x_atticus

who knows?

Fri, 09 May 2008 16:47:10 GMT

once upon a time there was a girl. Her daddy brought her to a council of wizards. There she met other children of the magickal court. They were not allowed to talk about the precedings because they were all to be tested concerning there abilities involved with keeping dangerous knowledge from spreading like a deadly contagion. What came as a surprise to her, however, is that by the end of the season's ceremonies, she had been crowned princess of the magickal court.
Then there was a terrible clash, and a great silence, like an impassable abyss, ensued.
Then it seemed she woke up. Well, she did wake up, but her memories were all wrong. Some how she did not live with her father, but with her mother. somehow she was not the princess. some how the world was even more bogged down in secrets and shame. looking in the mirror, however, she was still the same. But no one was going to recognise her for who she is, and she is going to have to figure out who she is in this strange and awkward new world.

Sun, 04 May 2008 21:33:15 GMT

if you could see yourself through MY eyes, I wouldn't have to tell you anything with their being the shadow of who you met me as. And I'm not all that better, or am I? thats what I think I'll make the book about. Lets call it Ariset's Mirror

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 16:56:56 GMT

Always waiting for them to come to me
And those who did i pushed away to see
But then withdrew to see if they'd follow

Testing the strength of their sincerity
Lead me astray in lonely ignorance
Always waiting for them to come to me

Surrounded by superiorities
Thinking they are better than someone else
But then withdrew to see if they'd follow

Who am I amid these to despise such
Lovely dualities? I do not know.
Always waiting for them to come to me

I've always despised myself in that way
I could not build an army soon enough
But then withdrew to see if they'd follow

This means war. Give in to the people
Go to them and see if you can keep up
Always waiting for them to come to me
But then withdrew to see if they'd follow

phantom in progress

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 20:33:45 GMT

Johannesburg was what she called him because she could not remember his real name.

On the wall that is no longer there, he sat drawing from his imagination.

Leaving her circle of high school friends, she went up to the older college freshman.

Every boy in her eyes paled by comparison to him; and he could not care less.

Not every princess in her tower gets to find a trace of that fairy tale love:

Ending always in the same disheveled state; one alone, the other happily ever after.

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 13:49:06 GMT

hayla99

29 February 2008 @ 11:59 pm

public relations

publicized,
pulverized,
poked and prodded inside,
i bare my soul to all.
share my heart,
my hate,
as words fill my page.
you'll marinade
your self confidence
in the sorrowful words
about you.
i keep strong.
you'll share stories
of the young one,
and laugh at the tale.
i keep strong.
you'll shower yourself
with the sadness i feel,
i thought i could trust you.
my words will keep coming,
some for you,
yes,
most for him,
most likely,
all for me,
i bare my heart.
all for you,
i took it and ran.
that doesn't keep you,
you still peek at my soul,
my words, my emotions.
you'll stare at my soul
as you block yours
from my eyes,
hardly seems fair.
doesn't it?

but i hide from no one.

3 told | Tell Me As It Is

( Post a new comment )

</a></a>x_atticus on March 4th, 2008 03:56 pm (local)
What was ever hidden?

what kind of laughter did you hear?
whose voice did it claim itself to be?
what was barren was unborn.
what was kept was unkempt.

(Reply) (Thread) (Link)

</a></a>hayla99 on March 5th, 2008 12:16 am (local)
laughter kills me

the laugher of the cruel,
claims my ears.
it's chime echoes down
lonely halls.
its voice, like angels,
pure and sweet,
laughs as pain
claims my heart.

it spoke to me
that lonely night,
just as tears drops
fell from my eyes.
it's soft whisper,
calmed my soul,
it's words chilled
down my spine.
it spoke to me
and said its name,
shock filled my body,
its name so familiar,
a name i trusted.

(Reply) (Parent) (Thread) (Link)

</a></a>x_atticus on March 11th, 2008 08:42 am (local)
This Laughter.

let us remember together
because you love to laugh at me
let us remember together
because these are the things I cannot forget
you say it hurts you to remember
but these are our memories of you
but you prefer our memories of me
so why don't you all laugh at me
it doesn't matter if I'm hurt
just disregard with laughter
everything I say that might matter
and all I wanted was to let you know
but you just laughed me away.

and that is what I have come to trust in you.
bragging about how nothing bothers you
as you look for any button
that bothers someone else
that is your greatest pleasure
and favourite hiding spot
so trust me when I tell you
you who are shallow,
do not speak when you are spoken too
you who are my love,
do not let me do this
you who are ignorant,
do not think I ever trusted you
you who are my friend,
do not think I ever had a choice.

you who ridiculed my name,
I ask you,
what is the meaning of

This.

