May 2010
3 posts
“We sent out the SOS call. It was a quarter past four in the morning when the...”
– Brand New
I thought this was just too good of a story to not share. It has a sort of a bittersweet ending, though. It was taken from MSNBC Today.
Even in the light of day, the ragged field in Dickinson, Texas, has a sinister look about it. There’s a coarsely mown area with ramshackle soccer goals made of sticks surrounded by scrubby trees and expanses of weeds. But despite its lack of scenic appeal, ...
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April 2010
3 posts
Hey everyone, it’s Cameron. Just wanted to comment on how much of an asshole Jacob is for posting that “What is your inspiration” question without waiting for an answer from me. I notified him of the message way back when, and he said he would answer it, but he never did. So what’s he do? He answers it and doesn’t even bother mentioning it to me. Tis why Jacob is an...
“Nobody knows everything, we know this to be true. Everything is difficult except...”
– Andrew Jackson Jihad
lovelylulu asked: At least three people ask me a day what my inspiration is, so what's yours?
(p.s-I am also shewritesandpagescatchflame)
(p.s-I am also shewritesandpagescatchflame)
March 2010
26 posts
“Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you...”
– Ernest Hemingway (via writehimoff)
http://tshs.tumblr.com/ask →
Someone ask us something so it looks like we have friends.
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with horns blaring he left but not before a subtle swig of his drink he had a 5 day beard it made a scratchy noise whenever he rubbed it prickled against her face she laughed and smiled 5 day beard 5 day beard 5 day beard pizza and whiskey
Read intellectual books, drink coffee (not tea), comb your hair.
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on the train to Camden
A pale blue house sits on a grassy beach on a shore in Maine. The clouds are gray and the ocean, colorless, gently rises and falls on the sand, slow and heavy like the breathing of an old man. A peeling white fence separates the ocean and the house and a path of withered wooden planks leads to the back porch of the house. A blue and white striped beach towel, faded and dirty, lies on the porch,...
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funeral on the coast
It was a dreary Sunday night and the heavy clouds blocked out the moonlight. The old man made his way along the dock, sea calm and steady, with the dim lights of the bar in his sight. As normal, he was going there to drink and marvel at his picture that hung on the wall, covered in a dusty frame, that showed him holding a large fish. He held the record for the largest fish caught in the nearby...
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tears take flight and fly away
heavy hearts lift and soar today there are things I simply cannot say
but hand in hand I’m here to stay.
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what i was thinking as i faded away
Sitting here in this black and white, half-off suit, I’m staring blankly at an empty computer screen. This is where I am, this is my future. All that hard work, all those late nights spent studying, and now look where I am. The gray floor and the dim fluorescents lights are my home. Some people are in the back room with a birthday cake, celebrating the birth of another idiot. Like they even...
“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could...”
– Charles Bukowski (via fuckyeahbukowski)
http://www.tumblr.com/directory/recommend/creative%... →
We want to be famous, too.
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living beside the Cendre de Rose
The old bookstore is a small, two-room shop that rests snugly between a family-run diner and a three story inn called the Cendre de Rose. It isn’t in the greatest part of town, but all the artists and musicians and writers live there and they’re nice people. Dysfunctional, but nice. Today is Tuesday and the sky is gray with a slight breeze. Even this deep in the city you can taste...
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all were men
I just realized I never posted this. I was asked to write a story based around this old photo. It’s a bit confusing if you’re not paying attention, but it gets the job done.
It was six p.m. and the East Bay Terminal flooded with people. Dark, sickly people whose horrid lives seeped out of their pores and filled the air, mixing with the steel and grime of the surrounding landscape....
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bff haiku
cameron with his leg broken like a teen girl’s heart heal, my love, heal fast
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we slept in a car that night
sitting in the yellow kitchen, with blue daisy wallpaper and noodles stuck on the roof from the days when we could smile at mistakes, I hear the cries of a tattered soul and a man who is too lost to understand a symphony of noises begins to play all at once: cries and screams and doors slamming and glass breaking and sirens off in the distance she grabs me and holds me tight; bear and cub deer and...
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the day we ran away
running through the forest with faces painted like warriors of a forgotten time. you look at me through a layer of thick burgundy red and black and smile. the deer are used to our scent and run past us, run with us. dirt is in our hair and ears and eyes and little green trees begin to grow from us. together, we become a forest, branches and roots entangled, reaching up towards the sky to talk and...
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atlantic bound
Straight out of my notebook. I think I’ll start sharing all the little things I jot down.
The tan train pulls up at midday, with the sun slightly setting. The green curtains rattle and the inside is dark, mixing well with the grey skies above. The train pulls to a halt and people exit the carriages in a quickened pace. Luke is standing on the bronze platform, unmoving, forcing people to...
February 2010
12 posts
http://yourpoems.tumblr.com/post/414711356/i-dont-s... →
Somewhere, someone actually liked my poem enough to read it and put it on their blog. Of course, it’s dedicated to posting and sharing other’s poems, but it’s pretty rad, nonetheless.
