’t share a lineage;
those you call mother, father, children
through a bond thicker than blood,
because though they did not give birth to you,
they give life to you.
It does not fool me –
a visceral understanding
allows me to see through this veneer:
of stones solidified by struggle,
and cemented into place by insecurity.
Painted with patterns of positivity,
it deceives passersby so well
they never once think
this façade is framed by a fortification,
and just beyond that barrier
wanders a soul, tangled
in a maze of its own making.
This fortress fabricated from fear
is possessed by the spirit who haunts its passages,
and makes of it a prison,
but this confinement was not crafted consciously.
Tattered by trauma, the body became a bastion,
walls within which the mind withdrew
to dwell, like a shadow in a shell.
And just as I see through the false front,
I hear the stifled screams beneath the laughter.
You’ve become raveled in your refuge,
and though I mean to rescue you,
I will not destroy your defenses,
steal from you this sanctuary
and leave you naked to unknown elements –
no, I know this stronghold is a shelter,
Late night, Early birdA caffeine induced Insomnia,
I forgot what morning feels like,
I'm the first customer.
A shot of espresso in a cup of coffee
to forgot I'm tired
and a cigarette to feel normal.
It's cold, I'm shaking,
not sure if there's a relationship,
and here it is:
Early birds are trying
to get a head start
populating the roadways,
I want to tell them,
hey, man, hey!
the worm is a myth.
Fish Eye ViewIt’s not my fault
you expect a fish
to walk on land like you,
but maybe it is my fault
for taking the bait,
letting you yank me into the air
to deal with the questioning criticism,
“Why can’t you just breathe like everyone else?”
I know, you tell me you care
but I’ve swallowed enough worms
to know what that means -
You care what others say.
You care about the comments,
about how I have fins instead of feet.
You care about a perception of me,
because when you look
down into this pond,
you see a distorted reflection of yourself.
You don’t know the schools I swim with,
you don’t know the depths I live in,
so you don’t know
what’s beneath the surface.
So here’s the situation:
either I’ll live to be
a disappointment in your eyes,
or I’ll suffer to be
a disappointment in my eyes,
and guess whose eyes I care more about.
I’m sick of this suffocation,
so take your hook out of the water,
and stop trying to save me
Used to beSober used to be “normal”, but now it’s “not drunk”. Drunk used to be a destination, but now it’s a way-point. The shelves of brown liquor used to be an adventure, but now it’s a road map. The clock used to be fifteen minutes ahead, but now it’s as good a time as any. It used to be the future, but now it’s tomorrow.
It used to be a glass half-full, but now it’s ice. It used to be one drink, but now it’s another. It used to be a pleasure, but now it’s a tolerance. It used to be a cigarette, but now it’s a filter. It used to be today, but now it’s tomorrow.
Imperfect MachineMaybe from the dust of stars,
which span from one side of the universe to the other,
you were conceived to be a beacon of hope,
with a guiding light, dissolving the darkness of human life
to see what is and what could be,
to help others discover their own internal benevolence,
to make the world a brighter place,
And maybe you were meant
to be above and unfettered by this reality,
to give the clouds their silver lining,
but you were dragged down to this earth
by one who did not comprehend or appreciate what you are
and, injured and confused, you lost your way.
So maybe from the ebb and flow of existence,
which spans from the beginning to the end of time,
I was crafted like an imperfect machine
and sent after you, following a dimmed shimmer,
to see you for what you are,
to help you understand and believe,
to make you embrace and be,
And maybe I was meant
to stumble onward with faulty parts
and attempt to fix other broken creations,
learning to work with dysfunctional tools,
having a purp
Something about Spring in CaliforniaSomething about Spring in California
makes me want to
quit my job
start a new romance
write about Spring in California
So I did,
so I will,
so I am.
Something about Spring in California
makes me want to miss my exit,
so I can keep driving down the freeway
with the wind rushing through my open window,
even though I finished my cigarette
several miles ago
makes me want to get a drink
when the sun goes down,
so I can stand outside the bar
in the warm twilight and share with strangers
my feelings on the weather
makes me want to cut ties
with the world of responsibility
lose the feeling of my feet
on the ground, and float until my head
is in the blue, blue, slightly cloudy blue.
So I did,
so I will,
so I try.
Free Coffee and Forgotten PensCoffee at the bar – I mean, its not good, but it’s free and that’s a helluva lot cheaper than at the café. Free, like this pen I found on the ground outside the café, and I’m just happy to discover it works. It works, unlike me, because I quit my job to be a writer, so that’s why I like things that are free, like dive bar coffee, and forgotten pens. But back to the coffee; it tastes a bit better then you throw in a shot of whisky. The whisky isn’t free, but hey, they don’t serve Irish coffee at the café – I mean, they probably from upon it, but they know me, and if I brought a flask and kept it subtle, they probably wouldn’t care, but I don’t like diluting good coffee, but I have done it before. Let’s move on.