~l,A.

Writer's Block: That's Crazy

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 20:43:39 GMT

What's the craziest thing you've done in 2008?

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I was myself; i.e. only the usual...

Writer's Block: blushes

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 17:55:55 GMT

What is the most common compliment you receive?

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You have really nice eyes.

Writer's Block: The Last Time I Surprised Someone Else

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 17:00:32 GMT

When was the last time you surprised someone else?

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Christmas. I showed up at my mom's house.

Love bites.

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 02:25:59 GMT

I.
"Can I strangle you?"
"O.K."
So I did.
And I held on
till your very last breath
when you signed your retalliation.
I stopped.
I left a mark
(One I don't know if
I like).

II.
The mark
We used to play a slapping game
We'd slap each other
a tap at first
then just a bit harder to follow
then on and on and on
I don't remember who started
but I remember who finished
I don't remember the mark
but I was reminded

III.
It was just a love bite or at least
it was supposed to be
it wasn't supposed to hurt although
it did
it didn't draw blood
but tears.

-L, A.

Writer's Block: A Favorite Poem

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 18:50:41 GMT

What is one of your favorite poems?

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waiting for the miracle-- L. Cohen

Writer's Block: Cooking Lessons

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 13:32:48 GMT

Who taught you how to cook?

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Grammas taught me me how to cook, or at least a friend's gramma did. And maybe my step father too: scrambled eggs, I would say. mom's mom taught me French Toast, I think. But my 'adopted' gramma definitely taught me how to make tomato sauce, meatballs and lasagna. I'm pretty sure Ethan showed me how to make bread, whereas his mom taught me how to make icing for cake. The kitchen witch's cook book came in handy, and some random cook book did the trick too.

guilty blood.

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 18:49:34 GMT

I'm with E., who has guns and goes shooting at clubs. It is night time and he hands me a single shot pistol. There are dear near by and I shoot a couple with the full intention of eating any one of them. I have never hunted. The dear go down easily. The there is a young stag. It lets me touch its antlers. It feels like wood, and I scratch it with a fingernail. Then I see that E. has tied it up. I decide to shoot it because this is the one I want to eat. The shot creates a lot of blood, but the animal does not die. E. stands near it, which worries me that he may get in the way, but he wants me to shoot it anyway. A Bambi reference is made. More shots. More blood. The stag doesn't even fall. I'm just hurting the poor thing. I'm racked with guilt because my efforts did not kill it. I need a bow and arrow- like that would somehow be more "humanely" efficient. I find the bow, perhaps the arrow... I wake up recalling the blood shed and the guilt.

Anyone?

Writer's Block: Chinese New Year

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 18:37:49 GMT

2008 is the Year of the Rat. Which animal year were you born in?

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I was born in the year of the Tiger. That's good because I have a strong affinity for cats. The other night I dreamt about lion cubs, I actually became one of them briefly. This guy held a gun to my face at point blank range and pulled the trigger. The cartridge was empty, so I turned tail and ran. I felt compelled to run all fours. That wasn't going to work out to well for me, so I stuck to the standard two feet method. But my pursuer was gaining ground. That's when I attempted this tumbling manuever, going down head over heels, that wasn't working because I apparently wasn't doing it right. So then I watched that lion cubs "tuck and roll" so I found myself as one of them.... I wasn't doing any better, but I got away. It all started back at this crash pad I was squatting in. Someone had broken in and began stealing my things, the day before I planned to move out. I tried to stop him, but he had friends which led to me running and being persued until the gun was in my face.

What Do You Have To Say? - Best. Concert. Ever.

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 16:56:10 GMT

What's the best concert you've ever been to?

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Ashley Simpson. because I got arrested for public intoxication just when she came on. And it was my birthday celebration.

a cultural experience

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 16:29:00 GMT

Deva.

I wanted out of RI culture, so I took a road trip across the country. I met a truck driver with a PhD in Psychology, said he made more money driving trucks than he did using his college degree. I ran into some unfriendlies in New Orleans: thought I could learn something of the Tarot from a gypsy who gave me the high hat and thought we'd share some of our goods with a fellow passer-by who took more than he was worth. The Grand Canyon was bigger than I thought: didn't think I'd be impressed-- I was wrong. Strangers were definitely friendly in California, but an old friend I looked up who lived out there turned out to be less friendly-- than both, others and that I remembered him as being. The hippy bus I jumped on turned out sociable enough, even when it seemed it might be getting rude it was all in the name of fun and jest. When I got to my final destination, I found what I'd been looking for. Friendly, sociable people and interactions. I got off my bus at a grey hound bus terminal where I plannned on meeting my contact. While I waited rolling a drum cigarrette, a girl came up to me, offered me one of her Camels and struck up a conversation with me. She told me a cute story of how she ended up where we were and where she planned on going from there. I'll never forget her-- though I did forget her name.

