My Morning Story

The Boozehound (Ode to Lindsay Lohan and E.A. Poe)

pasyr — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 18:20:24 +0000

Once upon a Tuesday morning, I began a liquor pouring,
And spilled some Jameson all over the mezzanine floor,
While I guzzled, head lightly rocking, suddenly there came a knocking,
As if some one rudely mocking, mocking me at my apartment door.
‘Tis some paparazzo,’ I muttered, `knocking at my apartment door-
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I recall, as I consumed more alcohol,
Every last spilled drip of Jameson I licked right off the floor.
Eagerly I wished for gladness; – vainly I eased my sadness
Grabbed a tabloid, read in madness- I had lost my film role to Pauly Shore-
For the untalented fool whom Satan named Pauly Shore-
A B-list actor for evermore.

But a deathly shriek, sounding like my album, Speak,
Shocked me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
My heart beating, wondering whom I would be cleating, I began repeating
‘Tis some asshole attempting entrance to my condo’s first floor -
Yes, some crazy fan, or nosy man, inquiring my role lost to Pauly Shore-
That’s what’s up, and nothing more,’

Presently I got real pissed; lowered my brow and clenched my fist,
`Hey jerk,’ said I, `or douche, truly you best not fuck with this whore;
But the fact is I was boozing, then so loudly you came cruising,
And so noisily you were knocking, knocking on my apartment door,
Now I shall bust your face upon my floor’ – here I opened wide the door; -
Brightness there, and nothing more.

Back to my room turning, my freckled face rage-filled, burning,
But again I heard a knocking this time louder than before.
‘Surely,’ said I, `surely that is coming from the window, not my door;
Let’s see then, what it is and watch TV later, for I DVR’ed Jersey Shore -
Let me find this stalker at the window, and beat him ‘til he’s sore; -
‘Tis some creeper and nothing more!’

I punched through the window glass, shouting out ‘I’ll kick you’re ass’,
Slowly in stepped a smelly dog reeking of vodka, tonic, and a peach liqueur.
Not the least bit taught of lazy; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But this dog ran then stopped, and slurped the liquor I had spilled upon my floor -
Laid his beergut on the floor, looked at me waiting for another pour,
Sat and waited for another pour.

Then this ugly brown pooch waddled to me looking for some hooch,
But soon detected the large plastic alcohol ankle bracelet that I wore,
‘I do not need to get dry, nor in need of alcoholic rehab’, said I,
‘Though more than a day sans gin rye would make me cry’,
‘No need for rehab, dog, I implore, but could you drive me to the liquor store’
I’m out of Jameson and cannot drive my convertible, four door,
Quoth the boozehound, `No more.’

Then, I sensed the air grew thicker, and my need for drink raised quicker,
Sniffing Jameson’s sauce spurned across my condo’s first floor,
‘Prick, I cried, your master sent thee, to gloat his victory’,
Your master is the demon, born from 90’s humor, named Pauly Shore,
Dick of dicks, Biodome sucked, damn that Pauly Shore,
Quoth the boozehound, `No more.’

‘Go, go get me sweet, cheap liqeuor, or just get off my condo floor’
‘Fine’, said I, ‘fine, then leave me and return to your Pauly Shore,
I will find a new role that’s token, just cease those words you have spoken!
Leave my patheticness unbroken! – please just exit through my condo door!
Quoth the boozehound, `No more.’

And the boozehound, ever sitting, still is sitting, still is licking
Licking up the sauce spread across my apartment floor,
And his bloodshot eyes have all the seeming of a wino who is dreaming,
And the fluorescent light is streaming, As he looks about for another pour,
And my soul from out that shadow now lies across the jailhouse floor,
Shall be lifted – no more.

I found out where my problem with commas stems. These days I do too much talking and less writing. Need to start writing more.

runningvein — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 06:46:11 +0000

When, you, talk
it feels smooth as this.
Smooth as a wet scaly fish
with a tadpole friend

at, the end, of the pond.

Walk on over, rub the head.
Little bald cute as hell head,
then the valkyries sing.
And you know you’re dead.

Death, YES, YOU, TOO.
Since I drowned in that swimming pool,
you’ve been eyeing my soul.
Was worth it, though, wasn’t it?

To come back to your Mother,
wet and cold and shivering,
mud of lagoon heavy on shoulders,
and say: “I’m still alive!”

Looks on the faces
of people passing-by
so out of context and out of
rhyme,

yet priceless.

