MMMH, BOY, DO YOU LIKE STARING AT THE FLESHY LUMPS OF FAT ON MY CHEST? YEAH, YOU KNOW IT.
...and out the other sideWhat's the worst part? Arthur asks, carding his fingers lightly through Eames' hair.
He's silent for a long time and it's moments after Arthur resigns himself to not getting an answer before he speaks. His voice is low and tired and full of so much numb pain Arthur can't help but tighten his arms around his shoulders, trying to protect him from harm already done, dealt by himself. The worst part, he murmurs in that broken voice, is believing that if you make it through withdrawal, you're out for good.
Arthur brings his chin down to tuck over Eames' shoulder, eyes closed against the mess of styrofoam cups neither have bothered to tidy. He has nothing to say, so he presses his tight lips against the bare, tattooed skin, neither apology nor forgiveness, but reassurance. I thought you would die, he thinks about saying. I thought you'd given up, he wants to whisper. I thought you'd abandoned me and I was so scared and so angry and you're so infinitely dumb, but we'll face this together, he
Six Weeks and an EternityHe’s going to finish his degree. In six weeks, he’s going to have his final recital and jury. No more touchy Yamaha in a tiny practice room, no more living off Mr Noodle and too-little sleep. In six weeks, he’s not going to be Malorie-Miles’-promising-student. In six weeks, he’s going to be Arthur-Fucking-Goldberg-Like-The-Variations, capitals and profanity present and necessary. Because in six weeks he’s going to perform in front of half the conservatorium. In six weeks, he’s going to be handed offers left and right. He’s going to hammer Mendelssohn, nail Haydn, flawlessly execute Schubert, turn Rachmaninoff from beautiful sound to liquid gold for the ears and effortlessly make Mozart something worth playing. Six weeks.
Mozart hadn’t been his idea, of course. It had been Mal’s.
“Arthur, mon beau, you will play Mozart for your recital.” He recalls the conversation clearly.
“Mal, I’m not going to
The BreadmakerEdith knelt before the bread ovens, pushing limp, sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead to better look through the tiny window at the tiger loaves cracking in the heat. She heard Flavia scolding another cook for burning a loaf, her usually kind voice cracking out under the stress of the incoming orders. Every time the far steel door opened to release the loaves, Edith caught the sound of loud voices and something too happy to exist in her world.
France was celebrating. What, Edith knew not, but that they were was obvious. She imagined the wine connoisseurs were having and even worse time of it. She’d worked in (been sold into) the wine trade once, but they soon found her to be all but useless as a connoisseur, as unable to read the swirling script on the bottles as she was to read the unadorned black letters Flavia read out to the cooks.
The loaves were done. Smoothly, Edit pulled open the oven, feeling the hairs on her arms all but curl from the heat before she managed to rem
The Penrose Girl and the Caspian SeaThe fire licks at her body and he wants to scream, because she can’t. Not anymore. His hands are held loosely in his pockets, one turning a red poker chip over and over. She’d been a gambler, he remembers. Of course he remembers. It was how they’d met. She was a terrible gambler. She made a living from spinning lies, but couldn’t hold a poker face for shit.
A tiny, fond smile pulls at a corner of his mouth as the rest of his face is swallowed with melancholy. His Penrose Girl.
She’d never liked fire, but cremation had been her idea. She loved he sea, but was scared of the creatures in it. A woman of paradoxes. He loves her for it.
A switch is flicked and the flames die away. She is gone. Nothing but ash is left. He wonders numbly how it can happen like that. She was there, but now she’s not. It’s a sudden thing and it makes his old hands tremble as they clutch his walking stick.
Later, when standing on the beach near their home, he wonders when
They Have to be WrongAudio: http://pmcde7.tumblr.com/post/100300139659/they-have-to-be-wrong-by-paulette-mcde-music
They Have to be Wrong
By Paulette McDe
Music: Olafur Arnalds - 3055
Inspired by: Shane Koyczan’s ‘To This Day’
Do you ever take a moment and just
To hear the air flowing smoothly down your throat, feel the quickening of your heart as you exhale. Inhale. Exhale. And each breath is a moment to be proud of. A success. Because you did it. You beat them again, proved them wrong. Everyone who ever cut you down or made you hurt. Made you cry. Made you bleed. Made you hate every moment that beautiful muscle beating in your chest continued to carry on, seemingly unhearing of their cruel words. But it hears. Of course it does.
It hears and feels a thousand tiny cuts break across its walls, each insult sinking deeper, wearing down the defences and it knows it’s only a matter of time before they cut through. Before the hairline fr
Talking to Myself: A Manifesto for the EgocentricI’ve been told I talk to myself when I think no one is listening.
ME: That’s all writing is.
ME: Inner monologues.
ME: Discussions with the self.
ME: I’ve written several novels worth of words to tell myself how selfish I am, or that I’ve fallen in love with the wrong person again, or that dying was never a viable option in the first place. I write to tell readers the same thing.
ME: My words are meant to teach others what I couldn’t teach myself. To save others just like writing has saved me thousands of times.
People say that art and beauty only come to life when there’s an audience.
ADAM GWON (sung): For beautiful to happen, the beautiful has got to be seen.
ME: That’s Adam Gwon. He shows up here, sometimes. He is often wrong.
ADAM GWON: Hey! No I’m n—
ME: For example, I disagree with this line from a song he wrote, called “Beautiful”. Art exists and fulfills a need before it is even seen or read or hear
Haiku Theory Part 1 -2009-A Lot of Words About A Little Poem
An Introduction to Haiku Structures
A haiku poem cannot be defined according to the number of syllables and lines it contains (nor by the number of syllables in each line). Although I do not wish to go into the reasons why at this point (I will save that for a later discussion) the form of modern English haiku, as Haruo Shirane writes, is a short poem, usually written in one to three lines. (in Gilbert, 2009) At this point our definition sounds very vague. If the number of syllables and lines do not define a haiku poem, then what does? And if a haiku poem is simply a short one, two or three-line poem then what separates it from other forms of Western short-verse or, in the case of one-line haiku, a sentence?
