ah you posted, cool ~X~
Anyway, I have all these essays due in English, so I can't write anything until they are all done. I'm doing good in English. I hope this continues.
Andersson- Where them poems be at?!
I bring a story... it is still the first draft though...
City Bus
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Smile, and nod. Smile, and nod.
With a dry mouth and gum between your teeth, it isn’t so much the casket to your right and the audience to your left that has your mouth unwilling to open for words, it’s the fact that words do not form without a lively tongue. My tongue died.
My back is as straight as a surfboard with its nose in the sand. I’m sinking in the sand. I am standing knee deep in flowing time and ankle deep in brown, drying clay. I am standing with my legs beneath the ground, and my head in the clouds. I am standing at my girlfriend’s funeral. And all I can conjure in my mind is the cement that seems to be filling my mouth.
I wonder if my jaw will grow heavy, like a rifle does a marksman upon his target.
Only recently did I ask her father’s permission to propose – he hesitantly gave his blessing. I had it planned for next Monday. In the darkness, with popcorn in my hand, Gummy Bears in hers, teenagers making out behind us, murmuring old folks who keep looking back at the teenagers, and a ring.
Thinking about throats tightening around sandpaper.
In the darkness, I slip the ring on her finger. She would say nothing, holding in her emotion, and knowing that I was doing it purely for her, knowing that I do not believe in the false commitment an object holds. The movie would soar. Every joke would be twice as funny; every tear, twice as sad; every twist, twice as exciting; and every smile, twice as fulfilling. And then, after enjoying the best movie of our lives – our movie – she would scream out with joy in the parking lot, and jump up under my palms. ENACT cheesy starlight kiss.
Thinking about the exotic, scratching tongues of grave markers.
He is staring at me. She elbows him. He just stares, like a clock face does the opposing wall.
Tic, Toc.
The first time I met him he said I wouldn’t make it. I remember insulting him: do not be so loutish as to encapsulate your conformity and let societies conditioning pioneer your ability to appreciate the very existence of communication. But that was all in my head. I recall clicking in when he said, tune into reality and get a real job.
Tic.
The same day, that very evening, he pulled me aside with intense eyes of grief and threatened me indirectly, but soon began to beg me, “Don’t ruin my family.” I was basically a kid just out of university, though his face spoke to me for ages after. I never seriously considered the threat I posed upon his household. He loved his daughter. She was happy with me. He let that be enough, but he never gave up. He even went so far as to offer me money. I nearly took it, but then he tried to use the bargain against me.
Toc.
He can blame me forever – he deserves that much. I much rather be his well, and not his shelf. Drop your change. Make a wish. Sandwich and cigarettes for the pale, if you please.
“I am very sorry for your loss.”
Well, there is always next time, I reply.
Shit! that was stupid.
Her uncle looks at me with eyebrows like a fork face down. His face is tightly shaven. His skin is the colour of russet potatoes under the sun. A glowing recent visit. He opens his mouth to respond, but, of course, he doesn’t.
Stupid.
Thinking about devoting my future time to superior motives.
I considered joining her once, not that she invited me, but she could have – seems selfish really. We could have been Romeo and Juliet or even Mickey and Mallory. We could have been together. Then again, I have never been certain if I love her so much as to not want to live without her. I never really considered being so committed. Or maybe I am being selfish too.
There was a time in my life that I focused my energy on completion. A time I both seek to forget and detour to remember. This was long after drugs gave me a reason to live. When an orgasm seemed like a light switch next to my blood pumping poison through pain. Releasing the strap on my arm was like struggling to hold your breath under water, then just letting out an exhausted exhale, and enjoying the rush of water filling your lungs. Rehab would be realizing you couldn’t breathe.
Thinking about dainty white robes, and gravel dragging slippers.
Endlessly, orange, white-capped bottles dropped into the sink. A cap pops, and two-faced capsules slide towards the anus drain. A bottles breaks, and coloured pills ride the high-sided tank. Nothing matters but the moment. Nothing matters but oxycodone. A taste of beer doesn’t control the drive. Mix and match will be the task, as the oxycodone can’t be found.
Blood on wrists makes me uncomfortable.
