1968 lines
64 KiB
Plaintext
1968 lines
64 KiB
Plaintext
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ÚÄ Ü Ü Ü Ü Ä¿
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Ûßß ÛßÛ ß Û Û Ûßß ÜÜÛ ß ÛÛÜ Û Ü
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ßßÛ ÛÜÛ Û Û Û Ûß Û Û Û Û Þ ÛÜß
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ÛÛÛ Û ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ Û Þ ÛßÛ
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ÀÄ ÄÙ
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Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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ù ÄÄ´ volume ten ÃÄÄ ù
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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stop plagiarism - let out your soul
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Copyright 5+6/96
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ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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* All literature presented herein is copyrighted by their respective authors *
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þ Table of Contents þ
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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1. An Afternoon Fishing Off the Coast Near St. Augustine
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- Peter Damian Bellis
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2. Angels - Ray Heinrich
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3. At Sea - Ben Ohmart
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4. Desirous - Janet Kuypers
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5. Down By The River - Ray Heinrich
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6. Eltania - Sanctified
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7. Face Through A Glass - Drucilla B. Blood
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8. For A Moment - Quinn
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9. Forbidden - Heather Gilbert
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10. Fuck Me - Twilight
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11. Green Vinyl Chair - http://www.execpc.com/~jsilver/
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12. I Am Vertical - Sylvia Plath
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13. I Love You, Goodbye - Firefly
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14. It Can't Rain All The Time - Jane Siberry
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15. John - Janet Kuypers
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16. Mirror - Sylvia Plath
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17. Mother - Serena Lemick
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18. One Of Those Days - Kurt Nimmo
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19. Out Of Body - Greg Krehbiel
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20. Pandora - Sanctified
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21. Rape - Link
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22. Robert - Janet Kuypers
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23. The Coming Of The Storm - Shaun Allan
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24. The Death Of Gully Hand - Beau Blue
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25. The Red Heart And The Silver Heart - Ray Heinrich
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26. This Twilight Garden - The Cure
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27. This Weekend - HappyMonk
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28. To My Daughter, Nancy. - Deborah Spungen
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29. Untitled - Bob
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30. Untitled - HappyMonk
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31. Untitled - Molina
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32. Untitled - Molina
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33. Wrecked - Bloodshot
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þ Including Quotes From:
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Charles Aaron, Tori Amos, Dr. G. L. Cardwell, e. e. cummings, Dr. C.
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Friedman, Garbage, Courtney Love, H. L. Mencken, _Now and Then_, Blaise
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Pascal, Sylvia Plath, Arthur Rimbaud, Benedict Spinoza, Deborah Spungen,
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and Everett True
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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An Afternoon Fishing Off the Coast Near St. Augustine
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þ Peter Damian Bellis
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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I.
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Buckets of ice are brought
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On board and emptied into the
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Locker. How the ice shines in the
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Morning blue, glint of a
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Thousand fish eyes, cold and
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Hypnotic, augury aqua.
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The men gather in twos
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And threes and look deeply into the
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Sun-warped sheen of the ocean and
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Savor memories of the past:
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Savage instinct foaming at the
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Mouth; blood bubbly uncorked;
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Pendulums of barbed steel slicing through
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The dark, dark silence; the men watching from
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Above in impenetrable brightness.
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And so it is. The keel of the boat
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Rips through this ocean garment, the
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Salt-spray glistening as the stiff
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Wind of passage blows flat
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Each naked wave. Here there
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Is unheard laughter, and the men
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Cling to their bottles like
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Infant gods and wait out the ride.
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Then the boat slows, slows and stops.
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From below there is only the blackness
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Of the hull now anchored to the sky; and
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Shadows rise, unwary and voiceless and
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Versed, slipping into the wave-light and out;
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A silent, unearthly fugue;
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A song of mourning for the damned.
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II.
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Hungered by the blood-sweet meat of
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Sacrifice, the men crowd 'round the
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Red-stained wharf with strings of martyrs
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Cold of bone and dangling and soul
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Emptied. Unfelt hooks are lifted and
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The bare bodies placed on the unction
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Block, for sale, prime and washed white raw
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And cut and cured with salt and wrapped
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In strips of immaculate plastic cloth.
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And the red hand of evening rises,
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Rakes the black coals heaped in this
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Pit of time; and the fire rages; and the
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Bright robes of threadbare flame cover
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The dead and send a pall of smoke
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And ash rippling clean and upward.
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Angels
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þ Ray Heinrich
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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layer upon layer
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the crisp ashes float
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in the wind
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carrying us off
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where we will never see
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the wind
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like some believe in gods
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like some give up
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and turn to the earth
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but in the middle of the sky
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between blue and blue
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there are angels
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belonging to neither
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gods nor earth
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angels
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of our fantasies
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and of our fantasies
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made real
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or as real
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as we'll ever be
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angels
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to carry us
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wherever we hoped
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in movies
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or in
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the illusion of life
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we made for ourselves
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angels
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to carry us
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out
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out where we wished
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ever since babes
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wherever we wished
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angels
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of our fantasies
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made real
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þùúùþ
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Ray is an ex-Texas technofreak and hippie-socialist wannabe. He
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writes poems for thrills and attention, likes dogs, and owns a blue fish.
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He published his first chapbook by secretly placing copies in local bookstores
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and libraries. His poems have appeared in CrossConnect, Morpo Review, So It
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Goes..., Sand River Journal, 33 Review, BiSexual Journal, billetdoux, Droplet
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Journal, Sub-UrbanTerrain, No Trace, Biopsy, his own "Word Biscuit E-letter"
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and elsewhere. An electronic edition of his chapbook: "lots more damn poems"
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(Word Biscuit Press) is available free via e-mail.
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Send e-mail/requests to: ray@vais.net
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"I found eternity...it is where the sun mingles with the sea."
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Ä Arthur Rimbaud
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At Sea
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þ Ben Ohmart
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ùúùúùúùúùúùú
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met, married, broke up, broke down
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the lifeboat wouldn't move
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the sea wouldn't drown
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no one would hit a naked man
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the captain sent his regrets, asked him to stop
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the razor wouldn't take a bath
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he did the worse, and endured
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"- Approximately one thousand people commit suicide every day.
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- Someone commits suicide once every 15 minutes.
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- May is peak suicide season."
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Desirous
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þ Janet Kuypers
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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the light from you
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the flames leap up
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licking my lips
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touching my skin
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the fire moving
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in its desirous dance
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the smoke intoxicates me
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as the remnants
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from the desirous inferno
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drum a rhythmic beat
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and crackle as they burn
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the ashes fall
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sprinking
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tickling my face
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sliding down my throat
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coating my lungs
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making every breath
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a desirous pant
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I chain myself
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my body falls limp
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I am entwined
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with the desirous world
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the desire from you
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þùúùþ
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Janet Kuypers, 26, is a graphic designer for a publishing company in
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Chicago. In her spare time, she is the editor of the literary magazine
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'Children, Churches and Daddies', and sings in a alternative acoustic band.
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She has been published in assorted literary magazines on nearly 1,000
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occasions, has had two books published (_Hope Chest in the Attic_ and _The
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Window_, which is currently preparing for its second printing), and is about
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to print her third book, _Close Cover Before Striking_.
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"In real life I'm bone dry, and when I play, I'm a mango, and in sex I'm
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starving to be a dripping mango." Ä Tori Amos
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Down By The River
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þ Ray Heinrich
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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the body
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smooth and white
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is waiting no longer
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and the stab wound
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washed by the water
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looks like a scratch
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but admits your finger
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like a small mouth
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Eltania
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þ Sanctified
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ùúùúùúùúùúùú
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i take a breath,
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i can smell you on my clothes,
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i can hear you in the song.
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blister my tongue if i say your name.
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i can pretend, i'll play along
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with the little white lies
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i've made myself believe.
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i sleep in my bed,
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i can feel your arms around me.
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i can touch you in my mind.
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destroy myself if i think of you.
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i can pretend, i'll play along
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with the little blatant lies
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i've told myself today.
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i cry all by myself.
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i can see your worried face,
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i can taste your lips on mine.
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punish myself for wanting you.
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i can pretend, i'll play along
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with my insane denial
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that i cannot cover up.
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numb me, i can't take the pain.