Then my contact arrived and he told me I could stay with his girlfriend. He told me a good place to hang out and meet people. She told me not to. I listened to my friend and met a great number of people, some became friends in varing degrees, some became downright enemies, while others remained sociably neutral. The difference between here and there is the social experience. Most of my neutral associations in RI were down right decidedly anti-social.

Meeting Deva was weird because there was a girl I wanted to get to know. I introduce myself and she responds recipically, telling me her name and her baby's name, then shutting up. How RI, I thought disappointingly to myself. Within a couple of days, I was passing through the park with some kids I just met and I recognized her from a distance. I shouted out a greeting to her, which I later learned made her feel bad about herself because i remembered her name and she'd forgotten mine. Soon she was seeking me out.

What Do You Have To Say? - When I Grow Up...

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 16:07:29 GMT

What do you want to be when you "grow up?"

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An English teacher, poet, novelist, illustrator, wizard, Emperor-Uber-Alles, and free spirited mad man/prohet.

What Do You Have To Say? - Ready For My Close-Up?

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 16:34:24 GMT

No one really ever asks. If its at work, I usually shun it. If its for fun, I usually include an obscene gesture. I used to look angery in photos, but lately I've tried to be smiling.

Happy Birthday!

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 20:44:53 GMT

see Sweeney Todd the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, if you haven't already!

-A.

Theodore Roszak's FLICKER

Thu, 13 Dec 2007 04:11:49 GMT

Note to self, A book to read.

chess dream

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 20:42:21 GMT

I'm setting up a chess board to play a game with my friend E. He is always black, but he puts all the white pieces on the board and stands them up. I stop him from setting them in place to do so myself on my side of the board-- which he might have done anyway, but he should be setting up his side; this action causes a temporary static. All the pieces are standing and I am pulling them to my side of the board, then I divide them. He sets up his court and I mine. We make a few moves a piece.

My strategy is reflective of a 4-way esoteric chess game. Half my court will attack half of his. My other half will set up pure defense. There is a third party, a friend of ours, but it is unclear whether he is actively in play. After the few moves, E. starts to construct a sort of barrier- not in the game, but around where he is sitting. Very makeshift, out of sturdy twigs. Then he fills it with butter knives- hundreds upon hundreds, and explains how it is his defense; so the game has gone from esoteric to RPG-like.

We are in a private club, very fancy, and for people generally over 40. I walk around and try to appreciate the framed art on the walls, but they are covered in glass and the glare is particularly distracting. I feel inclined to comment on it to whoever runs the place, but decline.

My mom shows up. Didn't expect that. haven't spoken to her in a couple years, though I am frequently visited by her in nightmares. "It's time for our annual celebration of merriment." she comments lightly. (her prescence is undesired, but for once it does not fester into nightmare.)

E. wants to resume play, but I had to move the board and it is not my usual magnetic set, so all the pieces were taken off the board; we'd only just begun so I figured we could start anew. This annoyed him.

oh yea, and there was a large marble that fit into a socket, like on a mouse. Only what it fit into was plainer, smaller and seemed to have no function. The ball had fallen out of place, so I put it back together. The marble may have been magnetic.

P.S. There was an upclose of my mother. She's a superficial woman who went from Brunette to blonde because she was getting grey hairs in her twenties - when she gave birth twice. Now she's in her 50's so ofcourse she has a full head of blonde hair. In the dream close up, she had long grey hair, and it was beautiful.

KeyXII. The Hanged Man

Thu, 06 Dec 2007 04:17:26 GMT

The Invocation of Saint Jude.

why are you the patron saint of lost causes?
where is your story written, and how can it be found?

I pay attention to you because of my father.
He wore an effigy of you. A Roman Catholic.
He was a dying man. He wanted life to go on.
He wanted his family to hold together and love.
He got a beautiful young bride in his dying middle age.
They had a daughter immediately followed by me.
But she left him and their children in a mere few years.
He died in a couple more, with a curse upon that forlorn mother.
He wore your remembrance because he would surely die.
Was his children's lives your answer to his prayer?

I think of you now, because my soul cries out for non being.
Like the existence of love is a lost cause in my heart.
I have wanted love. I have thought myself in love. Many times over.
But, "I have torn myself away from everyone whose reached out for me."
(L. Cohen)

I am going to tell the story I told to Ashleigh.
She was not the first to hear it. May she not be the last.
It is about a young man who has given up all hope of being happy.
Content, even. Pray for his soul, and grant the completion
of his mystical transformation.