She seemed so innocent. I thought that is what I liked about her. However, when I found out she smoked more pot than I did, I liked her more. Somehow the contrast between her personality and her façade intrigued me to a pedestal. Wanting to be with her was not enough. I had to be with her. I had to come back down to earth. Even in this contrast, we were so alike. She was kind hearted, low-key, and had the same kind of dry humour I have. She was just an all around nice person, beautiful in all ways. Yet, beyond that, she burned my cynical personality - tagging along with jokes and insults. At times, she was even more fruitful than I in such categories. She was cruel, and kind. She was latent with pessimism, but laden with optimism. She lived. She died.
Ropes around necks are too direct.
I would give her gifts periodically. It was never anything elaborate or expensive. There was just times I longed to give her something and hear her words. See her smile in that way. I gave her my childhood teddy bear once. She liked that one. I would sneak into bed early in the morning, with a small sentimental gift, or maybe a gift I made. She liked my paintings. I liked hers too.
</continued>
On one of my daily runs I found a rock that looked like something out of a Narnia book. It was much too beautiful to be among the sand. I brought it back to her. It had a black fog in its depth beneath the purest navy blue eyes could ever see. It was almost perfectly smooth the entire circumference except a small notch that added to its personality. She looked at me and said, “life,” she paused, “life is both precious and useless at the same time.” I laid down beside her without a word and we just enjoyed each other and our thoughts. I loved it when she thought to slide her fingers between my own.
Moving traffic is timely and inaccurate.
On the anniversary of her grandfather’s death I took her to a hospital. I remember how disappointed her face was when she realized we weren’t going to his grave. I could tell she was angry, but she tried her best not to let the fire get the best of her. I felt bad when tears crashed down her check in the hospital parking lot. It would be worth it, I kept telling myself.
We found our floor. She was too upset to even ask or wonder what we were doing. I am sure the depression only got worse as she saw elderly people – grandfathers and grandmothers; great-grandfather and great-grandmothers – lying lifeless in their cots and being pushed slowly around in toothpick wheelchairs. I even caught a few smiles as we strolled past.
I opened the double doors to a lounge. It all seemed more like a nursing home than a hospital. A group of nearly twenty patients sat idly in their what seemed to be uncomfortable chairs. I sat. Yes, uncomfortable like the plastic seats of elementary school. No wonder I have a bad back.
A few chivalrous types questioned the tears that fell from her face. One even handed her a tissue.
A nurse brought me my guitar.
Who likes John Lennon?
Not a single person said no. I started with Imagine.
Guns aren’t easily accessible, and much too explanatory.
At times I could barely stand her voice, both in the literal and non-literal sense. Her voice had this innate nasally sound to it that sometimes just put me off the wrong way when I was already not impressed with her, or at times just not impressed in general. She would disturb me during my time of work with pots and pans, loud movies and murmuring music. If she were upset with me, she would do it deliberately and not answer to me calls for silence. She would go into fits when she felt our relationship wasn’t going anywhere and would ruin my apartment. I would step on broken glass, find ripped shirts and be missing pages from my computer-side stack. My notebook would be frail and thin. Those were the days I hated her. If she got mad enough she would yell. If she were really mad she would curse. If she were sorry she would talk dirty.
Plastic bags could be the choice.
It would be wise to devise a foolproof way to know right off the button who would become a problem in your life, and who wouldn’t. A permanent tattoo on a persons arm for every failed relationship crossed my mind. Take it even further and don’t just weed out the failing lovers, but weed out disease. A friend once said to me, if you want to rid of aids you permanently tattoo AIDS on the forehead of all those diagnosed. Who would have sex with them then? I remember thinking it was good but not perfect. Outlaw it. Consider having sex with AIDS attempted murder. Or do them both.
Thinking about the possibility of me having sponges behind my eyes.
My parents were married for twenty-two years before they divorced: a commoner’s act. I would assume they were only together for a couple of those years. It was not until after they divorced I discovered the wall cracks in their Final Supper. I suppose I knew all long really, but I was just an impressionable kid. They could have convinced me of anything.
It’s pathetic to blame your parent’s break up on yourself.
My mother whispered subtle words of my father once. He tried to abort me. He kicked her. I hate him. He was not like that before the pregnancy, but since then, he always has been. Being blue like a shy child in a busy park, or like a child holding plums to his eyes. Being red.
It’s pathetic to blame your girlfriend’s death on yourself.
“She was happiest with you. With you she had looks I hadn’t seen since she was young.”
My eyes swell. I can’t cry.
I only wish she wasn’t there, I reply, forcing a slight smile, like one end of a canoe.