Distances

fairlyoddrob7706 — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 17:42:42 +0000

Hear me for the words I speak are of the utmost of importance.
They shatter like glass and tear my throat.
I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me.
Please just reach down and lift me up.
My eyes are turning to dark.
If I shouted these words across the way and out to you, would they ring as true?
Would you hold your arms up and run into mine?
Could it be that easy?
If everything fell into place, would you know it?
If the words strike you in the moment, would you know it?
If I held my hands up and shouted out to you, would you know me?
Would you know me?

37 Bitter, Simple, Regretful Truths.

Arsvitis Vaine — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 06:42:00 +0000

37 BITTER, SIMPLE, regretful TRUTHS.

Not hearing God’s replies to my prayers.
Not believing I could be saved.
Thinking that, “I run this!”
Believing I could do it all on my own.
Believing that all I’ve done was enough.
Believing that loyalty still matters.
Not realizing that it doesn’t matter.
Not seeing it’s time to go.
Not realizing it wasn’t me.
Not realizing he was no good for me.
Not realizing I’m fucking up again.
Not recognizing closed-doors as pathways.
Not realizing the importance of education.
Second-guessing.
Not 2^nd. Guessing.
Shutting up.
Being nonchalant
Being careless with another’s feelings.
Not being mindful.
Not feeling full..
Always wanting more and getting less.
Always giving and never getting.
Being mad at family for doing the same.
Laughing when I should have protested.
Begging.
Pleading.
Sacrificing.
Being proud and not asking for help.
Not asking for a salary raise.
Not asking for a promotion.
Being mad at the person who did.
Loving things that could not love me back.
Trying and failing.
Not learning the lesson.
Having to learn the lesson….again.
Dumb-founded as to how I ended up here.
Not asking FOR IT and wonder why I don’t GET IT.

non-existent

A Moment In the Life

nickaplease — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 07:49:31 +0000

Shapeshifter

dpetkovic — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 06:45:48 +0000

Shapeshifter

I have been many things to you.
We have lived many lives.
First, I was your muse,
The unattainable one, your jewel.
Then, I was your lover,
The one you entered and inhabited.
Next came the mother,
The cleaner, the finder of lost objects.
Now your warden.
I run the prison that you built for us.
I am what you make me.
A shapeshifter of your design.

definition:

Shapeshifting is a common theme in mythology and folklore as well as in science fiction and fantasy. In its broadest sense, it is when a being has the ability to alter its physical appearance. The transformation may be purposeful or not depending on whether it has been the subject of a curse or spell. In some folklore, once the shapeshifter has become transformed, it becomes progressively more difficult for it to return to its original form.

You and Me

nickaplease — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 22:15:10 +0000

Be well for my sake,

live long for me.

I’ll die before you,

it’s meant to be.

But do not fret,

for you will see,

we’ll be together,

you and me.

Home

Jackytharippa — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 17:23:09 +0000

What time is it? What frickin’ time is it? That question rolled through my waking thoughts countless times. Why? It had felt like I had been asleep for weeks. Asleep for such a period of time that the hands on the clock had forgotten me as they passed through the hours. That’s how I felt when I finally sat up on the futon I had so cozily fell into slumber on.

After realizing that I couldn’t find a single clock around me in my dark as a moonless midnight apartment, the smell hit me. The atrocious smell that made me gag. My eyes watered, my nostrils stung, and I had no idea what the hell, or what hell, that smell was coming from. I stood up, and stumbled through the dark looking for a light switch. My body was stiff, awkward. My legs fought back as I only took a few steps to the nearest wall. My fingers ached, my back was sore, the sore that you get the day after a four hundred pound linebacker lays your ass to the grass. I was that sore.

I felt on the wall for the light switch that I knew was there, and when I finally felt it graze my finger, I flicked it to zero results. No lights came on. And that smell was still lingering. God, where is that coming from? I thought. Something had to of died. My head throbbed, a headache unlike no other. I sat on the floor, leaned against the wall, and slowly, as slow as my aching body would allow, rested my chin against my chest. What frickin’ time is it? That was the thought as I fell back asleep.

When I awoke again, in the same position that I had fallen asleep in, the smell was stronger, and my calico cat, Mr. Charles, was very intently staring at me. And every hair on that damn cat’s being was on end. I just looked into those cat’s eyes. And for the first time in my life, I saw fear in an animal’s eyes. Mr. Charles was frightened of me. Or maybe, just maybe, that smell was getting to him too. It had gotten stronger since I had awoken the first time to it.

