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Below are the 18 most recent journal entries.
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2007.06.11 10.00 new writing community If this post is in violation of the rules, feel free to delete. I started a new writing community. Go to.  randomcore |
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2006.10.11 15.51 Poem - First Draft I wrote this when I first got up around 08:30. It's not quite right but a good start, I think. Any suggestions on improvement, you armchair editors out there? ( Relationships are like ShoppingCollapse ) |
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2006.01.07 12.33 Proper Use of the English Word FUCK http://www.nailmaster.ru/fuck.html |
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2003.05.26 14.19 Another Poem blue velvet nightshade softened by spreading watercolors archipelagoes of clouds beckon like skipping stones shake off the sleeping cape and stride on to meet the moment how could the iris not embrace this? wider, though care makes lids weary orange and vanilla horizon: initiate the ritual and don't spare the horse i am ready. Mood:  content
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2003.05.13 16.26 The Poem What I Wrote This being the first poem I have written in over 10 years, please be kind, but critical. I really wanted to write a poem but I couldn't find a topic much less a rhyme for topic. So I started on this journey and found myself and realized I wasn't even lost so what was the point of looking? It's always in the last place you look. People annoy me and are stupid and I can say that because I'm not People. What was the point I was trying to make? Oh yeah it rhymes with myopic which is how I see the world now that I'm writing this poem. Dang, this sh*t is meaningful. edited because of this stupid Parental Controls thingy on my parents' computer Mood:  blah
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2003.02.03 11.12 Stuff Slightly edited version of  fishfude's latest poem (because I think I am a better editor of his work than he is):My hands are covered In burns I got from you. Every acidic tear of yours I caught Palm up Before it hit the ground The scars up to the elbow aren't from you. They're for you. Every last one. I have them because I always want to remind myself What it's like to bleed on the inside. I never want to forget The pain beyond exquisite Which can only come From mind ravaged More than your broken, battered body. The scars remind me That you were real. - the reality that made me What I am. I do not wish you death. Live. Live in my mind forever. One day When my bloody tears Have stained your hands The way your salty tears Have stained mine, Then I will take your hands in mine, And scar to scar We will walk in waves And cleanse each other. BTW, I'll be doing that story challenge this week. |
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2003.01.29 12.44 An Invitation This is an invitation and a request. Please give me a writing assignment. You could assign me to write an article or essay on something you would like to know more about. You could have me write a poem or a dirty limmerick ;). You could give me a storyline, or even just some characters. Give me some perameters, and I will do my best to fulfill them. |
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2002.11.19 10.17 Creative/Editorial Process Zach wrote this thing in his LJ. I decided I wanted to do something with it, but I'm not sure what yet. It arouses me. I want to play with this animal. Here's what he wrote: Though you may fear for that part of me that always wants to die, it has always been with me. It's that part of me that is the fire and the ice. The part of me that smokes cigars at my computer and writes prose of unimaginable pride. That part of me that talks and fights and spits and plans. That part that smiles at the girls that pass by, and screams in the face of overwhelming odds. That part of me is the part which achieves greatness, and makes me more than human. And though I want to die, I am the dragon, and I must be slain. I am the angel that bring down fire from the skys and creates true beaty. Soddom, ahmorah, Atlantas, and Pompei. that part of me writes and creates and makes and does. It is drive, it is motivation and despair. Bitterness and spite. The part of me that makes the universe WORK for my death. That part of me will not just slip away, but will leave his mark forever on the sky, to be remembered eternal. The part of me that stopped crying after my surgery, the part of me taht stepped up when my dad and brother were both in the hospital, and my mother was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I am the one who says Fuck You to tragedy and fate, who embraces every day that I live. I drink and smoke and speed and kiss and eat and fuck. I am the feeble cry in the darkness arrogantly proclaming to the harpies that Im not dead. yet. He stands o his rock int he middle of the storm and RAILS, asking always for more, more, more. Is that the total of my tragedy? You have more. That part braces for impact, and runs that extra mile to prove I can. That part of me is indominable and will never be tamed. I eat red meat, and long to feast on the flesh of my vanquished enemies. Im the part that people love, the fire behind the eyes, the sparkle in the sould that was grey since birth, the light that looks out from within, the burn that you feel inside yourself when you touch my skin. I am the liquid metal in the pores, and the blades that come through my skin at every angle. The part of me that licks his lips, and bares his teeth at each new challenge and each new pain. That part bleeds and never cries. He twists and turns under the weight of his own world, his atlas-like burden that he keeps resting atoop his skull. I write at room temperature but walk calmly across the coals, and keep my hand in the ice the longest. Thats where the crazy is located, and that's the part that people want to fuck, the part that's crazy and dark and sharp and dangerous. It is