She used to walk around my apartment with only my shirt on. She was so 80s. It mind as well been our apartment; sometimes she stayed months at a time. She was so yearning. I’d wake up at lunchtime on Sundays and find her in the kitchen, mostly naked, but covered. She never swore, but one Sunday late-morning I broke her the news.
I didn’t get rejected.
With one cheek filled with macaroni, “are you fucking serious?”
It was the cutest thing. And her smile, it held more pride and more excitement than my entire being. It was then I knew she loved me. Neither of us ever said it to the other. I am uncertain if it was that we never had to, or never found ourselves equally committed. She jumped into my arms. I could feel the rubber in her cheek as she hugged me.
Thinking about every scar that slashes her for every minute that passes without rain.
READ Rideau Street.
My feet, placed a dwarf’s step wide, kept my balance. Every seat was taken, but I was the only standing, like an empty hallway for a peculiar man without company, but watched with scrutiny. I wrapped my arm around one of the poles that stemmed from a gay pride, sandpaper seat. My arm was straight, parallel with the pole, but my hand was awkwardly wrapped around. I leaned my head against my fingers. Feeling safer, I tightened my feet more comfortably. A dwarf can step.
</continued>
READ Rue Besserer.
The bus jerked from time to time comparable to my wrist near scissors. I stared out the window, as if I was gazing into the sun, looking for answers while risking my sight. However, generally the city bust swayed like a small boat would upon a calm sea. Except, instead of seeing beautiful, tropical fish, and the aqua-tinged green waters, I saw coal roads splattered with a synthetic colour of the sun and aged whites marked by patterns that all interconnected or led to sprouting cement walls attempting beauty with dates. All numbered and placed. All easily found by identity.
READ Daly Avenue.
Traffic came to a dime, and I nearly smacked my head against what I thought to be my safety.
A novel slid, or should I say dragged, towards my feet. It had an eerie resembling sound to nails on a chalkboard, but with a touch of sneakers dragging against the walkway not long after the snow has passed and sand and salt eroded from the ground.
RE-READ Leonard Cohen. Clever.
I picked up the book and turned around to identify the culprit: the person who would let such a beauty hit the disgusting floor of a city bus. Never have I seen such a grave sinner.
Never have I seen such a grave sinner with deep December-stone eyes, wavy blonde hair that faded into the light, freckles that pebbled across her cheeks and nose, and a smile that beyond moves a man inside.
Don’t stare.
I once thought eyes were eyes and that complimenting a woman’s eyes was the most unoriginal and insincere thing a man could do.
Your eyes make me think of a Trisha Romance painting. Maybe a child playing in the snow by a frozen bird feeder, or maybe a grandfather walking down Niagara’s main street in winter as a horse and buggy strolls by, I unexpectedly spewed.
Stupid.
Her eyes looked away, but that smile crept up on her. Her teeth, a little large in proportion to her face, only added to the innocence of her beauty. I glanced at the title and deliberately smiled too.
She grabbed her novel from my palm, “thanks.”
READ Rue Willbrod
A seat opened beside her. I sat.
You’re very wholesome looking.
Stupid.
I mean I know I am probably not your type, but maybe you would be willing to consider new things.
“Maybe.”
Maybe you’d be willing to catch a simple-minded romance on a big screen after eating at a restaurant used to impress you.
“Maybe.”
Maybe you’d like to spend time with me this Friday.
“I don’t like men.”
I stopped and thought, maybe we could arrange something, but she flinched a smile before I found the semi-humorous words.
I wonder what my face looked like when she said that.
“I’m kidding. Maybe, I’d like that.”
READ Laurier Avenue.
Her sister slowly approaches me. They have the same face, but her sister has darker hair, darker skin, and a tad more age.
“She loved you.”
Jesus wept.
Her sister held me like a mother would her young son after witnessing a horrific act. Children are so innocent, so moral. Intuitively they recognize wrong from right. I recognized wrong.
I just wish she wasn’t there, I sob in the now dampness of her shirt. I hate hearing my crying voice. I haven’t cried in years.
“She’s glad she was.”
In true pain crying can feel as good as sex – not as in ecstasy, but release. In true pain crying is deep breaths of UV tears until your lungs fill to the brim and are quickly squeezed before they flood, and the atmosphere drains your sorrow leaving salt residue and scars in the lining of your lungs.
Her father could be staring through me and not at me. He could be thinking about helping cross-sea poverty stricken children, or about giving back to the immediate community. Maybe he is thinking about sitting down and confessing his sins to me - apologizing and crying with my newfound tears. Or maybe he isn’t.