The sun had risen while I was taking my unusual nap. But no sunlight was coming through the windows. It was as if the sky had an overcast and the heaviest fog in the world was choking my apartment building. You couldn’t see out the window, but just enough light made it in to make out my home. And besides Mr. Charles, who was avoiding any space ten feet around me, his eyes never leaving me, my apartment was now home to countless flies. I couldn’t hear their buzzing, but I watched them. They flew around the futon, never landing on it, just hovering over it, by it, around it.

My head was spinning? What was going on? Walking into the kitchen, I turned on the kitchen sink, slid my hands under the faucet, and pulled them back just as fast. The water was scolding, blistering hot. I checked to make sure I had turned the cold nozzle, double checked even. I did. No steam was coming from the water, and how did it get that hot that fast? Making sure I wasn’t completely insane, I ran my hand under it again. Son of a bitch! I exclaimed, my palm on metaphorical fire as the damn water burned to the slightest touch.

I pinched my nose, closed my eyes as tight as they would humanly go, grinded my teeth, and told myself to wake up. This was some nightmare from another night of too much alcohol and one or more horror movies. That was all this was. A nightmare. But I just would not wake up. So, it wasn’t a nightmare. In no way, was it a nightmare.

I grabbed the phone. No noise coming through it. I pushed buttons, slammed the phone against anything within reach, and finally let it slip to dangle on its cord. No noise. Nothing. And then movement out of the corner of my eye. I hid against the wall. Whatever I had seen was in my living room. Whatever I had seen was with the flies, with Mr. Charles. The smell. The smell wasn’t as strong in the kitchen. But it was there, reminding me that it was there.

I leaned slowly, glancing around the corner, and it was three of them. They was like shadows, but in person form. Almost as if the shadows switch places with their makers, the people that light shined on, and their shadows just stood up and took over their places. I watched them, but they never noticed me. They never looked in my general direction. They stood, looking at the couch. Watching the flies fly. And Mr. Charles never even glanced in their way. Only at me. Eyes dead set on me.

The three shadows moved about my apartment, looked over everything, everything but me. And then they just left. But in no time, more returned. This time, five. They looked the same as the ones before them. Shadows, walking damn shadows. And I was scared out of my damn mind. I walked backwards until I felt the fridge to my back. And I slid down to the cold, tiled floor. To just watch the shadows move about. My eyes darted around, looking for other shadows in the fog-lit apartment. And the phone was back on the receiver. I never hung it up. But it was back on the receiver. And then, the shadows noticed me.

Mr. Charles hissed at me. I heard the hiss. It stung my ears, like nails on a chalkboard. Like a thousand nails on a chalkboard through a megaphone. The shadow walked towards me, straight at me, and then standing straight over me, turned around and walked away. What the hell was happening? I had lost my damned mind. And so did Mr. Charles. The damn feline was hissing at me, missing the entire point of the scenario. That walking shadows had invaded!

Everything that was happening, the cat, the shadows, the flies, everything, hit me at one damn time. And I passed out. Right there on the cold tile floor, leaning against the fridge. And when I awoke again, the light, the little bit of light that spilled in, was gone. And I was left in the dark. With god knows what lingering, waiting to do whatever to me. I curled up, pulled my knees to my chest. And I cried. Like a damned baby, I cried. I let the water works roll until I saw light again. The apartment door opened. And in stepped my mom. My mom walked in, the light from behind her spilling past her. And there was my mom. Who had died three years ago.

Mom? That was the thought going through my head as I fell back into slumber.

tucson square dance

mrrupainter — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 06:43:59 +0000

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little slut deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a whore i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon damn Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little tit they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to kill Brittany it’s fucked up i need to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was horny soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to fuck anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a shit about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to kill Brittany I’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler 28 years of age race #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy sweaty claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start I could see it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to murder poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Hidden Prologue

author_girl_serena — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 06:43:50 +0000

OK so I know I do a lot of poetry but this is something a little different. I will do my best to post the next chapter every day but no promises. This is the prologue to a story I’ve been working on.

“Come on, Vanessa, he’s your best friend, just talk to him,” Jenny said grabbing my arm.

“No, you’re my best friend and besides he’s with his girlfriend,” I stated matter-of-factly, pulling my arm back.

“Girlfriend or no girlfriend, Mitchel still has feelings for you and you definitely need to tell him how you feel.” She started pulling me towards the spot where Mitchel was standing with the girl he proclaimed to love. I pulled back. I couldn’t even look his way. I was too scared to talk to him. Kevin walked out of the side door of the school. Thanking God, I wiggled away from Jenny and ran in his direction.