1. The Dorm.

Like, "Songs From a Room." (L. Cohen)

Red was a theme of colour in that period of his life.
So was the gothic mood. He fancied being something of a gentleman
but an eccentric moreover. He knows, he is not like everyone else.

Love. He writes sad stories and depressing poetry.
His art work is phenominal, loud and expressive of his own privations
He fancies himself a tortured soul, and it affords him attention
until it is nothing but tiresome.

He sits alone in his room and broods over what
he does not have, or could not hold.

But surely a tree brand and a sturdy rope around his own neck
could hold.

He wants or wanted adventure? He wants or wanted to travel?
The dream of a gypsy prince seemed romantic at the time.

His favourite story is any that told of true love.
But that is over now. The very possibility is gone.
But one is in love with him. And not one he would ever love in return.
The things he tells himself. Such lies.

What is the lie that drives him finally to this finality?

2. Campus

Let's discuss Audrey. Punk rock.
She took the initiative to his shy little glances
She had a boyfriend, but he was far and away
She had a boyfriend, but that didn't stop her.

Our-boy was content enough to be doing his new friend
They had enjoyable enough times
But nothing is enough for Our-boy. Too bad...

He ran into an old friend
Our-boy learned This:
he had dated a girl with a secret admirerer
A friend of his harboring a silent grudge.

He found himself at his house with Audrey
And when he was ready to leave, she was ready to stay

rejected,
but what could he expect from a sex-friend?
She could not even cheat on him

Afterwards, she'd been gone for some days,
she reappeared in the mess hall
from behind she popped up and hugged him
exclaiming to the others, "He's mad at me!"

Grumpily he tried on a lie for size,
"No, I'm not."

Only to find it did not fit.

3. Bus

"Wisdom is wasted on the old."
That was the riddle.

He was on the bus, headed for the heart of the city.
A black man, smiling in his own sociable exasperation, asked
"Don't you agree with that?"

Our-boy tried on an argument for size.
Not intending to be playing the Devil's Advocate,
he discovered that it did not fit either.

"Think of all the mistakes you could have avoided
If only you knew then, what you know now!"

This sent Our-boy thinking.
What if
He spent his time devouring books of wisdom
when not spending his time taking in the company of his elder's
Concentrated on putting into practice
The wisdom of a guardian genius like Solomon's
Could it be done? Could it be done?

In his head he saw a young man doing so
Prospering quickly, contenting and happy
When just soon enough
-out of nowhere-

A bus plows him down.

He shares the scenario:
Retort: "Ah. But perhaps this is because
He learned and experienced exactly what his soul required--

And moved on."

4. City

Growing up in suburbia
stories of the city lead him to believe
that is exactly where he wanted to be

what he did not learn was
that nowhere is where he wants to be.

He fancied the activities of the many and varied peoples
even the fighting - tho' admittedly at a distance -
but let him forget the solace of the trees

tall buildings and ancient clusters, reconstructed houses
a city's own nostalgia appealed to his lon lost dreams
the struggling minnions losing themselves for fun
always finding themselves in the same ol' spree.

hopping from place to place, hopping from body to body,
finding something new - became just another complaint
"habitually we cultivate remorse, as beggers entertain and nurse their lice"
(-C. Baudelaire)
finally he truly knows what those words mean.

This one last thing - so many things before that.

The name of this city is Providence.
(How many Words does the OED dedicate to "providence"?)
Our emblem here is Hopel Our symbol: an anchor.

But Our-boy is not a native.
And in this Sanctuary City
His high school's motto is

"The "Rebels".

5. Train

There is another story of a train
about a dead man's amnesia
he thinks he's alive, and so he lives
but only breifly. he's in trasit.
the death train has let him off at some stop
in the midst of the living.
but it will return, that he may reboard
because for him this is only a glimpse
of what he once knew
once was

So it follows appropriately
that Our-boy boards a semi-random train
the soonest time to the furthest place
to get off on a whim before the end.

For he is alive
and wishing more than death for an end to ends

but the duration continues his distractions.
he knows well ednpough how to sit somewhat still
and lock himself up in day dream
-- while nightmares howl to get in.