I guess I really did ruin his family.
I love her.
</end>
Nice work Myst_Williams...
=LNL EP 2 Intros=
DDR// Can we have poems?
Onic// :(
~X~// Hmmm why not it will make things active.
Onic// :(
DSG// Can i join.
~X~// Sure you look hot in that pic.
Anders// Looks at DSG's profile drools.
Bahumat// Looks at DSG's profile drools
Onic// Looks at DSG's profile drools
PLH// Looks at DSG's profile drools
DDR// Looks at DSG's profile drools
DDR// Looks at DSG's profile drools Again
~To be continued~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
At 3/5/06 02:01 AM, XwaynecoltX wrote: =LNL EP 2 Intros=
Nice story ~X~, although the end seemed to look like you got a little lazy! Quite funny, though.
Bahumat// Looks at DSG's profile drools
*BAHAMUT >:(
Bahamut-
Ha, ya i do get your name mixed up now and then, well alot, it does seem like one of the harder names to remember im gonna have to put it on a notepad or something haha...
Anyways ya the story was abit sloppy at the end ill make it better next time, can anyone figure out who DDR is???
~X~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
At 3/5/06 12:31 PM, XwaynecoltX wrote: Ha, ya i do get your name mixed up now and then, well alot, it does seem like one of the harder names to remember im gonna have to put it on a notepad or something haha...
Why not just copy and paste my name? I think that would be a lot easier to do and easily spell it each time. :P
Anyways ya the story was abit sloppy at the end ill make it better next time, can anyone figure out who DDR is???
Hopefully it's better, and DDR, I think that's Quisty! :D
Of course it's me. I'm the only person who even likes DDR so much around here.
The story is fine ~X~
Anyway, Myst wrote a lot of really nice and interesting stuff. He is really good at writting. He always has the most and longest well tought out work. Glad to see you have stopped by to share some with us.
Tell me what you think about this one:
-=Historic Predator=-
Like a falcon this legend come all ways
Rough as God's only omnipotent hearsay
If there were no men to feed his hunger
If written nor told would this creature been
It would have no matter since it came worse than they've foreseen
His claws are sharp as picks and his eyes are more sharp than so
His wings are wide as the horizon, yet he can fly so low
That you could touch him if he were not so fast
Of all breathing creatures his breath will be the last...
At 3/5/06 05:49 PM, Andersson wrote: Tell me what you think about this one:
Ha...
A good poem of nature and hunger, i think, no really good work as always Anders, write us more please...
Well when you can...
~X~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
Good job Andersson. I think it's always nice to see you posting around here. I'm glad you FINALLY did!!! Well, I still want to see some more war poems, kekeke? :D
And so the late night starts...
Anyone watch the oscars tonight??? it was notbad at all and yay for clooney he deserved the award, and i say that reese shouldnt have even been nominated...
~X~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
At 3/4/06 11:46 AM, Myst_Williams wrote: City Bus
Holy shit. You take a break of a few weeks and all of a sudden you resurface with something of this quality.
You really need to go on sabattical more often.
In related news, I am getting within weeks of submitting my latest chapter to the WG (I'm sure you anticipate this eagerly as usual)
984372
Haha you changed your name to some numbers bahamut haha, i like the nimbers its very statistic related haha...
Anyways when you going back to your other name...???
~X~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
At 3/6/06 02:32 PM, XwaynecoltX wrote: Haha you changed your name to some numbers bahamut haha, i like the nimbers its very statistic related haha...
I only changed my name because Afro_Stud did that thing and I saw someone else who did that as well. I thought I should hop on a little bandwagon there. :P
Anyways when you going back to your other name...???
I might just fuck around with my alias for a bit and then go back to Bahamut- whenever I feel like it. Oh, and for a while, I'll be posting with my alt account and give my main account a little rest from posting. 12345 posts and I want to try and lower its PPD a little bit. :P
At 3/6/06 05:37 AM, Coop83 wrote: In related news, I am getting within weeks of submitting my latest chapter to the WG (I'm sure you anticipate this eagerly as usual)
You're going to be submitting here, too, right? I sure hope so. Myst does that. He posts all his work here and in his WG. It's cool that he never forgets about the old LNL ^_^
I will be working on Episode 3 of the LNL tonight and post it later , this is gonna be a great chapter in the story hehe...
