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Please Mr. PostmanThe creak of the rusty ironing board, supporting the piping hot metal backside of the iron as it meets denim jeans. The dance floor shuffle of ragged white slippers against the tile of the kitchen floor. Hurried brush strokes of crayons on jumbo coloring books. The monotonous hum of the refrigerator and the constant drip, drip, drip of caffeinated liquid brewing in the coffee machine.Please Mr. Postman
These ordinarily comfortable morning sounds made the nicotine-addled Beatrice want to scream.
Clad in her blue flowered nightgown, she sat on the edge of her unmade full sized bed, right leg shaking ever so slightly as she caught her r
by ~TheSeventhSeal004
As I Stand, Toothbrush In HandThe dormant demise of Marty Draper awakened at approximately seven fifteen on a cool, late October morning as dismal rain clouds steadily rolled across the slim offerings of autumnal sunlight. The setting: a magenta, rectangular shoebox of a shared family bathroom, in the presence of the creamy shower curtain, the blank roll of toilet paper, and the blocky, blue bar of soap. This moment--a flicker of oddity that aroused a staggering abundance of unnecessary insanity happens to be a twice daily ritual for billions of people gone faithfully wrong. The act that transformed Martin Allen Draper--a plucky northeastern teen with an X-Box and a constAs I Stand, Toothbrush In Hand
by ~TheSeventhSeal004
10:15 At The OasisWhenever a person alluded to the employees’ lounge, a singular image always appeared in Dennis’ mind.10:15 At The Oasis
He always imagined a vintage, ironically titled nightclub, “The Employees’ Lounge”. Inside, the dark room was illuminated by buttery lights that captured the escaped wisps of cigar smoke. Black leather chairs and polished wooden tables were inappropriately scattered about the lounge area, yet the fashionable club dwellers managed to squeeze by the bulky pieces of furniture to intermingle, nurse the exotic concoctions prepared by the impressive bartenders, and dance to the electric jazz music wh
by ~TheSeventhSeal004
Favourites
a tenuous reverie- one: before i met you i believed in a greater place. -a tenuous reverie
i can't help but ponder about the life that's been lived underneath my skin. my brittle bones tell stories of their own, and my lungs passage ways are closing up with too many words breathed into them.
i can't help but wonder if there are beanstalks or creatures living under my bed. maybe there's a world that's better than this one. maybe those incoherent reveries pounding in my membrane and pouring into the mist from my eyes can come true.
and then i see you standing there with your back turned to the shore, looking at me instea
by ~softsilhouettes
My face, bur... ocean's palmsMy face, buried in the ocean's palmsMy face, bur... ocean's palms
I glimpse with bitterness and remorse the saucer you used to leave
unwashed, in the sink,
before brushing my lips with a kiss and rushing off to work without a word.
I used to
make so large a fuss, 'bout so small a thing.
Now that I'm awash with your absence, waterlogged with wallowing,
my mind a muddled mess - befuddled by
puddles of maudlin mem'ry -
I suffer, alone,
the sea-reaving scythe of bereavement.
by *Leurindal
At Midnight Everything StopsDoctors lie. They have to. The doctor with death written all over him; said she only had a couple of days left. A couple of fucking days and she would be a corpse with paper skin, closed eyes and a frigid body. A couple of days and she would be cold, so cold but it's not like she was ever that warm to begin with.At Midnight Everything Stops
We were supposed to get married, you know. On the 31st of August because she liked endings more than beginnings and I meant to ask her why but I never did. We were supposed to have our wedding on the beach with the waves in the background and postcard material views. We were supposed to get married that day a
by ~Asherlee0099
this is where all hell brokeit started with you and me and the way the pavement glowed after it rained. technicolor lights streamed the asphalt, they reflected across our skin as you put your index fingers in the belt-loops of my faded jeans, and pulled my hips into yours. i remember the air telling me how we matched so divinely. our bones stuck out from our skin in the most sublime way, behind our eyelids we hid our spheres so we wouldn't see the vacancy they held. we froze matter and pushed every molecule away as we closed in the space between our lips, between our torsos, between our hearts. we stopped the hands of every ticking clock and every electric current brighthis is where all hell broke
by ~softsilhouettes
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Devious Info
- Interests: Movies, writing, reading
- Favourite movie: Magnolia, The Lives of Others, All The President's Men, Welcome To The Dollhouse
- Favourite band or musician: The Beatles, Camera Obscura, The Decembersits, Lykke Li, Bon Iver, Iron + Wine, Grizzly Bear
- Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock, Indie
- Favourite artist: Andy Warhol, Martin Scorsese, Ingmar Bergman Francis Ford Coppola, Stanley Kubrick, Michel Gondry
- Favourite poet or writer: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Etgar Keret, JD Salinger, David Sedaris, Richard Yates, George Saunders
- Favourite photographer: Tikva L.
- Favourite style of art: Pop Art
- Operating System: Windows Vista
- MP3 player of choice: iPod
- Personal Quote: "I dream for a living"-Steven Spielberg
- Tools of the Trade: Moleskine, Compositon Noteobok, Precise V7 Pen
- AIM: AshAsh264@aol.com
- Yahoo: sagerosemary04@yahoo.com
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--
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
J. Keats
so how the heck are ya, how long's it been!
--
Ah! Mr Luxury Yacht. Do sit down, please.
Ah, no, no. My name is spelt 'Luxury Yacht' but it's pronounced Throat Warbler Mangrove.
--
I like the way you express yourself, too. Pithy, yet degenerate.
-Woody Allen, Manhattan
THE KIDS ARE ALL GROWIN LIKE WEEDS
--
Ah! Mr Luxury Yacht. Do sit down, please.
Ah, no, no. My name is spelt 'Luxury Yacht' but it's pronounced Throat Warbler Mangrove.
--
I like the way you express yourself, too. Pithy, yet degenerate.
-Woody Allen, Manhattan
how's life treatin you?
remember the times we used to have at university, the practical jokes, the d.u.i.'s. what fun
--
Ah! Mr Luxury Yacht. Do sit down, please.
Ah, no, no. My name is spelt 'Luxury Yacht' but it's pronounced Throat Warbler Mangrove.
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