Wednesday, March 21, 2001
livejournal recovered 12
5:56 pm - Great moments for a writer
Recieving the fourth review singing your praises about a piece of you writing.
Being told you need to really step on your adverbs in another short piece because your dialogue is strong enough it doesn't need them.
Being gathered in as an 'Editorial Broad' by the listmind you just introduced yourself to and weren't sure if you were fitting in yet.
Feeling a great sense of accomplishment, and being inspired to write and hopefully finish your current short story.
Being asked "when are you going to post more of Dark Violin?" (your current novel).
Feeling totally on cloud nine....
current mood: ecstatic
current music: Dave Matthews Band - Crush
Recieving the fourth review singing your praises about a piece of you writing.
Being told you need to really step on your adverbs in another short piece because your dialogue is strong enough it doesn't need them.
Being gathered in as an 'Editorial Broad' by the listmind you just introduced yourself to and weren't sure if you were fitting in yet.
Feeling a great sense of accomplishment, and being inspired to write and hopefully finish your current short story.
Being asked "when are you going to post more of Dark Violin?" (your current novel).
Feeling totally on cloud nine....
current mood: ecstatic
current music: Dave Matthews Band - Crush
Tuesday, March 20, 2001
livejournal recovered 11
1:00 pm - A question of currency (Short Short) Protected
It was almost time.
His children were at work, and their children were happy at school. His affairs were in order, and he had but one question left.
He looked down at hands covered with rice-paper skin and liver spots. They were dark with the stains of too much sun. They were callused and scarred by good honest work. They had held a lover, married her, and buried her. But they would not be his much longer.
He pondered his question. It wasn't the sort with an answer in any book, or something you could ask anyone and be certain they gave you the right answer. It wasn't one of the important questions either, like is there a god, or where do dogs go when they die. But he had done everything important ? important to him at least. And he felt entitled to his question, unimportant as it might be.
The skirt of the woman's dress entered his range of vision silently, and stopped there swaying black and purple just beyond his hands. He slowly looked up at the woman's face, meeting black eyes in an ebon face.
"Hello, Death." He said. "It is you, isn't it?"
She nodded slowly, running a pale hand through her long red curls. "It is time." She said in a deep, melodious voice.
He took a breath, and let it out slowly. "I am almost ready. I have but one question, before we go."
She brought a finger of bone up to her red lips, then her skull ground out a nod. She crouched down, jeans brushing the pavement in front of him, and shook her blonde hair back over her creamy shoulders. "What is your question?" she asked him.
He gazed down into her deep blue eyes, and said, "When I was young, a man asked of me, 'If you could make a deal with death, what would you offer her?' This has been my question for some time, but I've never seen you to ask it before."
She cocked her head to the side, and rested it in an amber palm. "That is an interesting question. For what could you offer, that will not come to me in its time anyway? Or that someone else has not given me a thousand, million times over, all unknowing? Do you have an answer?"
He leaned forward and brushed chestnut strands from her ear, and whispered into it.
Her eyes widened as she pulled back, and she gave him a faint, melancholic smile. "And an interesting answer, for your gift is in what you give me. I accept." She said, leaning forward to seal the bargain with a brief kiss.
She looked up at him with his lover's eyes, and said "Thank you."
And he reached out with a pale hand to brush her eyes closed, as she died.
It was almost time.
His children were at work, and their children were happy at school. His affairs were in order, and he had but one question left.
He looked down at hands covered with rice-paper skin and liver spots. They were dark with the stains of too much sun. They were callused and scarred by good honest work. They had held a lover, married her, and buried her. But they would not be his much longer.
He pondered his question. It wasn't the sort with an answer in any book, or something you could ask anyone and be certain they gave you the right answer. It wasn't one of the important questions either, like is there a god, or where do dogs go when they die. But he had done everything important ? important to him at least. And he felt entitled to his question, unimportant as it might be.
The skirt of the woman's dress entered his range of vision silently, and stopped there swaying black and purple just beyond his hands. He slowly looked up at the woman's face, meeting black eyes in an ebon face.
"Hello, Death." He said. "It is you, isn't it?"
She nodded slowly, running a pale hand through her long red curls. "It is time." She said in a deep, melodious voice.
He took a breath, and let it out slowly. "I am almost ready. I have but one question, before we go."
She brought a finger of bone up to her red lips, then her skull ground out a nod. She crouched down, jeans brushing the pavement in front of him, and shook her blonde hair back over her creamy shoulders. "What is your question?" she asked him.
He gazed down into her deep blue eyes, and said, "When I was young, a man asked of me, 'If you could make a deal with death, what would you offer her?' This has been my question for some time, but I've never seen you to ask it before."
She cocked her head to the side, and rested it in an amber palm. "That is an interesting question. For what could you offer, that will not come to me in its time anyway? Or that someone else has not given me a thousand, million times over, all unknowing? Do you have an answer?"
He leaned forward and brushed chestnut strands from her ear, and whispered into it.
Her eyes widened as she pulled back, and she gave him a faint, melancholic smile. "And an interesting answer, for your gift is in what you give me. I accept." She said, leaning forward to seal the bargain with a brief kiss.
She looked up at him with his lover's eyes, and said "Thank you."
And he reached out with a pale hand to brush her eyes closed, as she died.
Friday, March 02, 2001
livejournal recovered 10
12:50 pm - haunted House poetry Protected
or somesuch.
........................................................
The house has no leaves
only flowers
which whisper with the seductive perversion
of an indian spring
For overmuch beauty
belies nature
and starves the tree
on which it grows
............
The branches are stuck up like hands before
the windows
playing peekaboo:
My mysteries you will never fully see
perhaps because they lie
too deep
within your own mind
..........
