December 2011
66 posts
She & Him again.
verbalejaculations:
Coughing words like smoke. She’s different.
Sippings songs like Coke. He’s lonely.
Twisting thoughts like rope. They’re better now.
Together.
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Bag of Bones — The Maccabees
In honor of...
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Free Write I
Quietly she sits. She sits quietly. Listening to the nothing in the air and breathing out, out out. Silently she waits, and she waits invisibly. Nothing but a vibration in her chest where her heartbeat used to be.
And she speaks in undertones, metaphors attacking similes at all angles, she speaks subtly. She speaks nervously. Her mind is a riddle that she never seemed to solve.
Fidget, fidget....
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whisperedsoliloquies asked: I haven't been seeing anything lovely written by you on my dash for awhile, & I was wondering why. Now I see that you have a writing blog, & I just had to follow it because I feel like I'm missing out haha. You really do structure words beautifully, & I enjoy reading. Just so you know (:
Words everywhere.: →
verbalejaculations:
That’s the thing about words, she said. They cut you. Splintering into you like so many shards of glass, digging ideas into your head you don’t want there. Scarring you. Making you doubt what you know.
And there’s so many things out there that are meant to make you feel worthless. Mannequins with fake bodies better than your own pointing, screaming out in plastic syllables...
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“She used to look at me… this way, like really look. And I just knew I was...”
– Super 8
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Anonymous asked: your blog is beautiful!
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Words everywhere.: Character Study 3 →
verbalejaculations:
He’s thin as a minute with hair like cinnamon. Curls all over. And assured. He sits quietly and waits.
She can tell he’s tired by the way his head slightly hangs, bruised eyelids and hint of stubble. He uses an aftershave like Christmas- piney and warm all at once. He’s soft spoken when he hands her the paperwork. His nails have the tiniest halfmoon whispers. Hands wired...
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Puddle me in corners.
verbalejaculations:
Puddle me’s a subtle me, my creases softened, rippled like your golden hair. And puddle me’s a nicer me, her smile’s wider- stretched by water- can puddle me be better here?
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Words everywhere.: She & Him. →
verbalejaculations:
Sighs curl out her mouth like smoke- tendrils beckoning as so many fingers. It’s crass and brutal and he can’t help it. People talk about it the next day. How raw, how savage. Nobody does things like that. What are they?
And they fold themselves into each other like ghost stories ‘round a fire. So different, so vogue. Spilling secrets out of shaky teacups, giggling through...
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Faith.
And like tin soldiers, the all fell down. Letting me down one at a time, rusted and so meaningless? Silly me for having faith in something solid. What a waste.
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The Way?
And who’s to say you’re not almost there anyways? Anyways, they don’t know. And maybe the way is a pathway of doors, those ones you choose and lose are reasons to keep walking. Entrances and exits of another exist. We’ve lost ourselves to windows, but what do we really have to look through? Just do.
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I bought a dress for a toddler at a church thrift...
And my roommate and I just made her wear it and it was simultaneously the cutest/worst thing I have ever done ever. She walked like a baby with a load in her pants and was tripping all over herself, it was so cute.
I think she hates me now though.
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Slipstream.
It’s going to be like it’s always been. Maybe. Relaxing into metaphors of open doors and endless hallways- hand in hand together like we’ve been here before. Did you find me or was I just waiting?
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