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smash me, i will never feel the same.
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"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day,
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to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being
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can fight; and never stop fighting." Ä e. e. cummings
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Face Through A Glass
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þ Drucilla B. Blood
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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A distorted image of reality when viewed from the top; the bottom seems
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so much closer than it really is. Stick your hand into the water and the
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real depth becomes apparent. It is in this manner that I begin my
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journey. By the water. When I think about the time, those times when
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everything seemed to fall apart to come together again, rebuild itself
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in such a way as to redeem the value of life...all I can remember are
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the times with the water. The puddles on the roof, the thunderstorms,
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the nights of walks along the lake and the waves that slapped themselves
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torturously against Chicago's man-made beaches. All of these things tie
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into my mind. The walks in the rain when it finally ceased to matter.
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When you finally realize that water is so much a part of you that it
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can't possibly hurt you to just soak yourself, cleanse yourself, renew
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rehydratereciprocaterecondateressurect.
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Yes, I can see this now. I am fluid as the air that surrounds me is
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solid mass that I float through. I am only as solid, only as impenetrable
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as I permit myself, force myself, allow myself to be. One moment you may
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try to touch, to feel me as I am, a physical body, a hardened mass. A
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touch is so impersonal. A touch is so much less than to pass through.
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You pass your hand through me and feel nothing. Pull your hand out now;
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you are holding the stars and flowers and the vast nothing that was
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inside of me. I am air, water and flesh. You are flesh with me and we are
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fluid together...rushing into each other, stream to river to lake to
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body. You reach your hand to touch me, but I am already there as the air
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within your fist, the water in your veins, the flesh on your bones...
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"If you put yourself where your lyrics are, it's like acting, only better,
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because it's what you've either written as an allegory or an anecdote, or
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it's happened to you, so you put yourself into the spirit of the song..."
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Ä Courtney Love
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For A Moment
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þ Quinn
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ùúùúùúùúùúùú
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You ask me if I'm okay
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and for a moment I hesitate
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before nodding my head
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and for that moment I debate
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what if I tell you the truth
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tell you I'm afraid
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of being alone
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of not being special
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of screwing everything up
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of not caring
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of hating myself and everyone else
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I'm afraid I'm losing this game
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and in that moment I see you're scared too
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that if I try to confide
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I'll just be overwhelmimg you
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so I smile and nod
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and for a moment
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I'm not so alone
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"The less you know, the better off you are." Ä Dr. G. L. Cardwell
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Forbidden
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þ Heather Gilbert
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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The tendons rip -
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lost in the softness of her blood
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The languid, dark words which echo inside her mind,
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Inside her heart.
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Where tears form but cannot fall...
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Where words are heard, but she tries to block them out,
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Tries to hide inside the film of darkness,
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in the temple of her mind.
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The meek gaze of a child:
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upon the only greatness she has ever known.
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The fear and the sickness of the darkest secret.
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The secret no child should have to bear.
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A gentle shower of love:
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Nothing but a burden of lust.
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Does he like to watch her burn,
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shaking and falling upon the ground before him....
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Her body overthrown by the light
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as she turns to the sun for comfort
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and screams:
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When will this end...
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Fuck Me
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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Down I glide through the
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river of ink
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Ink so liqui-ous black and
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pure
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Gushing, rushing, raving,
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running
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Splashing onyx hot loveliness
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Through my clenchŠd fingers
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As I squeal with delight
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As it lusciously tickles me pink
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Pink in my inner folds of
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promised love and satisfaction
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Hot and tender, fragrant as e'er
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Sliding, exciting, panting,
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And giggling
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Trying to grab hold of the
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slippery sides
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Flailing helplessly, lovingly
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As searing darkness
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Leaps like coins upon my chest,
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my neck, my lips -
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I taste its burning love
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enveloped in my curled tongue
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And on my knees
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As I draw them up close
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And upon my hardened
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nipples of soft flesh
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Smooth, succulent,
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shining sweat
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Steaming milk
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Licking up my sweet delectable
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oozings of vapored milk
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Running down my knees
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Cutting grooves of red down
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my silky skin
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Pleasing me as they caress painfully
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into my thighs
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Beneath my lace and satin
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Plunging, squeezing, pumping,
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Fucking me like no human penis
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Into every hole, into each abyss
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Bleeding me humbly
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While loving the taste of my
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own blood
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Tasty drops upon my lips
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Semen mixed with red beauty
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Making me sexless
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By enjoying my sex,
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my petal-pink youth
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I drown, enraptured in
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happiness
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In make-believe sunshine
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Fornicate repeatedly into oblivion
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Nothingness, blackness
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Fucking my brains out
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And shitting them onto the floor.
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"Slut me open and touch my stars
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Slit me open and suck my scars" Ä Courtney Love
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Green Vinyl Chair
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þ http://www.execpc.com/~jsilver/
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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our first ever together thing
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her pillow compliments
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your faux euro styling perfectly
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hold us in the blue ghost light
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slippery in your swabbable embrace
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hold me
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a wet haired reader
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who ensconced
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awaits the sound of keys
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ill turn you
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so all your good sides are up
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and in the summer
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youll be to my sticky thighbacks
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our love seat
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weve got to scrunch
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so you make one
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I Am Vertical
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þ Sylvia Plath
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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But I would rather be horizontal.
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I am not a tree with my root in the soil
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Sucking up minerals and motherly love
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So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
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Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
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Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
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Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
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Compared with me, a tree is immortal
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And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
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And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.
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Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
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The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odours.
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I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
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Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
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I must most perfectly resemble them -
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Thoughts gone dim.
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It is more natural to me, lying down.
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Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
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And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
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Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have
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time for me.
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I Love You, Goodbye
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þ Firefly
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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What, what, what do you want me to say to that? I'm happy for you?
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Thrilled? Look. Look at this smile! No! Look at me, not through me.
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You're always trying to read me; read the unreadable. You know me better
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than to think you can read me. You see what I want you to see; nothing
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more! I'm tired of seeing you. I'm tired of hearing you. I'm tired or
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crying for you. So go; just go, if that's what you're going to go. GO!
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Ya know I knew you before, before you became this "star" that you are. I
|
|
knew you when, when your father thought you were gay, and your mother was
|
|
sick and tired of all the time you spent at the theatre. I gave you a
|
|
shoulder to cry on and told you they were wrong and they didn't
|
|
understand. I was there for you when the entire school was calling you a
|
|
freak and a fag, ooh how I hate that word, and I gave you a shoulder to
|
|
cry on and told you they were wrong and they didn't understand. But it
|
|
didn't matter what they said, because you were so much deeper, so much
|
|
more beautiful, so much better then they would ever be. And I was there
|
|
for you when your first professional director in your first professional
|
|
show told you you'd never make it, you didn't have the look, you didn't
|
|
have the voice and you couldn't act to save your life. I gave you a
|
|
shoulder to cry on and told you he was wrong and he didn't understand.
|
|
|
|
But this, this time you're wrong and you don't understand. You're wrong,
|
|
you're wrong...so wrong. What, is that not what you wanted me to say?
|
|
Is that not what you wanted to hear? Well this time I can't say what you
|
|
want to hear. What did you expect me to say? I love you goodbye?
|
|
I love you goodbye! I love you goodbye! Well let's see how many different
|
|
ways we can say it until I believe you. I love you, goodbye. I love you
|
|
goodbye. I love you, Goodbye. Fond farewells... remember me fondly...
|
|
We never said our love was evergreen. It's over now, the music of the night!
|
|
Oh. But you've been taught well. How many times did you practice that
|
|
one line?! I love you goodbye!
|
|
|
|
Oh, go ahead and walk away... you never listened to me before; why start
|
|
now? Why start now, because I want you to listen. You will hear me today
|
|
if I have to scream until forever comes because I love you too!! I love
|
|
you goodbye... goodbye... goodbye dear dear sir...
|
|
|
|
Oh, you're back; well, I humbly welcome you... Oh, thank you for blessing
|
|
me with your presence... So glad to see you, stranger... Yes, YES, I
|
|
realize people are staring at us... but I'm used to being stared at. I'm in
|
|
love with you, people think I'm insane... oh... why... why did you come
|
|
back; wait, Wait. I know why... because I said what you wanted to hear.
|
|
I love you.
|
|
|
|
And you don't understand what love is.