I am too dressed up
in dreams
beyond my facade
lies only
your imagination
...........
beware the petals
of the trees that spring up at midnight
for they are the enemy of truth
and will cloud minds
with nartholeptic dreams
.............
I sit inside and peer out
at your eyes - why do you watch me?
go look in your mirror
or here - take mine
I do not need it anymore
I have your eyes
and you are inside
so I will go home
from the strange house
and laugh
at the oddity
of its inhabitants
..............
Once proud, she now
draws her tattered cloak around her
but still, with her widows peak
and baubles of emerald
she inspires poor poets
who know nothing of her
but her shabby garb
of age
.............
I give confetti carpet
so those who come
can climb over cherry blossoms
crushing beauty
expired
12:45 pm - My so called interesting life...
Last night J's partner came over. And he got drunk on the night and high on well - what you normally get high on. And we rented several movies, the one we watched was "So I married an AX murderer." Except, j's partner had the control, and he kept stopping us whenever one or the other went out of the room, and would go into descriptions of his oh so fun night in reodoso - about this fantastic girl he saw and fell in love with (so to speak) who was standing at the edge of a balcony, and when one of her friends teasingly told her not to jump off, shes whipped around and said 'I wasn't going to. But I thought you were going to come hug me.' or something like that. I didn't get what was soo awe inspiring for him about that moment, but I wasn't there.
at 12:12 he went outside to smoke, and decided that we needed to all walk down to the end of the block and take paper and write about the 'haunted' house. The one that to me is just a normal, overgrown house - I get more creeped out in my own place - but to him and J is like THE house, where the tree was moving and moving moving moving and then birds flew up from every branch - or somehting like that. I didn't want to for a while, but he talked me into it.
It was interesting. But the cherry trees we sat under were more odd to me - covered, i mean totally covered in these blossoms and no leaves. Is that normal? Perhaps i'm just not fully aquainted with cherry trees, but it seemed unnatural to me. And I felt almost like an interloper, watching someone's house, and sitting on the curb on the corner next to one of my neighbors houses. The most interesting thing for me was a spider, that ventured timidly across the road.
After that, we walked back, and sat and read what we'd written. I felt like mine was the on the fly mindfuck 'oh, i can write something for you' 'oh, how original' 'oh, you're so creeped out' type of schlock that happens when I'm not really interested in writing, but they both seemed to find it marvelous. Which is cool. It's interesting. But not that facinating. But perhaps i'm just a blind artist - people interpret my works strangely sometimes.
And then we finally got to finish watching the movie. Which was good, funny, ok, 3.5*s. I'm sure it would have been better if I'd been inbibing, though ;)
or somesuch.
........................................................
The house has no leaves
only flowers
which whisper with the seductive perversion
of an indian spring
For overmuch beauty
belies nature
and starves the tree
on which it grows
............
The branches are stuck up like hands before
the windows
playing peekaboo:
My mysteries you will never fully see
perhaps because they lie
too deep
within your own mind
..........
I am too dressed up
in dreams
beyond my facade
lies only
your imagination
...........
beware the petals
of the trees that spring up at midnight
for they are the enemy of truth
and will cloud minds
with nartholeptic dreams
.............
I sit inside and peer out
at your eyes - why do you watch me?
go look in your mirror
or here - take mine
I do not need it anymore
I have your eyes
and you are inside
so I will go home
from the strange house
and laugh
at the oddity
of its inhabitants
..............
Once proud, she now
draws her tattered cloak around her
but still, with her widows peak
and baubles of emerald
she inspires poor poets
who know nothing of her
but her shabby garb
of age
.............
I give confetti carpet
so those who come
can climb over cherry blossoms
crushing beauty
expired
12:45 pm - My so called interesting life...
Last night J's partner came over. And he got drunk on the night and high on well - what you normally get high on. And we rented several movies, the one we watched was "So I married an AX murderer." Except, j's partner had the control, and he kept stopping us whenever one or the other went out of the room, and would go into descriptions of his oh so fun night in reodoso - about this fantastic girl he saw and fell in love with (so to speak) who was standing at the edge of a balcony, and when one of her friends teasingly told her not to jump off, shes whipped around and said 'I wasn't going to. But I thought you were going to come hug me.' or something like that. I didn't get what was soo awe inspiring for him about that moment, but I wasn't there.
at 12:12 he went outside to smoke, and decided that we needed to all walk down to the end of the block and take paper and write about the 'haunted' house. The one that to me is just a normal, overgrown house - I get more creeped out in my own place - but to him and J is like THE house, where the tree was moving and moving moving moving and then birds flew up from every branch - or somehting like that. I didn't want to for a while, but he talked me into it.
It was interesting. But the cherry trees we sat under were more odd to me - covered, i mean totally covered in these blossoms and no leaves. Is that normal? Perhaps i'm just not fully aquainted with cherry trees, but it seemed unnatural to me. And I felt almost like an interloper, watching someone's house, and sitting on the curb on the corner next to one of my neighbors houses. The most interesting thing for me was a spider, that ventured timidly across the road.
After that, we walked back, and sat and read what we'd written. I felt like mine was the on the fly mindfuck 'oh, i can write something for you' 'oh, how original' 'oh, you're so creeped out' type of schlock that happens when I'm not really interested in writing, but they both seemed to find it marvelous. Which is cool. It's interesting. But not that facinating. But perhaps i'm just a blind artist - people interpret my works strangely sometimes.
And then we finally got to finish watching the movie. Which was good, funny, ok, 3.5*s. I'm sure it would have been better if I'd been inbibing, though ;)
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