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fashionaddict

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Jan 20, 2012
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6
ForEverAfter, here

Sorry for hijacking your post, fashionaddict.

This is now the non-mini submissions sub-thread.

Post anything anytime.

If it doesn't deserve a thread of it's own, or if it does but you couldn't be bothered making one.

If you want more views. If you want feedback. If you want to fuck a giraffe.

Well, look no further. Except for the giraffe part.

Post here.
 
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Jade, I could start this just about a million ways.
But for now I just want you to sit and take a gaze.
I may not be very good at this but, Hey
You know the love I got for you could keep me up for days.
And yet I sit here and try to write to you my Babe.
From here I'll step back and let my heart take the stage.
First, let me say, you never cease to amaze.
To me, your energy holds such a foreign grace.
Such an effect isn't easily portrayed.

I come to you in the form of a song,
to show you that my love is strong.
And even if it doesn't make a damn,
I'll be proving to myself that I can.
I don't want to stop,
but I think you will understand.
Baby I wish I could be your man.
Maybe someday, we might just get the chance,
to share that beautiful dance.
Jade, you will always be a part of me,
No matter the circumstance.
And though my words are minimal,
my love for you is infintismal.
I just hope you remember that, even after the physical.
---------------------------
Just some things i wrote on a piece of paper earlier, first time I've ever tried that so dont judge too bad please. :)
+
Dunno if "infintismal" is even a word but it felt right, so whatev.
 
I will crack the lonely weekend nights across my shin
and shout empty thunder from the peaks of my satellite planet

I will light fire to the hills surrounding this city
and the shadows of forgotten landmarks will dance in their restoration

I will be forgotten
or at best, remembered as forgotten

I will sustain damage beyond the point of repair
and function, albeit ineffectively

Here now
gone forever
 
Black soil - sprouts coiled stalks milk white,
humid wet warts bloom, ripe well - formed fungi's,

clusters pure – virulent,
spores around root of birch.

Eden germ sweats delirium dew,
bore more, multiples -

exquisite disease - red caps flecked with
cottage cheese painted roses whores compared.

Purification...more life spawns -
transformation – breeds in flux.

Sacred fruit...Amanita Muscaria.
 
The Clitoris

Never make eye contact
But play close attention
It will remain hidden
If you are too direct
Or too indirect
It smells fear
Pretense is
pointless.
You either
Understand
Or you don't
If you're not sure
Then you have failed
And there's nothing left to do
But work on your periphery;
There is always tomorrow.
 
Monday Morning

I'm sitting in my Biology class and it's about 8:20 AM. The girl in front of me has her Ipad out and her screen saver's a picture of her and a friend chugging alchohol out of a multi-orificed drinking apparatus, it is absurd. She clicks on her web browser, and checks her facebook account, tagging a few photo's before moving on to People Magazine.com. The Head Line is "Snookie get's Married!", or something like that. For some reason I think about the recent school shooting, and my head goes kind of numb. I look at the walls of my class room and start nervously playing with the plastic wrapping on my pack of Newports. It bothers me that I have so few left.
 
never say every thing
dead people can’t sing
what have you got to complain about?

don’t fuck every one
the dead don’t say no
but nobody listens

you can’t be everybody
Cadaver Joe is nobody
you can’t be him

lucky you Fuck McGoo
Chucky, too, and a muckle coo
Blanket Sam drank juiced clam
wanker spam and a cup or two of muckle coo
mayonaise

the word corpse doesn’t have any friends in the English language

abstracting abysmal absolutions
appeals to the arrogant
arguably arch-Bishops
bitch to baboons
babbling about
blind baby bilbies
and badger cordial

conformity confuses Confucius
appeals to the arrogant
to the copiously co-dependent
it appeals to the dead

what have you got to complain about?
you're not dead
you're not fucking dead
 
she likes behemoths
i like microscopic midgets
we were made for each other
like plastic toys designed for mass production

she likes the day
i like the night

i love her
but she sees me
as a picturesque epitome

i like introspective nightmares
she tells me she doesn’t care
we were made for each other
like balloons and pinecones

she likes to play
i like to die
slowly

i love her
she loathes me
 
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He opens up the refrigerator. The fluorescent light inside is covered with blood, it projects a dull red hue across the little food remaining on the shelves; in the supermarket, surveying the produce; back at home, in bed with a girl who doesn’t give him any trouble; he eats her pussy and wraps up the leftovers. He opens the refrigerator. The fluorescent light inside is covered with blood.

The milk has expired.
 
my spirit dwells impartially
my body is not my own
my mind rests wholeheartedly
while my harts light doth shown

it magnifies all of life
to the point where comforting likeness is
all that is known

for what else can grow in the company
of seeds fare hands have sown
we pray to eneter with-in the super-bright gloom
and though not seeing and not knowing
to see and to know is itself the above sight and knowledge.
For this is veritably to see and to know
and to celebrate superessentially
the supersessential,
through the abstraction of all existing things
just as those who make a lifelike statue
by extracting all the encumbrances