the attraction, the animal, tha part that draws greatness and love to me. The part has loyalty and gives it beyond what anyone can know. It's the lava in my viens and the sulpher in the clouds. I am beautiful and dangerous. Valuable and deadly. Honor lies in my defeat, and riches in my friendship. Greatness and legend live in my claws, but there's fire in my thrat. I streatch and flex and you tremble to hear me roar. I am the dragon, and I cannot die, I must be slain. Mine is the caustic sweet smelling rage. You cannot defeat my, because in death I rejoice more than in victory. ---------------------------------------- I started by plucking the things from it that I thought were the best, that most closely addressed the ideas and feelings I got out of the piece: Though you may fear for that part of me that always wants to die, it has always been with me. It's that part of me that is the fire and the ice. The part of me that smokes cigars at my computer and writes prose of unimaginable pride. That part of me that talks and fights That part that smiles at the girls that pass by, and screams in the face of overwhelming odds. That part of me is the part which achieves greatness (a demon) that part of me writes and creates and makes and does Bitterness and spite. The part of me that stopped crying after my surgery I drink and smoke and speed and kiss and eat and fuck. asking always for more, more, more. That part braces for impact Im the part that people love, the fire behind the eyes, the sparkle the burn that you feel inside yourself when you touch my skin The part of me that licks his lips, and bares his teeth at each new challenge and each new pain. Thats where the crazy is located, and that's the part that people want to fuck, the part that's crazy and dark and sharp and dangerous. the animal I am beautiful and dangerous. legend Mine is the caustic sweet smelling rage. ------------------------------------- I'm not sure what to do with it at this point, but it has begun. Freewrite/related thoughts: plague, powerful...restless, approaching, frightening, awesome, deep, ravenous, urgent and incisive, piercing, severe, strong, intense, distinct, precise, fearless. Hunter, irresistable, mystique. I want to live out of that part of me, because that part of me is not allowed. |
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2002.11.01 10.26 Cologn "Speeding off like lightning," he says, coming to get me, brethless. "Like lightning," I say and smile. He puts his arm around my waist and we start walking together. I want to ask what that means, but I know better. "How are you?" he asks. "Peachy." He smells like clear water and laundry detergent and sandalwood and man. He smells a lot like man. I put my nose down into his shoulder and take a deep breath. Intoxicating. It fills my head with clouds and makes me smile. After a few steps I can sense him looking down at me. I raise my eyes to his. He looks confused but he's smiling at me. I laugh. He does too. I give his body a sqeeze and sigh. |
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2002.10.31 15.02 Almost She was pretty once--almost Not quite A sleeping beauty, never wakened Never there She was almost pretty once--not quite Never knew she was Wasn't ready for it Trusted him to tell her She was pretty almost, once Not exactly Not really She was almost on the verge -of being pretty once She was ready for it too late |
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2002.10.31 15.01 Quitting Dafna is my crystal meth But crystals cut -I'm bleeding Addictive--I just can't say no The poison -Keeps on feeding Three-edged-sword, her love is sharp Cutting, cutting, -Cutting deep Twisting, turning, slicing through Not a promise -Left to keep Dafna being crystal meth Quitting's awful -Easy Flush your crystals Loose your stash -The dealer's just too sleazy Mood:  angry
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2002.10.28 13.11 Baseball postseason sonnet Cross-posted to sports_sonnets:Now ends October, long the time of year When baseball's best do battle in the field And at the plate, until it should be clear Who is the best, to whom all else must yield. As every year, we watched teams' fates revealed We cheered defensive plays, and runs so fleet Applauded hits; hissed errors, calls appealed As each team gave their all, to best compete. Full twenty-nine have tasted of defeat While one alone reigns, champions without peer Their fans now savor victory so sweet While all the rest of us must shed our tears. --So say farewell, this season's at an end --Till April, when we meet, and hope, again. |
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2002.10.24 16.17 Late Submission my submission for this week's meeting--Self-Censored is my new working title. |
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2002.09.11 13.09 Story Bored A city of red lights and the trip meter going--302, 303... Crazy, man. Crazy. My gas light is on, but not my headlights. I'm waiting for my car to cough and sputter, coast, then stop. Giving up is the easiest thing you could possibly do. But you have to give up everything all at once for it to work. You can give up smoking, cold turkey. All you have to do is give up your job, give up your family--give up all the things that cause you stress and make you want a cigarette. I'm ready to give up my car, my clothes, my apartment, my furniture, my best friend--but I'm not ready to give up being angry. Why is that? 308, 309... Because I'm not giving up for myself. I'm not giving up anything. What the hell was I thinking? Not giving up for anything. Someone comes up the highway on the other side and flashes their highbeams. Little do they know. Don't you heed urban legends? A city of red lights and the trip meter is going--908, 909... That's what happens when you get gas and don't start the meter over. There's no such thing as giving up. |
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2002.08.28 14.42 First Entry I feel like I'm dancing in a lead undertowe. Mood:  accomplished
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