|
|
You don't understand.
|
|
|
|
Love is willing to give up everything that matters for another person. I
|
|
would give my soul, my life, the precious precious spotlight... I would
|
|
give you up for you; to make YOU smile; to make YOU feel better; to make
|
|
YOU happy. But what about me... what about how I feel... what matters to
|
|
me? But that's just it. I don't matter; the only thing that matters to
|
|
you is that goddamned spotlight... the goddamned glory... the goddamned
|
|
stage.
|
|
|
|
But that stage can't do anything for me, because no matter how many
|
|
different ways I say it, I can't make the feeling go away. I don't love
|
|
him... I don't love him... I don't love him... I don't love him... I
|
|
don't... don't love... love him...
|
|
|
|
I love you... go ahead and look through me... It's there; it's always there
|
|
in my eyes, in my soul... I can't act it away... I can't sing it away...
|
|
I can't dance it away...
|
|
|
|
I love you and you're leaving
|
|
You won't stay for me
|
|
You don't love me
|
|
You won't stay for me
|
|
You won't stay for them
|
|
You won't stay for yourself..
|
|
All because of your poor shattered ego
|
|
Oh bleeding heart..
|
|
Feel for me
|
|
Cry for me
|
|
Die for me
|
|
I would have done it... I would have done it all because I love you.
|
|
I love you.
|
|
I love you...... goodbye.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I have relationships with people who are brave enough to deal with me, and I
|
|
don't want to deal with people who aren't." Ä Courtney Love
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It Can't Rain All The Time
|
|
þ Jane Siberry
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
We walk the narrow path
|
|
Beneath the smoking skies
|
|
Sometimes, barely tell the difference
|
|
Between darkness and light
|
|
Do we have faith
|
|
In what we believe
|
|
The truest test
|
|
Is when we cannot...
|
|
When we cannot see
|
|
|
|
I hear pounding feet in the...
|
|
In the streets below, and the...
|
|
And the women cried, and the...
|
|
And the children moaned at the
|
|
There's something wrong
|
|
It's hard to believe that love will prevail
|
|
|
|
It won't rain all the time
|
|
The sky won't fall forever
|
|
And though the night seems long
|
|
Your tears won't fall...forever
|
|
|
|
When I'm lonely
|
|
I lie awake at night
|
|
And I wish you were here
|
|
I miss you
|
|
Can you tell me
|
|
Is there something more to believe in
|
|
Or is this all there is
|
|
|
|
And the pounding feet in the...
|
|
In the streets below, and a...
|
|
And a window breaks, and a...
|
|
And a woman falls, and there is
|
|
There's something wrong; it's
|
|
It's hard to believe that love will prevail
|
|
|
|
It won't rain all the time
|
|
The sky won't fall forever
|
|
And though the night seems long
|
|
Your tears won't fall...forever
|
|
|
|
Last night I had a dream
|
|
You came into my room
|
|
You took me into the light
|
|
Whispering, you were kissing me
|
|
And telling me to still believe
|
|
...Within the emptiness of the burning seige
|
|
against which we set our darkest descent...
|
|
Until I felt safe and warm
|
|
I fell asleep in your arms
|
|
When I awoke, I cried again
|
|
For you were gone
|
|
Oh, can you hear me
|
|
|
|
It won't rain all the time
|
|
The sky won't fall forever
|
|
And though the night seems long
|
|
Your tears won't fall...forever
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"There are things in life that you can't stop, but it isn't a reason to shut
|
|
out the world." Ä "Crazy Pete", _Now and Then_
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
John
|
|
þ Janet Kuypers
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
at the other side of the room
|
|
I look through the cigarette smoke
|
|
the roar of conversation
|
|
and the dim lights
|
|
I look at his face
|
|
but I no longer see John
|
|
I have dreamt and envisioned
|
|
a God-like figure
|
|
I have imagines his sensivity
|
|
and his thoughtfulness
|
|
I have felt his hands
|
|
caress my skin
|
|
his lips meet mine
|
|
he has held me
|
|
one thousand times
|
|
and protected me
|
|
I have rehearsed our moments
|
|
together in my mind
|
|
the moments I have created
|
|
the candlelight dinners
|
|
the dancing
|
|
the loving
|
|
while never knowing him more
|
|
than across a crowded room
|
|
|
|
the music blares
|
|
as I look over my shoulder
|
|
between the empty faces
|
|
and see his image
|
|
laughing
|
|
smiling
|
|
conversing with friends
|
|
my eyes flare with envy
|
|
I wonder why
|
|
he is not with me
|
|
but I know
|
|
|
|
the face across the room
|
|
is no longer John
|
|
it is a door to a dream
|
|
that will never
|
|
come to life
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"A life lived in fear is a life half lived."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mirror
|
|
þ Sylvia Plath
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
|
|
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
|
|
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
|
|
I am not cruel, only truthful -
|
|
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
|
|
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
|
|
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
|
|
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
|
|
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
|
|
|
|
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
|
|
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
|
|
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
|
|
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
|
|
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
|
|
I am important ot her. She comes and goes.
|
|
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
|
|
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
|
|
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Don't believe in anything you can't break." Ä Garbage
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mother
|
|
þ Serena Lemick
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
i stared down to the boiling soup-
|
|
the red bubbles-
|
|
popping and splashing on my face.
|
|
she brought me this-
|
|
"eat it down" she said-
|
|
her smile growing-
|
|
eyes glowing.
|
|
i cry-
|
|
licking the tears when they run near my lips-
|
|
mingling with the coppery taste of blood.
|
|
almost reading my thoughts
|
|
she screamed
|
|
"you will never be-
|
|
you will never live"
|
|
i knew what she meant.
|
|
i threw the soup-
|
|
againt the already bloodstained walls-
|
|
and on myself-
|
|
covering my purity-
|
|
killing my innocence.
|
|
i spat on her-
|
|
and left the room.
|
|
i cried the night i killed her-
|
|
drowning her in love-
|
|
in her house of hate.
|
|
i cry at my lost purity-
|
|
innocence.
|
|
now i live high on a mountaintop-
|
|
alone in my mind.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I'm very possessive of my pain and just express it for how it is. I used to
|
|
express my pain in ways that were terrible for other people. Ways you won't
|
|
want to know about. This is how I do it now. Hopefully, there are things
|
|
about my pain which are authentic and original and haven't been expressed
|
|
8,000 times by white males, and which people can find refreshing and
|
|
relieving." Ä Courtney Love, regarding her music
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
One Of Those Days
|
|
þ Kurt Nimmo
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
when I'm not sure
|
|
what my presence on the planet
|
|
means. I think the poet
|
|
d. a. levy was correct.
|
|
We invent games to keep
|
|
ourselves alive. Be it writing
|
|
or painting or flipping
|
|
burgers at the local Mickey D's.
|
|
Its biological imperative that keeps us
|
|
alive. J. P. Sartre told
|
|
confidants upon the moment
|
|
of his deathbed
|
|
that everything he wrote about existence
|
|
was bullshit. He didn't provide
|
|
explanation or alternative hypotheses
|
|
in the moments before he died.
|
|
I drive to a McDonald's
|
|
built on the edge of a farm field.
|
|
Last year it was corn. This year it's
|
|
McDonald's and a coming-soon subdivision.
|
|
I take the drive-thru. I'm hungry
|
|
and tired. Earlier in the day I had wanted
|
|
to kill an office computer. It's now five o'clock
|
|
in the afternoon. I wait in the drive-thru lane
|
|
for dried-out burgers and cardboard fries.
|
|
I think if life is not meaningless it is
|
|
at least completely absurd.
|
|
In such situations
|
|
I consider myself a very small and
|
|
insignificant fleck of existential flotsam
|
|
momentarily adrift in the
|
|
incomprehensible stew of the universe.
|
|
I'm resigned in the face of it.
|
|
I eat dried-out over-microwaved burgers.
|
|
It's the easiest thing to do.
|
|
J. P. Sartre wrote a lot of words
|
|
that he disavowed at the end. Rimbaud wrote
|
|
far fewer words which he also
|
|
disavowed at the end. Maybe it is
|
|
biological necessity that drives the human.
|
|
My brain is designed
|
|
to make the animal end of me
|
|
find and consume nutrients.