es cor punim
crosteve mortello mortello
questa mgnosienna

~~~~~

whos hasth all is none of that much more
which is less then anyhting
how have you held all

all is held with in
with in all is the self of what exists among

to you what is real is only perpetuated by what exists amongst others
yet others come and go and so do the perceptions once held so dearly

how many trails can one run before the cliffs edge is meet and with out further wonderment the judgment is passed
and what remains is lept into: imagination
 
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imagination:
thines own inner self as what has been described as held only with in, this is Your God given right

and none such other then that could be the meaning towrds your life as an individual
who art exists in nothing but besides what shapes the self from all that can be manifested to allow such an eveolutuion to exist

this evolution is existent, and any rebuttal is resistant to the change that has always been, the most magnificent part of you, the meaning of your life.

for nothing else can be handed to you besides what is able to be accepted, alot for more acceptance and gain more to give to those in mutuality or not.
 
Misery does not love company. Misery loves a pot of coffee and half pack of cigarettes. Misery loves 3 AM and emotional masochism. Misery loves fantasy and the harsh disappointment that it causes. When all of these elements of agony become pervasive in a man’s life, he falls deeply in love with misery. Misery does what even the most understanding and warm-hearted goddesses cannot do. She not only loves hopeless men despite their aversion to sanity and survival, she loves them for it. What creature could embrace a broken man’s shattered soul? Only an amorphous concept could accept the razor shards of darkness that jut out of a man’s chest. Only she could turn them into jigsaws that fit perfectly in her bosom. Misery clings to those lonely young boys who couldn’t bond with loving projections of female flesh until late in their adolescence. She marries them in gothic churches of youthful angst, lies with them in the back alley hours of weekend nights. Long into adulthood, after his divorce from her loneliness, the young boy turned man lies awake next to his wife, whom fallen deep into the soft arms of dream, will never know of his midnight escapades to her bed of black roses. Many men spend their whole lives wondering why their relationships are consistently dysfunctional. What shortcoming in self-image, self-confidence, or self-awareness could keep them from complete romantic satisfaction? Few men realize whose cold pale hands hold them back from true love. In the heart of the man oppressed by a moonlit soul, there is a chamber reserved for misery. Even in the ecstatic and exponentially passionate presence of a reciprocating mate, her callous hands massage his shoulders in morbid reassurance, and pull him away in moments of potential intimacy. He grows old with her. In the twilight of his life, he will gaze in lonely wonder at the stars, and feel her long black hair slide down his back like cloth woven from the night sky, as she rests her eternally weary head on his shoulder. Only then will he realize he could never have loved any other woman.
 
from what ever may come of this melancholy, i will ration like carrot tops, i have devoted everything to it and received nothing but promises to myself that are empty. as if out of spite for my life i fake the lesser, and repaint my flower bed with ox blood so the grass will look greener next winter, when time freezes still like rain turns to sleet, only, the avenues here have been plowed over once before.

i cant leave this bubble gum here after all.
 
A few of my recent short thoughts:

Once again I've jumped the gun: Another rainy day spent forgetting to hold back on wishes until after throwing pennies into the well.

Why are they called "cat calls" and "wolf whistles"? They don't sound anything like a cat or a wolf. You know what I can do? I can moo like a fucking cow. I'm starting the "cow call". Moooooo hey baby lemme get some milk.

Do NOT masturbate after having been in contact with poison ivy. Even if there's no obvious rash on your hands, the oil is invisible and welts can be delayed. At least this is the most pleasurable rubbing of poison ivy rash I've experienced.

Yes, I broke the character limit on the latter two, but it looks like almost everyone else has as well, so I went with it!
 
Fluttering wings with so far to look ahead
All smiles of anticipation
In wonderment of one moment to the next

Alive here Living there

Dancing with light from no source but ones own; changing color light reflecting off itself
Happily being Happy enough to be
Having no memories
Only soft familiar impressions of what has been
and what more could become then, decidedly

Alive here Living there

Restfully: tossing into sleep, where that dreams end rolls into this's beginning!
LOOK look LOOK
That was all it took

Imagining well

Alive here and Living there
 
The afternoon sun pushed Jimmy down, flat, onto the ground. Ants the size of chihuahuas dismembered him, carrying fingers and eyeballs back to their nest. Jimmy smiled one last time, the sun burning his skin as his lips disappeared underground.
 
Oh the green rocky shores of isle brenadine,
forever forever so beautifully kept
inviting waves that always come
and sunsets to amaze
sightseers to gather
and share with you your days

A chain links between us
fragile as a rose
here we're stayed together
as long as no one knows

that the rains from your shores
would feed all else ever more

safe with us, your secret is
blessed is, as she sleeping
dreaming of meain oirr and mor

so are we to be then
and all else as well
with such grace a splendor
none could ask what we couldnt tell
 
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Something I wrote a long time ago:

As the shutters that were my eyes were pulled up by an other-worldly force, harsh sunlight wandered into them. Bleary-eyed and none the wiser I shut them again, praying for more rest. The rest was not mine to have and I should have known better. I felt the soft bedspread underneath me and ran my hands over the parts I had not touched during the night. It was cold and comforting. I tossed and turned under my mountain of blankets – it was winter – and the shocking sense of separating from my sub-consciousness streamed into my consciousness.

With every ounce of effort in my body I pulled myself off my spring-wire bed, my arms removing the blankets I was entangled in from above me with movements as nimble and as slow as a snail’s. My limbs could still be asleep. I sat up and registered the walls around me and the scene through the glass window. The walls surrounding me were as white as the snow on the ground outside, so much so it was difficult right then to acknowledge a difference. It was all white. All was white. I previously thought that only darkness could make me feel this way, but I realise now that light could too.

It was time to wake up. Up to a brand new day of white and blinding and again, again, again --
 
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