I quit my job because it was killing me. It wasn’t stabbing me in the chest or slitting my throat, but I’ll put it this way. This is what I thought when I decided, months in advance
Pre-AlcoholicA pocket full of black, narrow, chewed-up
straws with the trace residue of
gin and tonic from the dive bar where
they call me Caesar, where
men shooting pool bet five bucks
a game on a slightly slanted table, where
friendships are formed over a cigarette;
Half-gnawed ebony plastic tubes
when I reach for my wallet
symbolize the transition I knew was coming
from black coffee at the cafe
because it was never really about
the cappuccinos, just as it's not about
the cocktails, it's nothing more
than consuming a beverage at a location,
wearing away the novelty of an atmosphere
in search of inspiration to translate
into words etched in dark ink.
So, here's a compromise:
I'll get a cup of coffee,
with room for whiskey.
popsicleSummer forever frozen
An orange popsicle
Sold from an icebox
dry and vaporous
atop a tricycle
Four tingling bells
rung by the little man pedaling at the back
announcing the coming
Framed in trees
always green in the light of the sun
Lancelot Price 2014 August 26
No crappy songs on a loudspeaker loop
just the sweet sweet cold refreshment
I will always live there.
Diminuendo“Why did you quit band?” My friends would ask. Some were betrayed by my decision, some saddened.
Every time, I would change it: the director was disagreeable, I wanted to do other things, it took up too much time, etc.
Every time, I would think of the moments, the emotions I thought I could handle.
But they became too heavy, too much, too painful.
i. Air conditioned rooms were a luxury after hours under the summer sun, even if the room was just a small practice room. We had new music to learn after all.
I was excited, why wouldn’t I? New music were like new books, new adventures.
Then the sheet was plopped onto the stand in front of me.
It made no sense whatsoever.
“Let’s play it together!” The bubbly teacher would say, her tone more appropriate for kindergartners.
I looked around the room, wondering why I was the only one who couldn’t get past one measure.
“Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought..”
18. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'11/21/71
Got up this morning just as the tops of those mountains across the valley caught some pink light, and I ran up to the outhouse and watched the light grow through the frost on the windows there. It's a Sunday and coming up pretty!
I have some cramps and a sort of desire to smoke a joint even before breakfast, otherwise I feel okay. I remember having another bad night of sleep last night. I thought I was dreaming of laughing but Vicki says I was groaning. Oh well.
Suzy said yesterday that she felt a physical attraction to me for a pretty long time, which blew my mind. She says Tom knows about it, even, and that he would dig the whole event and would like see her get closer to me or whatever. I didn't know what to say except "far out." We both let it go for now.
Laura just made one of those paper fortune-teller things where you pick a color and numbers and she fools with it and comes up with a reply. She just had Leelanee do
20. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'11/30/71
I just got very stoned and so confused at a council we were having that I had to just quit and come upstairs, too weirded out to approach anything with anyone. Can't write either. Feel afraid of everything. If only there was someone right here next to me to ask about all my fears.
Got a letter from my mom that said she moved away from the old home and dad to an apartment. That made me sad. Now the two of them are each living alone.
I feel like total weirdo, a machine, freaked out.
Feeling pretty good in a mellow, dreamy sort of way. Spent the morning and early afternoon getting a truckload of manure for a new compost heap with Larry, Pat and Laura. That was fun, talking to a few locals and seeing a new, to us, ranch.
There is a cold wind that speaks of more snow to land on us. When we got home I sat down with some bread and a new Time magazine. After a bit Mike put on a record, "Workingman's Dead," t
The History Of SloveniaThe history of Slovenia
Slovenia was originally settled by Illyrian and Celtic peoples. It became part of the Roman Empire in the first century B.C.
The Slovenes were a south Slavic group that settled in the region in the 6th century A.D. During the 7th century, the Slavs established the state of Samu, which owed its allegiance to the Avars, who dominated the Hungarian plain until Charlemagne defeated them in the late 8th century.
When the Hungarians were defeated by the Turks in 1526, Hungary accepted Austrian Hapsburg rule in order to escape Turkish domination; the Hapsburg monarchy was the first to include all of the Slovene regions. Thus, Slovenia and Croatia became part of the Austro-Hungarian kingdom when the dual monarchy was established in 1867. Like Croatia and unlike the other Balkan states, it is primarily Roman Catholic.