|
|
Even though sometimes
|
|
I have to beg for it
|
|
through a car window
|
|
and microphone screen.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Out Of Body
|
|
þ Greg Krehbiel
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Tom hated riding the bus. It was degrading to stand in the mud by the
|
|
side of the road while his neighbors drove by sipping coffee and listening
|
|
to the radio, but his budget simply couldn't stretch any more. Cutting out
|
|
car insurance, gasoline and parking, although unpleasant, was easier than
|
|
cutting out the bi-weekly case of Milwaukee's Best. "A man's gotta know his
|
|
limitations," he said when explaining the situation to friends.
|
|
His wife had been out of work for almost a year now, and despite a few
|
|
temporary jobs here and there, which did little more than help them afford
|
|
better beer, the only likely end to the financial crunch depended on the
|
|
stock market. Their lifestyle belied the impressive and rapidly maturing
|
|
stock portfolio that was supposed to fund their dream: raising horses in
|
|
Kentucky. But that was still a couple years away, and Tom tried very hard
|
|
not to think about it. Until then, life was just a matter of making do on a
|
|
small budget.
|
|
Tom left one Monday morning for the bus stop, turned the corner at the
|
|
end of the court, gave a last wave in case his wife was watching, and then
|
|
walked past the row of dilapidated cars that were always parked along the
|
|
narrow street between his townhouse development and the main drag.
|
|
His stop was near the beginning of the line, so he almost always got a
|
|
seat. Today he sat next to a sleeping woman. He tried not to disturb her
|
|
with his morning paper, but she woke when the edge of the sports page
|
|
brushed her hand.
|
|
"I'm sorry," Tom said. "I didn't mean to wake you." He gave her a
|
|
quick once over: she was thin and somewhat plain. The short, rubber antenna
|
|
of a cell phone stuck out of her breast pocket.
|
|
"That's okay," she said. "I wasn't sleeping; I was walking around the
|
|
arboretum."
|
|
"Emergency! Break off contact," his mind told him, but he said, "Oh,"
|
|
and turned back to his paper.
|
|
"No. I'm not crazy," she responded, guessing his reaction. "I was
|
|
meditating. I can leave my body and visit other places."
|
|
Tom laughed. "Sure," he said.
|
|
"I'm serious," she persisted. "Haven't you heard of out-of-body
|
|
experiences? I've been meditating for years now and I have a spirit guide
|
|
who helps me. I can go anywhere I like."
|
|
"Okay," Tom said, deciding to have some fun. "I'm game. I'll give you
|
|
directions to my house. You go ahead and leave your body and go there, and
|
|
then come back and describe it to me."
|
|
She smiled indulgently. "Okay."
|
|
It surprised Tom that she accepted his offer, but he gave her the
|
|
directions and watched with some interest as she resumed her meditative
|
|
posture.
|
|
"If you don't mind," she said, opening her eyes. "I'd rather you not
|
|
watch me."
|
|
Tom shrugged, turned away and caught up on the Redskins while the bus
|
|
continued to lurch its way down the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. He
|
|
almost forgot about his meditative neighbor.
|
|
"You live in a light brown townhouse with green shutters," the woman
|
|
said as he got up to leave. "There are four azalea bushes and one holly
|
|
tree planted in front of the house. Your car - a blue Plymouth Satellite,
|
|
I believe - is parked in your space."
|
|
Tom tried to hide his surprise. He couldn't remember if there were
|
|
three or four azalea bushes in the front yard, but otherwise the
|
|
description was right on, and Tom wondered how she could have guessed so
|
|
accurately. She just laughed at him. She had a very distinctive laugh,
|
|
almost like the sound of a songbird.
|
|
"Impressive," was all he could say. She bowed her head at the
|
|
compliment and Tom hurried off the bus before the driver decided to move
|
|
on.
|
|
That night he talked about it with his wife, Sandy, over a few cans of
|
|
Milwaukee's Best. She was very concerned.
|
|
"I'd stay away from her," she said in a fearful voice. "She's probably
|
|
a Satanist or something."
|
|
Tom chuckled. "I think she's just a weirdo who likes to pull people's
|
|
legs. I doubt she's evil."
|
|
"You never know," Sandy muttered.
|
|
The next two days Tom saw no trace of the mysterious woman. He tried
|
|
to forget the whole thing and tell himself that she was just lucky. But on
|
|
Thursday morning, there she was, meditating in the same seat. Tom sat down
|
|
next to her, picked up his paper and began to read. She remained in her
|
|
trance until Tom folded his paper and got ready to go.
|
|
"You forgot to take out the trash this morning," she said as he walked
|
|
up the aisle toward the exit. Tom stared back at her, but he couldn't say
|
|
anything. The people behind him were pushing him along. He could hear her
|
|
laughing again as he stepped off the bus, bewildered.
|
|
He decided not to tell his wife any more about the strange woman, but
|
|
for the next few days he began to do quirky things as he left for the bus
|
|
stop. He'd set a penny on the porch chair, or put the classified section of
|
|
the paper in the mail box, or scratch a pattern in the dirt in front of the
|
|
azaleas. There were four, just as Grace had said.
|
|
On the following Tuesday morning he was running late and couldn't set
|
|
up any tests for his psychic friend, and he regretted it when he stepped
|
|
onto the bus and saw her sitting in her usual seat, eyes closed,
|
|
meditating. Once again, she was silent for most of the trip. Just as Tom
|
|
got ready to leave, she opened her eyes and spoke.
|
|
"What time does your neighbor leave for work in the morning?" she
|
|
asked. "The one in the gray house next door."
|
|
"I don't know," Tom said. "After me."
|
|
She nodded her head, somewhat sadly it seemed.
|
|
"Why?" he asked.
|
|
She shook her head, ever so slightly. "Never mind," she said. "Just
|
|
bring your wife some flowers tonight, why don't you?"
|
|
Tom wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he didn't have time to
|
|
pursue it. Her cryptic words made him feel uncomfortable, and they
|
|
certainly didn't make him feel like buying flowers.
|
|
The next day the woman was there again and she smiled warmly when he
|
|
sat down.
|
|
"What were you talking about yesterday?" he asked.
|
|
She shook her head and frowned. "It's a burden being clairvoyant," she
|
|
said. "You find out things you don't want to know - things it would be
|
|
better that you didn't know." She shook her head again. "Never mind. You
|
|
don't need to hear it from me."
|
|
"Is something wrong at my house?"
|
|
She hung her head for a moment in silence. "Well," she said, as if
|
|
resolving an internal question, "you'll find out sooner or later. Your
|
|
neighbor has been visiting your wife after you leave for work."
|
|
Tom felt his heart come into his stomach. How could it be? He thought
|
|
he had a good relationship with Sandy. Why would she do something like
|
|
that? His confusion quickly gave way to raw anger. He wasn't going to sit
|
|
still for this. If she'd been unfaithful, she'd live to regret it. He'd
|
|
make certain of that.
|
|
"Has she been unfaithful to me?" he asked the mysterious woman.
|
|
"I really don't want to get involved in this," she said, shaking her
|
|
head, but Tom persisted.
|
|
"You can't just drop something like that on me and then clam up," he
|
|
said. "Tell me what you know."
|
|
"It would be better if you heard it from her. Why don't you ask her if
|
|
your neighbor came by today? Maybe you two can talk it out." She paused for
|
|
a minute, empathy all over her face. "I'll be at the pool hall tonight if
|
|
you need to talk."
|
|
* * *
|
|
This was cleaning day, and Sandy was wearing an old pair of boxer
|
|
shorts and a sleeveless, cut-off t-shirt. She put her unwashed, long,
|
|
blonde hair in a bandanna; she'd shower after she finished her chores. She
|
|
liked to dress like this from time to time. It reminded her of crazy days
|
|
at the beach when she was in college. When she caught a glimpse of herself
|
|
in the mirror she realized her figure hadn't suffered over the intervening
|
|
years. But she was in a hurry to finish cleaning the bathroom before Sally
|
|
Jesse came on.