“Kevin, you are such a lifesaver.” I hugged him and started to head towards home.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jenny said catching my arm. “Now, Kevin, help me out here. Don’t you agree that Vanessa should tell Mitchel that she still likes him?”

“Yup.” Kevin grabbed my other arm and they both pulled me over to Mitchel and Ashley.

“Hey, Mitchel, can we talk to you real quick?” Kevin asked. Mitchel nodded, kissed Ashley and walked over. He looked puzzled as he looked at the scene before him. Kevin and Jenny were holding me as I desperately tried to free myself from their steady grips.

“What’s up?” Mitchel asked concerned about what was happening to his best friend. I had known Mitchel almost all my life but I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him now. I did my best to avoid the deep emeralds that rested themselves in the sockets where his eyes should be. I was still struggling to release myself from Kevin and Jenny but with little success.

“Vanessa?” Mitchel’s confusion danced across his face toying with amusement. I started to pull away harder as the tears began to form and spill over my lashes.

“Please just let me go, this isn’t funny anymore,” I said, trembling from the effort.

“Are you ok?” Mitchel said, reaching out to wipe the tears that had started to run down the side of my face. I nodded and finally succeeded in pulling away from Kevin and Jenny and ran.

I left Mitchell standing there confused and hurt at my shying away and not telling him everything. I finally had to stop about a hundred feet away from where I had left them. I was safely tucked around the side of the building when I finally let the rest of my emotions take hold of me. I fell to the ground crying and holding the necklace Mitchel didn’t know I still wore. He gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago and I had never taken it off. The small dolphin gave me comfort even on the worst of days. The same way he used to. I heard footsteps stop behind me as I finished the last of my tears and stood to leave.

“Look, Kevin, the fact is he loves Ashley, not me. It doesn’t matter whether or not he knows how I feel about him. It’s over. Just let it drop. I can’t do this anymore.” I turned to face Mitchel. He was clearly taken aback by what I had just uttered to who I thought was Kevin.

“V-Vanessa?” he stuttered out taking a few steps towards me. Tears were now streaming down my face again in a fresh river. He closed the small distance between us in an easy stride and gathered me into his arms.

“Vanessa, I had no idea,” He said, planting kisses in my damp hair. He sounded so hurt and so shocked that I pulled away to tell him not to worry about me, but before I could speak, he kissed me.

ok I know its really rough but please let me know what you think!

involving thoughts of a borderline youth.

barea — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 06:41:24 +0000

writing in sand
under the sun
staring up at heaven and
forging straight towards hell.
waiting for the waves
connect your dots
cross your t’s and dot your i’s
trace the lines,
follow their direction.

watch the waves take over
you or humanity or
temperamental water,
they’ll wash away
your pretty little picture
clean slate
and a fresh start.

connect different dots
different patterns
new meanings
in the same old shit.

just keep walking.

Unexpected Life Lessons: A tale of of tolerance and acceptance.

Arsvitis Vaine — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 06:40:18 +0000

Unexpected Life Lessons

A tale of tolerance and acceptance.

Food for truth.

A tale of tolerance and acceptance.
She said her mother loved calf-liver, but she hated it.
She couldn’t stand the smell or look of it.
Could not understand why ANYONE ate it.

Said her Mom would serve it smothered in creamy- grayish-gelatinous goo…but she could see right through the thinly veiled onion-gravy-trick …and would have NONE OF IT.

She promptly pushed her plate away and went to bed hungry, while everyone else sat around the dinner table admiring the lovely dish.

After she graduated from High School, she and a friend traveled the globe, sampling what the world had to offer.
First stop was France, where she tasted Foie Gras for the first time.
Though odd, but it is very fashionable, so she tolerated it with wine.
It reminded her of something she had as a child that was encased in a red wrapper.
Next stop was Scotland, where they sampled Haggis.
It was a little too rich for her liking, but none-the-less, was thankful for the memories and thought, “To each his own”.
Next stop, Russia, where she fell in love with a small plate of Pate and Caviar… 2 things she swore she’d never eat!
When they returned home to Louisiana, her Mom welcomed her with a dish of Dirty Rice, which she enjoyed immensely.

Mom listened intently as she told of her food adventures, smiled and said, Sweetie, all those dishes are made from LIVER, including the one you just ate!

Said all that to say what???
You never know what you like until you try it…whether in small doses or the whole Enchiladas!!

Today, she still doesn’t like Liver and Onions, but is willing to give it a try and no longer wonders why such a dish is so very satisfying to her Mother’s soul.

Patience, acceptance, love, food and rest and repeat.