March 2010
13 posts
Lana poured her vision into the glass, her eyes as cold as the ice within. She caught a reflection off of the slick surface; a younger man kneeled across the room. It may have been the curvature of the ice, but she swore he trembled as he left his chair. Doubting himself, doubting her. Lana watched as the weight of his reluctance made his knee wobble as he lowered to the floor, as if his conscious...
BW: That's always the best when you're like, I would love to..
BW: Oh wait, shit!
A friend of mine commenting, presumably from experience, on a text I'd sent him concerning a one night stand that stood in the restaurant I work. I proceeded to tell him that I started to check her out, and subsequently realized that I'd done the same thing the night in October that we'd stumbled through a house together and slurred what could hardly be considered a conversation.
The lust subsides and the fire in your eyes slips down into a butane influenced sigh; you roll away into the sheets like turtles into their shells and your head sinks deep into the insignificant pillow that has suddenly attained a desperate significance. Caught up in it all you forgot how your heart was beating hard like a bass drum but the symbols clashing in your mind, and elsewhere, made the...
Yet somewhere along the way you realize that everybody has the same conversations and suddenly you look inside and understand that you don’t want to talk about the obvious. Recognizing the monotony.
Southern sidewalks in conjunction with seafaring air slighted by the salient spice of salty nostalgia. The Willows spill out in Savannah, the Magnolias muster in Macon. This city will Cherry Blossom it’s way onto the world map like it does for a split second every March, making arbor amends in Japan by way of our commonalities. Savannah gathers green for the festival of a Saint....
“I need structure in my life,” said the girl with four or five drinks under her belt at sunday brunch, wearing tights for pants and make-up that likened her to a porcelain doll.
The epidermis is robust in function, yet aesthetically it wraps around our souls in bland flesh. With an endorsement of a tattoo machine scrawling ink, crawling ink as it dives deep into the dermis, the human skin intrigues. Discussing body art. It’ll get boring, you’ll get sick of it. I’ve had the same skin for almost a second decade, and it has gotten quite boring. I...
Reading through old posts I realized how private all of the thing’s I’d written long before posting really were. Feelings I’d felt but couldn’t share. Like the terrible twos when sharing is letting another child so much as look at one of your toys. The things I’d written I shared only with a few people I felt close enough, those people could play with my toys....