|
|
Sandy felt the cold bathroom tiles against her long, bare legs as she
|
|
stretched to clean some dust that had accumulated behind the toilet. She
|
|
accidentally bumped the line that ran from the water supply to the tank and
|
|
the old plastic washer at the connection with the tank gave way. She
|
|
screamed as the water ricocheted off the bottom of the tank and quickly
|
|
soaked both her and all the freshly-washed bath towels. Before she could
|
|
recover from the shock of the cold water against her bare stomach and turn
|
|
the shut-off valve, the bathroom floor was completely flooded.
|
|
She leaned back against the bathroom wall and sighed, wondering what
|
|
to do. Just then she heard a car door slam outside and realized that James,
|
|
the next door neighbor, was about to leave. He had always offered to help
|
|
out if she needed anything.
|
|
Sandy ran down the stairs and out the door, her dripping wet t-shirt
|
|
and shorts pasted onto her body, and thumped on the hood of James' car just
|
|
as he began to back out of his parking space. He turned to see who was
|
|
banging on his car, but his angry expression was immediately replaced with
|
|
a smile. He didn't seem to recognize her, but he was obviously looking her
|
|
over. Sandy realized what was going on and looked down at herself, thankful
|
|
that she had been doing the 20-minute workout four times a week for the
|
|
last several months.
|
|
* * *
|
|
Tom sat in silence at the dinner table. Sandy didn't seem very
|
|
talkative either. She usually greeted him at the door with a smile and a
|
|
kiss when he got home, but tonight she seemed preoccupied, and the dinner
|
|
was burned.
|
|
"Did James come over today, by any chance?" he finally asked.
|
|
Sandy looked up in surprise. Tom thought he noticed a hint of fear in
|
|
Sandy's eyes, but she turned her head back down to her plate, toying with
|
|
her chicken, and answered. "Yes, as a matter of fact. The toilet broke and
|
|
he came over and fixed it for me. How did you know?" she said, looking at
|
|
him again. Her face was inscrutable.
|
|
"A little bird told me," he said. "I've got to go." He got up from the
|
|
table and grabbed his jacket.
|
|
"Where are you going?" Sandy asked.
|
|
"To the pool hall," he said as he slammed the door. It felt good to
|
|
slam the door. The fears and frustrations that mounted all day seemed to
|
|
climax somewhere between Sandy's "yes" and slamming the door. Tom's face
|
|
was stern as he walked briskly down his familiar route to the neighborhood
|
|
pool hall.
|
|
By the time he made it to the bar, he was more than ready for a drink.
|
|
He set a $20 bill in front of him and pointed to the Budweiser sign. The
|
|
bartender knew that look, even though he never expected to see it on Tom,
|
|
and he knew better than to try to start conversation.
|
|
"So I guess you know," the woman from the bus said as she pulled up
|
|
the stool next to him. Tom's eyes didn't stray from the mirrored Coors
|
|
Light sign behind the bar, but he could see her slipping into the tall bar
|
|
seat in the reflection. He had always seen her on the bus, wearing a coat,
|
|
and he was surprised at what he saw now. She wore a loose-fitting denim
|
|
shirt over a black halter top and a pair of skin-tight jeans. She wasn't
|
|
gorgeous, but it was easy to find something to like about her.
|
|
"Yeah," Tom said. "She said he came over this morning."
|
|
"I'm so sorry," she said, turning to face him and putting one arm on
|
|
his shoulder and the other hand on his knee. "Did you talk about it?"
|
|
Tom shook his head. "What's to say?"
|
|
She took a sip from Tom's beer. He finished it, then held up two
|
|
fingers to the barkeep.
|
|
"I don't even know your name," he said, turning to look at her for the
|
|
first time tonight. He hadn't sat this close to a woman at a bar for a long
|
|
time. Her hand was still on his leg, and when he turned to face her, it
|
|
moved up a foot.
|
|
"Grace," she said, smiling, and then removed her hand from his leg to
|
|
grab her beer. She took a long drink and then set the bottle down where her
|
|
hand had been. Tom smiled.
|
|
"They sell carry-out here, don't they?" she asked. Tom nodded. "Then
|
|
let's get a six-pack and go outside where we can talk."
|
|
* * *
|
|
Tom got home late that night. He tried to crawl into bed without
|
|
waking Sandy, but she rolled over and looked at him. He could see the pain
|
|
in her eyes, but she said nothing. That was a clear admission of guilt as
|
|
far as Tom was concerned. If she didn't have something to hide, she would
|
|
have asked why he had stormed off the way he did.
|
|
* * *
|
|
The next morning Tom saw Grace in her usual seat, meditating, and he
|
|
quietly joined her. She heard him sitting down and opened her eyes.
|
|
"Did you talk things over with Sandy?" she asked.
|
|
"Not really," Tom said, "but I know she's been cheating. It's written
|
|
all over her face."
|
|
Grace nodded. "What would you do if you could catch them in the act?"
|
|
Tom felt a flush of rage as the picture formed in his mind. His eyes
|
|
narrowed and he looked down at his lap for a moment, and then looked coldly
|
|
into Grace's face.
|
|
"I'd kill them both."
|
|
A small fire seemed to kindle in the back of Grace's eyes, as if she
|
|
secretly relished the idea as well. "Do you want to catch them in the act?"
|
|
she asked.
|
|
Tom nodded, and then he realized what she was offering. "Could you
|
|
help me?"
|
|
"My ex-husband cheated on me," she said, "but I was too timid to do
|
|
anything about it." The self-reproach was obvious in her voice and
|
|
expression. "I know what it feels like. Yes. I'll help you."
|
|
The vision of Sandy in bed with James stoked the burning anger that
|
|
was filling his whole body. He wanted revenge against Sandy, and as he
|
|
looked at Grace, he realized he wanted it in more than one way. As the bus
|
|
slowed for Tom's stop, they agreed to meet at the pool hall again that
|
|
night and plan. Tom leaned over to kiss Grace. She shook her head slightly
|
|
and smiled. "Not here," she whispered.
|
|
* * *
|
|
The bus ran every 25 minutes during the morning rush hour, which gave
|
|
Tom the flexibility he needed for his plan. His boss didn't come in until
|
|
9:30, an hour and a half after Tom usually arrived, so he could miss two,
|
|
or even three buses without getting into trouble.
|
|
He left home at his normal time, not bothering to kiss Sandy good-bye.
|
|
Their conversations had cooled to the bare essentials in the last few days,
|
|
and neither of them seemed to want to solve the problem. Tom walked out of
|
|
the court and around the corner to where the trees blocked sight of his
|
|
house. Grace's conversion van was parked there.
|
|
Tom tapped on the window and Grace opened the sliding side door to let
|
|
him in. She was sitting in one of the two swivel chairs just behind the
|
|
driver's and passenger's seats. Between the chairs was a small table on a
|
|
pedestal, bolted into the floor. On the table was a thermos of coffee, some
|
|
napkins and two bear claws. Behind the table the van had no permanent
|
|
seating. The floor was carpeted, and the walls were covered with curtains,
|
|
or perhaps bed sheets, that had a strange, starry pattern. Tom thought the
|
|
style appropriate for a New Age aficionado who meditates and has
|
|
out-of-body experiences.
|
|
On the floor Tom saw a twin mattress and box spring. He raised his
|
|
eyebrows in surprise and smiled.
|
|
"That's where I do my meditation," Grace said, and added, with a
|
|
bigger smile, "and other things. Have some coffee."
|
|
Tom sat in the open seat and poured half a cup, then took a bite of
|
|
his bear claw and thanked Grace for the unexpected food. They sat in
|
|
silence, smiling at one another, and began to play little games with their
|
|
feet under the table. In a few minutes they decided the flirting wasn't
|
|
necessary and found themselves passionately kissing on the mattress,
|
|
groping and tearing at clothes.
|
|
An hour later, Tom poured himself another half cup of coffee from the
|
|
thermos and waited patiently as Grace went into deep meditation. She sat in
|
|
the lotus position on the center of the mattress for about ten minutes, and
|
|
then opened her eyes. She stared blankly ahead for a few moments, breathing
|
|
deeply, and then turned to look at Tom.
|
|
"He didn't come over today," she said. "Sandy's doing laundry, and
|
|
he's left for work."
|
|
Tom shook his head and looked at his watch. "Do you think we'd better
|
|
get going?"
|
|
Grace checked her watch and smiled. "I think we can spare another
|
|
twenty minutes or so."