Like his unwillingness, his stubbornness to learn
how to bend the universe to his own will
how to bend his own will to that of the one
he does not dream in his sleep
what he would have himself remember
what he chooses to do in his sleep

yet even when he flies in his dream
he rarely remembers to realize

This really is all just a dream

There was one peculiar series of dream
Conscious nightmares as a child
Our-boy dreamt he was in a frightful place
but he knew he dreamed
he knew nothing better
than to shut his eyes and pray

but when he lift his lids again
he felt frightend -- he was in just another dream

and sometimes he awoke from nightmares
in the darkness of his room
and by the dimness of shadow
he saw what was there
and some of what was not

In transit from dream to dream
sometimes he would bring back a glimpse
of a place and a time he left behind.

6. Tracks

Thinking of slaves who laid down the tracks.
Hard harsh gruelling labor
they just hammer away, many at once
they have no choice-- in that the alternative seems like
it would be a lot worse

The Narrative of Nathaniel Douglas--
An Escaped Slave

Hopeless about a hoped for alternative
Their payment is meager-- mere life itself

Yet somehow that is enough
And yet they would breed

And along these tracks Our-boy goes for his walk
like his own self devised "long mile"
where priests read you your last rites
or slaves sing their powerful song

Soldiers march, the hopeless still drag on

Are the track marks of a junkie
any more ill-befitting
than a society built on bones?

My 23rd birthday celebration

Thu, 06 Dec 2007 00:28:04 GMT

Write about your best (or worst) birthday.

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You see, it wasn't really my 23rd birthday, I was just saying it was. I wanted a big birthday party so my friend and I made up fliers and passed them out at random. Not many of the invites even came, but the few that did brought lots of people with them. My birthday is on the longest day of the year, so its genereally hot with good weather, so I planned on a barbecue. So everyone whose going to come is there and the sky is grey. Before the grill is even started, the rain comes and it is a torrential down pour with no end in sight. My friend, however, is determined and immediately sets about on a huge project. He makes a make-shift roof in front of the apartment door using wooden sticks that went to something or other and a mat of cardboard I covered in duct tape for an abandoned project many months ago. The kept up and the roofing was a complete success, thus saving that part of the birthday.

What Do You Have To Say? - Down to the Letter

Wed, 05 Dec 2007 04:31:59 GMT

Share a letter you've written. Or, write a letter to someone you miss.

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Who do I begin with? A mystery unfolds in my atempts at poetry.
Dear Ashleigh, I fear I will never see you again. Even if I did, would you be happy to see me? You can not know how much I miss you, nor the regret I feel for the way we parted. You were the best to me. At best, I can say that I am falling to far apart from everyone. Everywhere. I've always been sad. People laugh AT me, not With me. The Jackal, you once said. The Jackal, I am to understand is a Trickster, and accustomed to laughing at others. Teaching them too, apparently. I've begun work on that story, putting it down and all. I dedicate it to you.

--Forever in love, the incredible Mr. Nobody.

I listen to others and base my decision off them

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 14:37:14 GMT

How do you choose which books to read?

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I don't know about this HTML business, I never know what's going on. read the Bartimaeus Trilogy. I learned about it from my Teaching Young Adult Lit instructor and it is fabulous. I mean, it works out well enough so far: listening to people I mean. Its getting one's self to read that can be the challenge....

I am weird without trying

Sat, 01 Dec 2007 02:27:27 GMT

I am generally hot when others are not. I melt like I'm made of water. When inspired I can draw like many wish they could, I know my lines and my colours. I can write to no end, and with little effort, but some necessarily, it is even decent in its accomplishment. I care. Nobody cares. But like everyone else, my caring is selfish to a pointless end. I've wanted to be dead since I was ten, but never attempted it. In my teen angst, I decided to do it or not to do it. The struggle is resounding, but I live on. I've lost the meaning of carpe diem. I've been talking about Sweeney Todd for years and nobody knew what the hell I was talking about. Not only will they all now know, I used to look like Johny Depp back in my twenties-- without trying or caring. I used to work at a convenience store and was always referred to as Gilbert Grape.

x_atticus

who knows?

phantom in progress

Writer's Block: That's Crazy

Writer's Block: *blushes*

Writer's Block: The Last Time I Surprised Someone Else

Love bites.

Writer's Block: A Favorite Poem

Writer's Block: Cooking Lessons

guilty blood.

Writer's Block: Chinese New Year

What Do You Have To Say? - Best. Concert. Ever.

a cultural experience

What Do You Have To Say? - When I Grow Up...

What Do You Have To Say? - Ready For My Close-Up?

Happy Birthday!

Theodore Roszak's FLICKER

chess dream

KeyXII. The Hanged Man

My 23rd birthday celebration

What Do You Have To Say? - Down to the Letter

I listen to others and base my decision off them

I am weird without trying

Writer's Block: blushes