Shrouded in anticipated darkness, the air alive with fluttering heartbeats and excited mumblings - the orchestra tune up. A peculiar melee of sounds: lilting flutes and the mournful cello, tinkling pianos and the crashing of drums. Children in rags and fine pinafores scuttle through the wings as an exasperated choreographer, voice stripped to a ( Read more... )

Cold grey exhausting dreams fill her head. Sky pushes back tears only to find them rolling down her face regardless of the stance she holds against them. Dreams torment and tease without a resolution. The night darkened woman pulls the blankets up around her face to guard from the internal cold, but it seems of no use. The inner chill found her ( Read more... )

My aunt Deborah died when I was five years old. She had just turned 22 and clumsily fell from the top of the building while putting some clothes out in the sun.  All the family annually celebrate that date with a gastronomical feast, because she was no one's favorite (and I mean no one).

Oh Yeah, we hated her so much. I remember my father (in ( Read more... )

I think older people give good advices, since they regret not being able to give bad examples.  Many of the things which we actually feel proud of, or have brought us some benefit, have been those of which we have regretted or embarrassed us at those moments...If we would recognize the reasons that impel us to act, we would often be ashamed of our ( Read more... )

Unpublished, untouchable and inaccessible.  Beautiful peculiarity, rare beauty, ugliness that is rarely beautiful.  Something that is worth the trouble to watch, with the risk of losing your eyes (or any other thing).

There are no landscapes more disgusting than the human face, neither beautiful places, nor deep to submerge and to disappear into, ( Read more... )

Hey, I've never tried to write a story before, just poems and rants on LJ, so I'd appreciate some honest feedback on this, the beginning of a story I've been thinking about for a few weeks... I'm not sure I really have it in me to write something structured...

( The City (The Beginning) )

I'm not sure where this piece came from for it just flowed.  Not sure of the title.  Suggestions are welcome.
I lift my eyes aloft searchint for beauty in streets too close together; where you can see into the gaping windows of the dwellings around you.  At night, you can see the various colors of flashing silver screens simiiar to life, only ( Read more... )

( The story behind this poem... )

im putting this up for critique in hopes of objective crtiticism. hello, and fire away.

( readon. )

Should I tell the truth about my desk? After all I want to write fake things, or fiction, so I ought to be practicing lying, not telling ridiculous truth about desks. ( Read more... )