|
|
* * *
|
|
The next day, Tom opened the van door to find Grace on the mattress,
|
|
already meditating. He sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of
|
|
coffee. He hadn't taken the first sip before Grace opened her eyes.
|
|
"Today's the day," she said with a serious, almost evil look in her
|
|
eyes. "He's there. Are you ready?"
|
|
Tom reached into his briefcase and pulled out his .38 caliber revolver.
|
|
"He came over almost as soon as you walked out the door. Go now. I'll
|
|
watch," she said with a malicious smile, and closed her eyes, going back
|
|
into her meditative trance.
|
|
The anger that had been smoldering for days burst into fresh flame as
|
|
Tom pictured Sandy and James together in his bedroom. He put the revolver
|
|
in his jacket pocket and walked quickly back to his house, the anger
|
|
growing with every step. He took his keys out of his pocket and prepared
|
|
himself to open the door and run quickly up the stairs into the bedroom,
|
|
before Sandy could react to his presence.
|
|
Tom watched the bedroom window carefully as he approached the house.
|
|
The curtains were drawn and still. He walked quietly up the four steps to
|
|
his front porch, put his keys in his left hand and the revolver in his
|
|
right. He quietly opened the screen door and then, in one quick motion,
|
|
opened the front door and charged through, turning immediately right to go
|
|
up the stairs.
|
|
"Tom," Sandy's voice said from the living room. "What are you doing?"
|
|
Tom stopped on the fourth step and looked into the dining room. Sandy
|
|
was sitting at the table with a strange man in a suit. Tom brandished the
|
|
pistol and walked toward them. The man's face was ashen. Sandy's was red.
|
|
"What are you doing? Put that thing away," she said.
|
|
"So it's not just James, now? Who's this?" he said, pointing to the
|
|
well-dressed man with the pistol's 2-inch barrel.
|
|
"James? What are you talking about? This is my lawyer."
|
|
The man seemed to take that as his cue. He opened a file folder and
|
|
set five 10 by 12 color photos on the dining room table. Each showed two
|
|
naked people in bed, but Tom couldn't quite make them out from where he
|
|
stood.
|
|
"What's going on, here?" Tom said gruffly as he pulled one of the
|
|
photos closer. His heart stopped. It was a picture of him and Grace.
|
|
"I'm divorcing you, Tom," Sandy said. "Our pre-nup says you lose all
|
|
property in the marriage if you're unfaithful."
|
|
Tom pushed the photo violently at the lawyer and glared at Sandy. The
|
|
pistol was still in his hand.
|
|
"You witch," he said. "You were sleeping with James. That's why I did
|
|
this," he said, pointing to the photos.
|
|
Sandy blushed slightly, but her face was stern. "I never slept with
|
|
James. What gave you that idea?."
|
|
"But I've got..." Tom began. He was going to say "proof," but he
|
|
realized he had nothing on her. Then he thought he heard something, as if
|
|
it were far off in the back corners of his mind, but growing nearer. It was
|
|
Grace's distinctive laughter, and she was laughing at him.
|
|
"Why?" Tom asked, the hopelessness of his situation finally settling
|
|
on him. He had lost everything.
|
|
"I don't love you any more, Tom. I'm in love with someone else."
|
|
Tom's world was crumbling around him. He didn't know what to say, but
|
|
he wanted to hear it all now. There was no use in bleeding it out slowly.
|
|
"James?" he asked.
|
|
"No," she said, and then smiled a wicked smile. "Grace."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Ye shall know the Truth...and it shall make you confused."
|
|
Ä Dr. G. L. Cardwell
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Pandora
|
|
þ Sanctified
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
that little covered box holds the keys.
|
|
my demented soul lies within.
|
|
traveling through the everglades,
|
|
i cannot find my way out.
|
|
i'm lost - a time forgotten under circumstance.
|
|
no one can ever know
|
|
the pain we feel inside.
|
|
i'll deny it to the end, deny it to my friends,
|
|
deny it till i can fake it.
|
|
a tired stained box holds the stones.
|
|
a bleeding body lies below.
|
|
wrapping up the price
|
|
i have long since paid for misery.
|
|
i cannot find my way home.
|
|
i'm lost - a heart forgotten under circumstance.
|
|
no one can ever know
|
|
the pain we feel inside.
|
|
i'll deny to the end, deny it to my friends,
|
|
deny it till i can fake it.
|
|
|
|
and please,
|
|
when will you come save me?
|
|
i don't want to be alone.
|
|
i don't want to see myself -
|
|
scared little fool.
|
|
|
|
and no one will ever know
|
|
the pain i feel inside.
|
|
i'll deny it to my end, deny it to myself,
|
|
deny it till i can fake it
|
|
no more.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"'Pretty on the inside.' Isn't that a great phrase? It's like when you're a
|
|
little girl and all your friends have told you that you're ugly, and you're
|
|
crying and sobbing and stuff, so you go to your mom and ask her if you're
|
|
beautiful and she replies, 'Yes, dear, you're pretty on the inside.' Or
|
|
maybe it's more Freudian than that. Maybe it's a reference to the vagina.
|
|
Or maybe it refers to the way everybody judges everyone else on their looks
|
|
and their dress and how the ugliest people can be the best-looking and the
|
|
most beautiful people can be the most totally repugnant. Or maybe it's about
|
|
pain, as the rest of life is, and how, no matter how much pain and torment
|
|
you put your body through, you always have that inner core of self inside
|
|
you, that indefinable something which keeps you sane and keeps you together.
|
|
It's a great phrase anyhow. Evocative. Manipulative. Optimistic."
|
|
Ä Everett True
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rape
|
|
þ Link
|
|
ùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
I.
|
|
When it happens to your
|
|
sister
|
|
mother
|
|
aunt
|
|
girlfriend
|
|
friend
|
|
grandmother
|
|
|
|
Will you say they were... Asking for it?
|
|
|
|
II.
|
|
You see. You like.
|
|
You introduce. You mingle.
|
|
You smile. She smiles.
|
|
You talk. She talks.
|
|
You dine. She dines.
|
|
You kiss. She kisses.
|
|
You feel. She does to.
|
|
You touch. So does she.
|
|
You keep going. She stops.
|
|
You keep going. She stops.
|
|
You keep going. She stops......
|
|
|
|
III.
|
|
panting - of breath.
|
|
The - hurting - of my heart.
|
|
yelling - out in agony.
|
|
screaming - in forgiveness.
|
|
leaping - out of my skin.
|
|
bleeding - from within.
|
|
|
|
promising - it'll never happen again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Robert
|
|
þ Janet Kuypers
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
I stand in a room full of strangers
|
|
leaning against a wall
|
|
a wallflower
|
|
but I was content with knowing no one
|
|
with knowing you
|
|
|
|
beer glass in hand
|
|
you introduce me to
|
|
the vast assortment of drunken fools
|
|
you call your friends
|
|
and I stand there
|
|
merely happy to be by your side
|
|
|
|
a stranger
|
|
intoxicated to the point of being comatose
|
|
tells me I'm pretty
|
|
but I really don't care
|
|
because I have you
|
|
you are all I need
|
|
|
|
as the rest of the party imbibes to no end
|
|
and you take yourself
|
|
down the road to oblivion
|
|
I stay leaning
|
|
leaning against the wall
|
|
and I watch
|
|
you sing a song with your buddies
|
|
laugh at the stupidest jokes
|
|
eat dog food
|
|
and I keep thinking
|
|
that this was all I needed to be happy
|
|
|
|
you seemed to be
|
|
all that mattered in the world to me
|
|
how was I to know
|
|
that I was leaning against the wall
|
|
because you gave me no support
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Coming Of The Storm
|
|
þ Shaun Allan
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
There is thunder in the distance.
|
|
Can you feel it?
|
|
|
|
Riding on
|
|
Rolling on
|
|
A thousand screams.
|
|
|
|
Can you hear it?
|
|
|
|
Blood dark, thick and rich.
|
|
|
|
Can you taste it?
|
|
|
|
Crushing on
|
|
Cascading on
|
|
A thousand dead.
|
|
|
|
Can you smell it?
|
|
|
|
Black and cold and close and tight.
|
|
|
|
Can you see it?
|
|
|
|
There is thunder in the distance.
|
|
|
|
A storm is coming.