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a december lighthouse shining into june
These are the days we so often remember for the bleak skies that melt into empty trees. Days painted into memory like watercolor on a canvas of the weakest lace. Tea stain imprints, with faded yellow and that smell none can describe. The sun is faded, perhaps nonexistent, save for the memories of when it smiled months ago. No clouds, no rain. The sky is trapped in time and the flow of the seasons...
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i don't sleep at night for a reason
me and you and us running into the winter fog like children with no parents and no cares in the world mornings underneath a blanket, in the cold and the frost, warming each other with something stronger than body heat afternoons underneath a roof, listening to the to the tune of rain, daydreaming of each other’s endless smiles nights underneath a starless sky, on the last floor before the...
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better than a hangover
fever dreams all night long and then you wake up to the rain to the drip drip drip the sun begins to sink and you wither away lying in bed with white bottles exposing white sleeping pills and the dishes are piled up and the clothes are dirty and the dogs are barking and the lights are flickering and the cars drive by and the rain and its drip drip dripping all night long you can’t sleep or...
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From an angry boy..
Most of the time, I really hate most people in the world. Every fucking human being I come in contact with. Girls, mostly. Guys, mostly, too. I could go on for hours and hours, days and days, years and years, eons and eons of how much I hate and who I hate and who I’d like to kill.
I hate teenage girls. I hate their stupid fake personalities and their stupid smiles. I hate their blonde fucking...
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the price of four
One Friday night, after everyone had gone to bed, Death knocked on my door. “I’ve come for a soul,” he said. Fearing it was me, I yelled, “Take my grandmother!” And so she left, leaving behind her fortune. The moon fell asleep and woke again, bringing with it another knock from Death. “One more soul,” he stated. “Take my mother,” I said, “for she is getting old.” And so she left, leaving behind...
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war is a verb
Walking. Cooling. Calming. Thinking. Listening. Observing. Hearing. Seeking. Anticipating. Fearing. Screaming. Running. Pounding. Avoiding. Shooting. Focusing. Saving. Killing. Rotting. Smelling. Ordering. Forgetting. Hurting. Crying. Bleeding. Falling. Lying. Dying. Hoping. Dreaming.
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old dog shanty
Down at the corner of Emerson and 5th, there was a little two-story drugstore that sat snugly between cracked streets and empty apartments. The owners lived at the top, with broken windows and maggots for children. Things would fly in all the time; birds, moths, flies, city smog. The smog was the worst. It would sneak in while you were sleeping and grab you by the throat, choking you until you...
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This Is Home
“This is home to me,” the gruffy old man said to his elderly, pale dog named Walter. “I have always lived here, and I have always loved it, greatly..” He approached the stern of the largely magnificent, overpowering ship made out of once-strong and sturdy wood; now weak and frail. He gazed off into the deep blue fields of fright, dreams, terror, and joy. He has spent all of his 78 years of living...
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those things nobody hears about
In the middle of a lush, green forest, there lied a bright little outcropping, full of pearly white daisies. They fed on the soil and drank from the sun, basking in it’s warmth, living a relaxing life most would envy. But there was one flower, directly in the middle, who was not satisfied with his consummate lifestyle. He felt small and weak, overpowered by the tall trees growing around him....
January 2010
7 posts
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the boundary between both
“The deep blue prairie skies caressing the land, with it’s golden glow. Not only gold in color, but in heart and soul as well. The grass blows in the wind, like the waves of the Pacific Ocean that I used to visit as I child. But my child days are long gone. My dreams, however, are not. I love this land, as it loves me, but the bright red barn has lost it’s color. It stands there, dull and empty....
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of apples and ignorance
Long ago, the farmer and his son planted seeds together, working beside the evening’s soft haze. The little seeds rained down on the damp earth, eager to burst open and meet the world. And when the farmer walked back to the old barn, bags dry and bare, one single seed fell out, the slender grass blades breaking his fall. Left and forgotten, he would listen as the farmer went out and watered...
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twenty dollar quick fix
driving through the mountains I notice how the gray roads cut through the rock and grass the cars circulate between cities slow and cold like the pulse of a dying man they shit out little clouds of gray smoke that chases away the blue sky like giants chasing children trash is thrown out bags bottles broken dreams it’s buried in the ground and little blades of empty promises grow from the...
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I've lived in this city my whole life
These fucking skies, this fucking concrete jungle and all the people with their stupid ugly faces, this whole fucking town should be torn down and burned to the ground. Apathy is provided when the rain falls, rage is brought upon me when the wind starts to blow, and I hate everyone. The sickness in my head and stomach is similar to Denny’s: a constant shit-hole that hardly ever gets cleaned;...
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a contrast in cycles
When I first moved into the city, I would take the same route to work everyday; a little stone path that cut through a pale little park. The ocean’s breeze chilled the trees while the grey Pacific clouds wrapped the park in a gloomy blanket. But near the water’s edge there lied a bright red bench, a bold contrast to it’s austere environment. Even more peculiar, though, were the two men who sat on...
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recycled white
I walked into the room and watched the scene unfold; Little paper people Little paper towns Little paper governments equality, freedom, rights, revolts. Little paper cities zoning rights, sewage systems, schoolyards, littered streets. Little paper suburbs green grass, copycat houses, broken cars, teenage angst. Little paper skyscrapers swedish furniture, stainless steel, smog-filled sunsets,...