Anyways how is everyones day or late evening where ever you may be in the world at this time...
~X~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
Okay. I'm really sick with a sore throat. It's funny how being depressed all of a sudeen makes me subspetible to germs. Eh, I'll post here in a week or two I dunno depends on the throat.
Yep its odd people always get sick now and then, they just need rest i supose, im sure we would know that you were not feeling well if you didnt post...
O you could tell us all about it when you got better, but whatever the case get well soon...
~X~
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
LNL Episode 3.5
DDR// Walks into late night lounge.
~X~// Eyebrow moves up.
~X~// Runs away.
DDR// Sits down.
=Meanwhile=
AncientX// Drinks some strawberry clock juice.
Andersson// Walks in Room and says Hello DDR
DDR// Hi Do you want to date?
Anderssons// Um, i have a girlfriend, he goes by the name of Bahamut7.
=Meanwhile=
Marcus and ~X~ walk out of the bathroom.
=Meanwhile=
SlightlyCrazyDude comes into the LNL
SlightyCrazyDude// You are all EMO
=Meanwhile=
Onic is plaing his new X-box with Mal when all of a sudden a *****Spark from the wall sparks with fire spirting out catching Mals hair on fire.
MAL// Awwww my hai nooooooooooooo my sexy hair NOOOOOOOOOOO
To be continued...
~X~ ~X~ ~X~ (FOLLOW-ME)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
POXNORA ??? A Very Unique game
At 3/6/06 02:36 PM, Quisty wrote: You're going to be submitting here, too, right? I sure hope so. Myst does that. He posts all his work here and in his WG. It's cool that he never forgets about the old LNL ^_^
Would you like me to give a re-hash of the first two chapters for here, Quisty? I can if you like, as they're stored on my flash drive in my top pocket, so finding them shouldn't be too hard.
At 3/5/06 05:31 PM, Quisty wrote: Anyway, Myst wrote a lot of really nice and interesting stuff. He is really good at writting. He always has the most and longest well tought out work. Glad to see you have stopped by to share some with us.
Thanks for the kind words. And thank you for continuing to skim through my dA stuff whenever you find time. I like getting a comment now and again from you on that site.
At 3/6/06 05:37 AM, Coop83 wrote: Holy shit. You take a break of a few weeks and all of a sudden you resurface with something of this quality.
You really need to go on sabattical more often.
Ya, sorry to have dissappeared, but I have been working dreadfully (actually, enjoyably) on my portfolio for a Creative Writing course. That was just the first draft of City Bus... I have to edit like mad now as it is the last piece to add to my potfolio.
In related news, I am getting within weeks of submitting my latest chapter to the WG (I'm sure you anticipate this eagerly as usual)
Yes, I never thought the day would come. I havnt read some of your stuff for quite some time. I am excited to see what you have developed.
This looks cool. Im always up until 5-8:00 a.m. on the weekends, can i join in?
I'm on the Dork Side.
At 3/7/06 07:17 AM, Myst_Williams wrote: Yes, I never thought the day would come. I havnt read some of your stuff for quite some time. I am excited to see what you have developed.
Well, aside from whoring the portal out, I'm using my time to construct the next part. It's all layed out in my head, I just have to get it down to paper, though it is coming along
At 3/7/06 01:46 AM, XwaynecoltX wrote: Andersson// Walks in Room and says Hello DDR
DDR// Hi Do you want to date?
Anderssons// Um, i have a girlfriend, he goes by the name of Bahamut7.
Haha, nice. More thank you. XD
At 3/7/06 01:46 AM, XwaynecoltX wrote: MAL// Awwww my hai nooooooooooooo my sexy hair NOOOOOOOOOOO
Almost as much of a prima donna as me.
At 3/7/06 08:58 AM, Coop83 wrote: Almost as much of a prima donna as me.
Yeah, the pipe wasn't good enough for ya?
Congratulations to the level up. ;-)
At 3/7/06 09:08 AM, Andersson wrote: Yeah, the pipe wasn't good enough for ya?
Read my post on the LUL, it should explain things a little more fully.
Congratulations to the level up. ;-)
Thank you.
At 3/7/06 01:46 AM, XwaynecoltX wrote: LNL Episode 3.5
Nice story ~X~ although with the // you either put down what the person is doing or saying. It makes it a little confusing. :S
Anderssons// Um, i have a girlfriend, he goes by the name of Bahamut7.
So....I'm a girl? O__O Interesting....
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