|
|
|
|
There is no shelter to be found.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What can go wrong...will go wrong." Ä Dr. C. Friedman
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Death of Gully Hand
|
|
þ Beau Blue
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
What's madness but nobility of soul
|
|
at odds with circumstance?
|
|
- Roethke
|
|
|
|
Perhaps,
|
|
In a time of loneliness,
|
|
After the heat has slithered past a gravel afternoon
|
|
And slipped into the coolness of the evening's lap,
|
|
Perhaps
|
|
You've heard the sidewalk singers,
|
|
Striking single notes and humming tunes
|
|
In strange erotic keys.
|
|
Maybe,
|
|
While walking down a neon skirted street,
|
|
The cedar sweet aroma of a freshly painted wall
|
|
Has lured you past the shopfronts
|
|
To a secondary doorway, a sanguine colored hall
|
|
Where the incense smoke and music,
|
|
Hanging in the air,
|
|
Swirling with precision smoothness
|
|
Up black-mat covered stairs,
|
|
Leads you past reality to a pitted wooden door
|
|
And leaves you standing desperately
|
|
Expecting something more.
|
|
Something more than moving shadows
|
|
Something more ...
|
|
And the minutes pass unevenly
|
|
They stumble through the alleyways and grieve
|
|
At opened windows someone left to catch the breeze.
|
|
The minutes sound like barking dogs
|
|
And feel like whispered wind.
|
|
The minutes tease.
|
|
They end ... and they begin ...
|
|
And the minutes pass unevenly.
|
|
As sidewalk singers, dressed in singers' uniforms
|
|
(The faded jeans and flannel shirts and dirty shoes)
|
|
Huddle in a disinfectant hall to pay their dues.
|
|
Mount Mercy's nurses lead them through
|
|
To send them on their way unused.
|
|
They walk away in single file,
|
|
Across fatigue towards apathetic peace
|
|
To search the asphalt for release
|
|
And taste the steel mill's sulfur by the mile.
|
|
They make an odd parade.
|
|
The men and women stare.
|
|
With their labels firmly tacked in place
|
|
Mrs. Dunham turns from them,
|
|
She never sees a face.
|
|
She just locks her door and slowly climbs the stairs
|
|
And to fill the space
|
|
She mutters softly,
|
|
"What has this world come to?"
|
|
But she doesn't really care.
|
|
We walk away in single file
|
|
And stop to ask the children of the streets,
|
|
"Where are we now?"
|
|
They only look up impishly and smile.
|
|
"We've lost our way somehow!
|
|
Where are we now?
|
|
Where are we now?"
|
|
The minutes pass in muted cries
|
|
And sirens wailing to the skies.
|
|
We lie on sweat stained mattresses
|
|
And dream,
|
|
But we never close our eyes.
|
|
For we have burned our coats and our cotton dresses,
|
|
Called to tell our mothers lies,
|
|
And now we stand alone
|
|
To press our cheeks against a wooden door.
|
|
Perhaps you understand the reasons why?
|
|
Perhaps, you've been this way before?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination. When the sky
|
|
outside is merely pink, and the rooftops merely black: that photographic
|
|
mind which paradoxically tells the truth, but the worthless truth, about the
|
|
world. It is that synthesizing spirit, that 'shaping' force, which
|
|
prolifically sprouts and makes up its own worlds with more inventiveness
|
|
than God which I desire. If I sit still and don't do anything, the world
|
|
goes on beating like a slack drum, without meaning. We must be moving,
|
|
working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is
|
|
too horrible to imagine: it is the kind of madness which is worst..."
|
|
Ä Sylvia Plath
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Red Heart And The Silver Heart
|
|
þ Ray Heinrich
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
the red heart and the silver heart
|
|
the first
|
|
filled with blood
|
|
the second
|
|
with the lightness of clouds
|
|
|
|
the red heart
|
|
sharp knife
|
|
swings at your finger
|
|
never mind who
|
|
(maybe your other hand)
|
|
but the steel inside you
|
|
stops the knife
|
|
with the skin split
|
|
and the blood waits
|
|
and the two sides of flesh
|
|
are translucent
|
|
and the bone at the bottom
|
|
is white and gray
|
|
and then the blood comes
|
|
to relieve this paleness
|
|
to give it life
|
|
flowing easily
|
|
warmly
|
|
thickly
|
|
brightly
|
|
but later
|
|
it is almost black
|
|
|
|
the red heart
|
|
filled with blood
|
|
the silver
|
|
as thin as breath
|
|
watch a tree
|
|
throw itself against the sky
|
|
the silver heart believes
|
|
the tree
|
|
is the forked tongue
|
|
of some creature
|
|
buried
|
|
beneath the earth
|
|
licking the air
|
|
getting a taste of the sun
|
|
and the red
|
|
sees only blood
|
|
|
|
the red heart and the silver heart
|
|
on quiet nights
|
|
hear each other
|
|
beating between their own beats
|
|
hearing the voice of the other
|
|
hearing the voice of blood
|
|
hearing the voice of air
|
|
and between the beats of both
|
|
hear
|
|
the continents
|
|
miles down
|
|
rubbing rock against rock
|
|
singing with their heat
|
|
miles and miles down
|
|
|
|
the red heart and the silver heart
|
|
keep slivers of consciousness
|
|
magic
|
|
like the rocks are magic
|
|
living in the weather
|
|
that comes from the sun
|
|
and at night
|
|
the red goes on
|
|
the heart filled with blood
|
|
filled with the brilliant blood goes on
|
|
but the silver heart must rest
|
|
from writing down the story
|
|
from whole pages of hands
|
|
needing eyes
|
|
and much is missed
|
|
but the silver heart must rest
|
|
|
|
the red heart swells
|
|
again with blood
|
|
again with temples and sacrifice
|
|
of black obsidian blades
|
|
striking down to stone
|
|
with only a million ribs between
|
|
the red heart fills
|
|
and empties many times
|
|
and drinks it all as food and still is hungry
|
|
while the silver sleeps
|
|
|
|
the red heart and the silver heart
|
|
read the list of names
|
|
and they are always finding more
|
|
engraved in walls
|
|
printed in books
|
|
and the names they roll
|
|
roll from the silver
|
|
roll
|
|
into the red
|
|
and all the names
|
|
yours too
|
|
the red devours
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"The Heart has its reasons which Reason knows not." Ä Blaise Pascal
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
This Twilight Garden
|
|
þ The Cure
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
I lift my lips from kissing you
|
|
to kiss the sky
|
|
cloud soft and blue
|
|
and slow the sun melts down into
|
|
your golden words for me
|
|
|
|
I lift my hands from touching you
|
|
to touch the wind
|
|
that whispers through
|
|
this twilight garden turns into
|
|
a world where dreams are real
|
|
|
|
noone will ever take your place
|
|
I am lost in you
|
|
noone will ever take your place
|
|
so in love with you
|
|
|
|
I lift my eyes from watching you
|
|
to watch the star
|
|
rise shine onto
|
|
your dreaming face and dreaming smile
|
|
you're dreaming worlds for me
|
|
|
|
I lift my lips from kissing you
|
|
and kiss the sky
|
|
wide deepest blue
|
|
and slow the moon swims up into
|
|
your golden words for me
|
|
|
|
noone will ever take your place
|
|
I am lost in you
|
|
noone will ever take your place
|
|
so in love with you
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence." Ä H. L. Mencken
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
This Weekend
|
|
þ HappyMonk
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
gently flowing over me
|
|
this torrent of sound
|
|
that holds me
|
|
and cries me to sleep
|
|
|
|
close myself to the world
|
|
for that one fleeting moment
|
|
just myself
|
|
wishing i was with you
|
|
|
|
stared into your eyes too long
|
|
made a world inside my head
|
|
losing control
|
|
letting the waves carry me away
|
|
|
|
held onto thoughts of you
|
|
knowing it would never last
|
|
leaving so soon
|
|
a hug and a goodbye
|
|
|
|
now i start over
|
|
left somewhere in the middle of the sea
|
|
swimming away from your shore
|
|
|
|
my mind a broken anchor
|
|
pulling me down
|
|
staring back at myself
|
|
|
|
breathing water
|
|
body convulsing in protest
|
|
laughing in triumph
|
|
|
|
thought i knew it all
|
|
i knew too much
|
|
i think too much
|
|
|
|
never want to think again
|
|
want to ride that wave
|
|
and fall asleep
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Music is good to the melancholy, bad to those who mourn, and neither good
|
|
nor bad to the deaf." Ä Benedict Spinoza
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
To My Daughter, Nancy.