From as early as the 9th century, Slovenia had fallen under foreign rulers, including partial control by Bavarian dukes and the Republic of V
siete.Die ganze Geschichte mit den Beschwerden hat vor Jahren mit den Beinen angefangen, weil ich einfach zu viel gerannt bin. Das Rennen war für mich eine unglaubliche Entdeckung. Am Anfang ist es leicht, fast ein bisschen wie hüpfen. Die Atmung läuft von alleine, die Beine laufen von alleine, alles läuft von alleine. Dann kommt die Musik. Und auf einmal ist es da, zuerst in den Schenkeln, langsam steigt es auf, entlang der Wirbelsäule klimmt es Wirbel um Wirbel empor, bis es in die Arme fliesst und sich im ganzen Körper ausbreitet. Und dann schiesst es in den Kopf. Der Wald brennt. Ich renne durch einen brennenden Wald, es ist heiss wie in einem Backofen, und hinter mir stürzen brennende Tannen auf den Weg. Tausend Bilder jagen mit mir und schwirren um meinen Kopf herum. Wenn es eine Droge gäbe, die etwas in der Art auslösen könnte, dann wäre die ganze Welt süchtig davon.
Nach einigen Monaten kamen dann die Schmerzen. Es war ein k
Crossed Wires. Epilogue 2.Feeling rather important now that she is dating a nightclub owner, Bess has begun spending less and less time hanging around with her former friends. Her main excuse for it is that she is far more mature and needs to spend time with people who are have the same interests and don’t behave like children. However, her friends know that it was predominantly because they weren’t as impressed with her choice and behaviour when they did go out together and had told her so. On top of all that, when she took them to the club a few days after she had begun dating him, she had told them that because she was dating the owner it meant that they could not only get in for free, but could also get free drinks all night. It turned out not to be true and after watching Bess throw a very childish and selfish tantrum at her boyfriend for embarrassing her like that. They ended up leaving the club and making their way to another one, just down the road, only to have the angry young woman follow
Memories I was excited. Plastic continually crinkled in my fidgeting fingers. Dad couldn’t open the door fast enough. Stark black handle against the white screen door. Click of the handle. Creaking protest if the hinges. Metallic clinking of keys against the shiny metal doorknob. My little sister whining behind us. I danced impatiently from foot to foot on the dirty and worn welcome mat, tucked between my dad and the screen door. I could see my breath. A softer creak as the back door swung inward.
The tile floor groaned under our weight. I darted past Dad, kicking my boots off. Behind us, the screen door closed with a SSSSSSSSS, clunk! My feet slapped on the tiles, past the white refrigerator with the freezer door I could still fit underneath. Soft, blue carpet of the dining room. Light splashing the wall from the small, stained-glass chandelier. Wallpaper I watched Mom put up. The wooden table, covered in scratches and aged. Past the hall a
Child, ChildOnce there was a little girl. She was small, with long brown hair and deep-set brown eyes and always smiled at everything. Her mother was an average sized woman with long brown hair and not-so-deep brown eyes, whose entire world was her daughter. Her father was an average sized man with short brown hair, and wild, wide gray eyes.
The little girl’s father had some problems he couldn’t handle, however, and the mother took her daughter away, to live on their own in a small apartment. They didn’t have very many things, because they were rather poor, and the little girls mother worked very hard to make sure her daughter had enough to eat and a few toys to play with. But even though there was no television or expensive toys, the girl was happy to live there with her mother. She knew that since her mother loved her more than anything, it would be okay. They had a routine: every morning the little girl would eat breakfast, go to preschool or grandma’s house, and her mot
An exploration of the egoFootsteps echo into the emptiness and fantasy of the Two AM reality. Sauntering amongst the heavy shadows, the clever/cynical/overly-sexual/crude/sophisticated writer knows as J.M.Kauftheil waits with a Scorpionic intensity for an unsuspecting inspiration to wander too close. J.M.K. is a wild card, a thrill-seeking journalist, penning fiction and narratives based on his shifting imagination and his strange, exciting, fulfilling, and sometimes unpleasant experiences. Unbridled poetry rolls through his breath, abstract mechanisms expressing his impermanent, swirling emotions. Words are J.M.Kauftheils playground.
The experimental and adventuresome wordsmith doesnt quite see himself as an American citizen rather, he feels himself a resident of the young 21st century, with fingers spread out to the Twentieth and beyond. Considered by many to be an old soul, he nibbles the fruits of the new, savors the wine of the past, and makes merry in his own ti
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More