Patricia Donegan writes, in agreement with the Western haiku community at large, that syllable counting... is not the important thing for haiku in English. Haiku is an experience, not an act of co
The media doesn’t support a positive body image
because it’s not good for business.
They want us anxious and afraid
of seeing the numbers on a scale go up.
We’re not worth our weight in gold.
It’s what we don’t weigh
My first boyfriend, who panicked when I touched him
would say “I’m fat”
the way somebody says “I should have never been born.”
They want us spending our money
on designer jeans, instead of groceries,
on concealer and diet plans, instead of an education.
Please don’t starve yourself.
Believe me, I’ve tried
and your body will start to eat itself from the inside out and
if you let it
it’ll get to some valuable stuff.
they’ll only appreciate your body when it’s a corpse.
They won’t notice you
until there’s nothing to be noticed
they’ll mourn and wish for something
that is no longer
In the second grade, I learned that
The code of master and slaveThe Code of Master and Slave
The bond between master and slave revised version 2.1.36
now for all of those who need boundaries to save an abusive relationship with your master
This is the code that bonds master and pet. This is my version of the code of life. Anyone who has any suggestions may give them to me no matter how small they are all appreciated. This code is a system of honor that the pet and the master are bound to breaking this code is considered a deed of great dishonor. There are many things that will be discussed in this code and I will try and cover all the bases starting with the every day life part. This document is now a collaboration of the works of many artists and if your piece may fit into this please tell me and I will include it if it relates to the topic at hand. This document is my life's work and it will always be important to me. If you so choose to make it part of your life please take great care
No God - No Atheists"If there were no God, there would be no atheists." G.K. Chesterton
"That's stupid!" you say.
"Not true," says I. This statement, in and of itself, provides proof for the existence of God. I know that, if you are a non-believer, you will instantly dismiss this quote. Your beliefs are quite firm, after all, and what can shake them? You question the existence of God, but you don't really want an answer. An answer will prove you wrong. However, if you are willing to read on, I think you'll find that the question of rather or not God exists isn't one of fact or fiction. It's true, and I shall illustrate how simply using this quote.
Perhaps I should put this quote into a different perspective. Here is one of the same theme by C. S. Lewis: "If the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was dark."
The view behind this is simple: If ther
10 Ways To Be A good Fangirl1. Never say that the character is yours and no one can have them! It's really annoying and if you want to do that, you could say it like a joke. Ex : "Hahaha. I always imagine that he/she was mine and then I married to him/her and have children!"
2. Don't hate a pairing because you think that you are the only one who fit them as their couple!
3. A good fangirl could accept their character's hater.
4. You could ask their hater for the reasons they hate him, or why they call him that, or something like that. Remember! Nobody is perfect, include our favorite character!
5. You could laugh when you see a joke about your favorite character (how to kill them or make fun of him. Some of them is quite funny.
6. Don't be an annoying dumb fangirl that would hurt anyone that mocks their favorite chara or something like that. That kind of people is the one who make 'FANGIRL' is a bad word.....
7. You could say what do you like from your favorite chara and what do you hate abo
100 Things To Smile About100 Things To Smile About
2. Moments in scary movies that make you jump then laugh at yourself for screaming like a girl
3. hot cookies while the center is still gooey
4. catching that perfect shot with the camera
5. laughing until your cheeks hurt
6. the person or thing that makes you laugh like that
7. catching green lights
8. laying with a friend on the hood of your car
9. blasting loud music while beating your friend in a car race while never going over the speed limit
10. warm long showers in the morning
11. seeing somone you love after a long time apart
12. curly hair
13. a book that you still love no matter how many times you read it
14. having your ipod turned low so you can still hear even when people think you can't
15. frozen coffee with chocolate in it
16. being in love
17. knowing the person you love loves you
18. rolling your windows down and driving fast
19. cereal for dinner
20. singing to a baby and having it smile up and stare at you
Brushing Up Against HistoryNovember 1963
I'm eight years old and sitting in class (I strangely recall that my seat was in the middle of second row, on the side away from the window), when the principal comes in to tell us that the president has been shot.
I do not know
what it means, but I know
that it scares me.
My mother meets Senator Robert F. Kennedy while he is campaigning in San Francisco and gets his autograph. I live with my father in a small town in Michigan, where every year leading up to Memorial Day, I sell paper poppies for the VFW.
blood of soldiers on the field
war has come home
I watch the news and see the body count, arranged like a scorecard. The numbers say we are winning, but one of those numbers is from our town, the only casualty that week. I don't know him, but I see his picture on the cover of Life Magazine.
I turn 17 the next month
and try to join the Marine Corp
my father will not sign
As a small-town b
Sophie is JewishSophie is six
"Why don't you go to Hebrew school with me?"
"Because Sophie, I'm Christian. My school has a different name."
"Oh.. Do you have Shabbat?"
"In a way, we just call it something else."
"Do you get to stay up late on Shabbat?"
"Erm.. I suppose you could say that."
"Do you have to read the Torah?"
"Yup, it just has a different name."
"Do you pray before bed?"
"But you get Christmas right?"
"But I get Chanukah!"
"Actually, I get that too."
"Oh..." "Do learn about Elohim in your school?"
"Yeah, we just call him something else."
"Because your Chrisitan and I'm Jewish."
"We can still be best friends right?"