|
|
þ Deborah Spungen
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
Sweet Baby
|
|
Welcome
|
|
I only came to say hello
|
|
I cannot stay
|
|
Loving arms hold tight
|
|
Don't go! Don't go!
|
|
But even loving arms could
|
|
not hold the golden thread
|
|
She slipped way and never
|
|
said good-bye.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Children who face great life-threatening traumas at birth share many of the
|
|
same personality characteristics. They spend much of their lives angry.
|
|
Their behavior is often violent, much of it self-directed..."
|
|
Ä Deborah Spungen
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Bob
|
|
ùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
Dying of love, I yet will not declare
|
|
The happy malady of which I die
|
|
Because I fear lest any come to cure
|
|
The sweetness of the anguish that I sigh.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"There are two types of people: those who are masochists and sadists, and
|
|
those who have no desire to inflict pain or get pain, and that's the majority
|
|
of people. [We're] completely in the minority."
|
|
Ä Courtney Love
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ HappyMonk
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
dipping my foot in the sea-green mirror
|
|
testing her surface to see if it's cold
|
|
looking back once but only to leave her
|
|
taking the chance for the hand i could hold
|
|
|
|
left her behind left her alone
|
|
left her behind
|
|
sleeping somewhere in the back of my mind
|
|
...never give her the time
|
|
to find where i've gone
|
|
|
|
watching her walk as she's leaving my dream
|
|
staying behind with a wing on the floor
|
|
serpent with feathers of golden and green
|
|
tempting and leaving me wanting her more
|
|
|
|
left me behind left me alone
|
|
left me behind
|
|
sleeping somewhere in the back of my mind
|
|
...never give me the time
|
|
to know that i'm gone
|
|
|
|
waiting so long for someone who sees me
|
|
reeling in quiet when nobody does
|
|
missing the way that it all used to be
|
|
learning the way that it all had become
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Molina
|
|
ùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
Heart stopped beating, breathing ceased -
|
|
The world stood still that moment
|
|
Tried to soak everything in,
|
|
Wanted to remember that second of joy
|
|
Closed my eyes and smiled -
|
|
My soul danced as I cried to myself
|
|
Attempted to shake off the shock,
|
|
Failed, managing only to stir old thoughts
|
|
This day I had only dreamed of -
|
|
So surreal and impossible
|
|
Yet there I stood, mouth open in awe,
|
|
My heart calmed to a racing thud
|
|
Cleared my mind long enough,
|
|
Just to remember my pain
|
|
Ignored the urge to explode in words -
|
|
Instead taking my quiet submission
|
|
You taunt me endlessly with your games,
|
|
Surely you know the harm you cause
|
|
Now so fed up with the pain -
|
|
I give into what I have left
|
|
The realization stuns me, that -
|
|
Hate is such a beautiful thing
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, she's the nigga of the world you love to hate. Kicker is, she always
|
|
loves to hate you back." Ä Charles Aaron, regarding Courtney Love
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Molina
|
|
ùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
you turn your back as i approach.
|
|
i see the disapproval in your eyes.
|
|
your hate for me radiates from your aura clear as day.
|
|
you try so hard to hide it from me.
|
|
your attempts are made in vain.
|
|
the resentment in your voice chills my blood.
|
|
now so frozen i take my leave.
|
|
don't cry for me when i'm gone.
|
|
for that is truly what you wanted.
|
|
|
|
i peel the scabs back.
|
|
exposing the cuts for what they truly are.
|
|
i poke the needle in a bit deeper.
|
|
shuddering to self inflicted pain.
|
|
the glass marks my skin in funny little patterns.
|
|
my wrists look beautiful under so much crimson liquid.
|
|
so much crimson liquid.
|
|
|
|
my body covered in powder.
|
|
chemicals pump through my viens.
|
|
no more emotions cloud my eyes.
|
|
my pale white face stares up at you coldly.
|
|
you know the smirk on my cold flesh is directed towards you.
|
|
my last thoughts were of you and how much i hated myself.
|
|
in front of others you cry.
|
|
claim your heart is breaking in two.
|
|
aren't you afraid they can hear you laughing on the inside.
|
|
|
|
i peel the scabs back.
|
|
exposing the cuts for what they truly are.
|
|
i poke the needle in a bit deeper.
|
|
shuddering to self inflicted pain.
|
|
the glass marks my skin in funny little patterns.
|
|
my wrists look beautiful under so much crimson liquid.
|
|
so much crimson liquid.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"That's what relationships are about: repulsion and attraction. These are
|
|
the desirable relationships, but then we're a little more sensitive than a
|
|
lot of stupid people who are happy to be in a nice relationship and are
|
|
happy to live a nice life and not desire anything else. They don't desire
|
|
truth and they don't desire hate. They don't desire evil and they don't
|
|
desire decadence and they don't desire purity..." Ä Courtney Love
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wrecked
|
|
þ Bloodshot
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
i see nothing within her eyes.
|
|
i see darkness taking over.
|
|
a beautiful soul being destroyed.
|
|
|
|
i see nothingness becoming her.
|
|
a loathsome individual walking the plains.
|
|
the plains of a thousand miles.
|
|
the miles of cruelty.
|
|
|
|
she ponders her ways of existence
|
|
through the space of society.
|
|
counting the mindless times
|
|
of abuse of her predecessors.
|
|
|
|
she switches her eyes
|
|
and gradually more on guard.
|
|
fleeing the painful sights
|
|
that she sees coming in many people's eyes.
|
|
|
|
and she goes, into darkness.
|
|
this extremely tortured angel
|
|
casts her glimpse among the skies
|
|
and lets them swallow her whole.
|
|
|
|
her beliefs in anything defaced
|
|
and her movements blurred.
|
|
she sweeps away
|
|
into the mists
|
|
until she's taken by the sun.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I envy those people - those Russian farmers who live to 120 years on yogurt
|
|
with their simple lives. They don't have any stress. But it's no fun..."
|
|
Ä Courtney Love
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
ßÜ
|
|
ÜßÜÝÜßÜ
|
|
ßÜÞÜß Ü Ü Üß
|
|
Ü ÜßÜ ÝÜßÜß ÜßÜßÜ
|
|
ßÜßÜ ÜßÜßÞÜß ÜßÜ Ü ßÜÜßÜß
|
|
ßÜßÜÜß Ü ßÜßÜÝÜßÜß ÜßÜ ßÜ ßÜ ß
|
|
ßÜßÜß Üß Ü Ü ßÜÝÜß Üß ÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜ
|
|
Üßßß Üß Û Ü ÜßßÜÞ ÜßÜß Ü ßÜßÜÜ ßÜß
|
|
Üß ßÜÜß Üß Ü ßßÜßÝßÜß ÜÜ ßÜßßÜ ß
|
|
Üß ÜßßÜÜß ÜßßÜ ßÝß ÜßÜ ßÜßßÜ ß
|
|
Üß ÜßßßÝÜß ÜÜßÜÞÜßÜß ÛÞßßÜ ß
|
|
ß ÜÜßÜßÜß ÜßÜÞÜß ÜßÜÝßÜÜß
|
|
Ü Üßßßß ßÜßÝÜßÜÜßÜß Ü Ü
|
|
Ü Ü ßÜ ßÜ ßÜßßßÜÜßÝÜÛßÜßÜÜß Üß Üß Üß
|
|
Ü ßÜßÜ ßÜÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜÜÛÛÛÜßßÜßÜßÜßßßÜÜß ÜßÜß
|
|
ßÜßÜßÜßÜßßÜ ßÜ ßÜßÜß ß Ý ß ßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜßÜßÜßßÜ
|
|
ÜßßÜßÜ ßÜßÜ ßÜ ß Þ ß ß ß ß ß
|
|
Ý
|
|
Ý
|
|
Þ
|
|
ß ùtwiù
|
|
|
|
Legalize.
|
|
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume eleven], to
|
|
Twilight via Internet e-mail:
|
|
twilight@mail.utexas.edu
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|