August 2011
113 posts
3 tags
one-trick pony gets a new hat
tesla-lala:
When I was young I made a game called Egg. I’d sit on the sidewalk and call my sister, “Come look, come look! I am an egg!” or “Oh-no, where did this egg come from?”
First I’d curl my knees up to my chest and put my hands over my head, making muffled chirps. If she was playing along she’d knock on my head. If she was bored, I’d crack myself and burst from my own shell. Then I’d...
July 2011
149 posts
3 tags
deistbrawler asked: Concrete Summers:
When I was a child my feet were rough from the summers spent running barefoot over gravel at my grandparents house, and the hot Texas concrete at home. Concrete that was so hot you could, literally, cook an egg on it. My feet were so rough you couldn’t even cut them with a knife. Rough enough that I always thought the people who would walk on coals...
When I was a child my feet were rough from the summers spent running barefoot over gravel at my grandparents house, and the hot Texas concrete at home. Concrete that was so hot you could, literally, cook an egg on it. My feet were so rough you couldn’t even cut them with a knife. Rough enough that I always thought the people who would walk on coals...
3 tags
the noise
eversonpoe:
the grain of it scraped against his cheek, drawing blood that pooled in the cracks and the crevices of it. little bits broke off and found their way under his skin, into his pores, nestled in his 10 o’clock shadow. his hands were destroyed. the fragile bones of his fingers tasted fresh air, the flesh around them turning brown.
he tried to stand, but it was too much. his wrists...
3 tags
Paths Traveled
thestrangelands:
“It’s weird,” she says, kicking a chunk of eroded cement. It’s not a very hard kick, more of a foot-push than a kick, really. It’s a sad little action that fits in well with the scene.
We’re walking across an abandoned basketball court, in the middle of a park that is more of a health hazard than anything. It would be considered the bad part of town, if the town was that...
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lynchianbedhead asked: Sometimes I wonder why people don't question the ground below their feet. Maybe it's faith, or obliviousness, or a different chemistry than mine. Maybe they're just distracted by their days.
I'm not sure I can believe in the concrete.
Maybe it feels real enough for anyone else. Comfortable. I could live with that.
I'm not sure I can believe in the concrete.
Maybe it feels real enough for anyone else. Comfortable. I could live with that.
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STS: Concrete
nicklas:
It can make you feel the most alive when the feet touches the concrete. An impulse impossible to quench to see where it leads. The feet run until it reaches the end and then continues out into the wild. Away from everything as the smell of the warm asphalt slowly shifts to wood and dust and animals that hides just out of sight. The sun play olly olly oxen free between the trees and the...
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Hey Storytimers -
My idea to track the “story time saturday” tag is not working out so well; it’s a little hit-or-miss. I’m posting the ones that have been sent to me, and the ones I’ve found by tracking the tag, but I know some have been missed because the writers have had to let me know they existed.
If you don’t see yours up within the next hour or so, let me know so I can...
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Anonymous asked: Everybody around your last bed thought you kept calling for your brother Mike, who is gone five years now. But I heard different. Your hands, restrained after too many times trying to remove the tube that was keeping you alive, rocked against the cloth straps. A look of pain and distress that I'd never seen you display, and you mumble through the morphine:
"My God!"...
"My God!"...
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deuscain asked: Story time Saturday:
"We wrote our names in wet concrete
when we were but school children
who marveled at the wonder of the world.
They tore that school down last year
and with it the tiny patch of history
that had lasted longer than our love."
"We wrote our names in wet concrete
when we were but school children
who marveled at the wonder of the world.
They tore that school down last year
and with it the tiny patch of history
that had lasted longer than our love."
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Concrete
grandeuricillusions:
My fingers fumble on my shirt buttons. You stretch across the bed and feel the pillow where I was recently. Your eyes open to a squint but you do not ask the question. You don’t want to know where I am going or why.
We have been crumbling ever since we decided living together was not the best choice after all. We parted things; we divided custody of the cat. We even said the...
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Story Time Saturday: Week 2
It’s going to happen tomorrow, if you want to participate like you did last week. (Last week made me so happy, by the way!)
So here’s the deal: I don’t want to limit anyone’s preferred method of storytelling. Maybe you don’t like writing so much, but you’re a fantastic photographer, artist, musician, game maker, film maker, or whatever. Well, that’s...
5 tags
Watch(via They Might Be Giants: Tiny Desk Concert : NPR)
paleskinblueeyes-deactivated201 asked: One of the places I looked at buying a plane ticket to was San Francisco, but the flights home wouldn't have worked out to get me back to Calgary in time for work on Tuesday. It is a shame. If I had gone to SF I would have had oceans and you!
2 tags
stephanieacrossthesea:
if there is one thing, above all the others, that i could say that i learned tonight….
that learning anatomy from the source is just as good of a feeling as my memory of how it feels to fall in love.
really.
love,
s
#dissection #love
My book, "HONEST LIAR" will be available until the...
jackscoresby:
After that it’s gone forever.
Order it here.
For
evvv
ver.
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Heaven on earth
jscottgrand:
(Man and Woman by Rafi Peretz)
She lay beside him naked and sobbing. He wraps his body around her like a blanket and gently caresses her breasts and the subtle curve where her neck meets her shoulders. He closes his eyes and gets lost in the slow measure of her breathing, her smooth brown skin pressed tightly against his chest and the sweet jasmine smell of her hair and the...
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“You’re my type, and I would totally fuck you, but I know I’d be a dick about it....”
– I don’t remember how we ended up on this topic last night, but this was how a friend explained to me why he and I have never hooked up (despite the fact that we are both incredibly rad and attractive people, of course).
Whether this is indicative of true friendship and respect or just some skillful...
4 tags
Rupa and the April Fishes - Maintenant
ferociousj answered your question: Oh, the things I find when I finally get around to…
GET A NEW HOUSE
No, I can’t! If I move, then the spiders win!
send me your moths, please.
stephanieacrossthesea:
Please mail me moths you find on the ground. if you have one/multiple, please contact me & i will send you my post address & stamps. If you would like to forward this note on, by all means, please do!
with gratitude,
Stephanie
theworkshoplibrary@gmail.com
Stephanie wants your moths. Why are you hoarding your moths when Stephanie needs them?!
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nicklas asked: Next time you have story time,. I'll make sure not to be at a wedding.
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sarahalyse asked: Better late than never?
Walking to the bus just before 6am, I see two men waiting there in the dark. One, tall, in a red windbreaker, perhaps in his early 60s, says, “Oh, I see how it is!”
I hear breaks, turn, and see the 15 coming down the street, right on time.
“We’ve been freezing here for an hour, but you walk up like it’s nothing and...
Walking to the bus just before 6am, I see two men waiting there in the dark. One, tall, in a red windbreaker, perhaps in his early 60s, says, “Oh, I see how it is!”
I hear breaks, turn, and see the 15 coming down the street, right on time.
“We’ve been freezing here for an hour, but you walk up like it’s nothing and...
1 tag
lynchianbedhead asked: You should keep taking stories and post them every week for Story time Saturday.
1 tag
lucesparaescenasterribles-deact asked: “So is this poetry?”
Her father glanced at the pink shell and smiled. “It’s broken.”
She ran ahead and crouched down to study the sand. “What about this flower?”
“Sweetheart, look at it. Three petals are missing. Soon the sand will bury it or the sun will dry it up.”
“I thought...
Her father glanced at the pink shell and smiled. “It’s broken.”
She ran ahead and crouched down to study the sand. “What about this flower?”
“Sweetheart, look at it. Three petals are missing. Soon the sand will bury it or the sun will dry it up.”
“I thought...
1 tag
Okay, spam time is over. Go back to your normal...
Thanks again to everyone who helped me escape for a little while. I am feeling a whole lot better today, and I credit all of you for that. Love love love.
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theivorytowercrumbles:
Bartholomew Mason – Bart to his friends – was a paragon for superheroes. A pillar of the community who had given more than forty years of his life to fighting villains and politicians alike to carve out a place in the world for those who were different. The ones who sought justice in their own way. When heroes turned on each other, he stepped between them to resolve...
1 tag
deuscain asked: You asked for stories last night but I didn't see it until this morning. Here's my little one (sorry if this is a dupe, the first submission didn't look like it went through):
"One morning a man woke and decided to go on a journey to the world beyond. He'd had nothing of value and therefore took nothing with him and left nothing behind. Indeed, he even...
"One morning a man woke and decided to go on a journey to the world beyond. He'd had nothing of value and therefore took nothing with him and left nothing behind. Indeed, he even...
1 tag
jscottgrand-deactivated20121223 asked: The car always smelled faintly of her perfume, a subtle combination of apples and spice. He would never tell her but often after he dropped her off at her parents’ house, he would just sit in his car—sometimes for an hour or more—just breathing in her smell. He still carries it with him today. Sometimes it wakes him up late at night and he imagines remnants of her on his sheets....
1 tag
janeanger:
Instead of attempting to cook, we mischievously decided to eat at one of the chain restaurants located a few blocks from the house. In our three years together, we’ve resorted to this option less than five times, but there are those evenings, like this one, where nothing seems more fitting. Our dinner and drinks were over-priced, but they surprised me in quality and...
ruzzdotorg replied to your post: I’ll respond to your stories individually when I’m…
sorry i wanted to write you something.. but saw it as i was doing my pre-bed catchup :)
I will happily read your story if you still want to write it. There’s no time limit on this request.
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distant-signals asked: I once loved a woman who had a heart like ocean glass: gently rippled but still so perfectly smooth, spotted gently with bubbles of air that held secrets I'd only hear if I ever found the strength and the sorrow to somehow break the vessel. She wore summer dresses like they were sewn on her form, like an extension of her skin, like dancing leaves on a swinging bough blown by wind just before...
1 tag
thesoftestedge asked: An overwhelming numbness, one that takes hold and consumes.
It bleeds from your mind, trickles like ice down your neck and down your spine, stretching through to your fingertips, crippling you, staining every part of you, holding you with its cold embrace. Burry your face in the darkness, closed to anything other than the nothingness you feel. Beyond shock and not yet agony, the numbness...
It bleeds from your mind, trickles like ice down your neck and down your spine, stretching through to your fingertips, crippling you, staining every part of you, holding you with its cold embrace. Burry your face in the darkness, closed to anything other than the nothingness you feel. Beyond shock and not yet agony, the numbness...
