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Whistle whistle11-2-13Whistle whistle by Reanimated4now
The world is as a great and silent room, and we who come into her, whistlers. The silence of such a massive space overwhelms us, stifling our certainty so that as we learn to whistle, to purse our lips against the air, the notes which escape are hard, rough, and born with great spaces between. Still learning, we have not yet found our song and so feel in all directions, blind searching for a path, until we are struck and gradually find that melody we feel in tune with, the song which is beyond our minds, but felt even in its alien absence. Beyond the tangible, we latch and hold, we adhere to the most rudimentary notes. Though they are coarse, our confidence in self grows, gradually, but now with the assured backing of that which we have found our deepest driving belief in. Through time, repetition, and a constant exploration, we are able to reach beyond the first and second levels of our understanding, to draw our
3:10 a.m. It is the twenty-second of February, 2013 at 3:10 a.m. When I write this in the bedroom I rent in Woodbridge, Northern Virginia. My grandfather died yesterday afternoon, dad said around four thirty, after not eating or drinking for more than a week. The process was so drawn out into waiting that by now I don't know what to make of the whole thing. Even now I feel unaffected..when last week I was a wreck over the news he was dying. There are so many questions still I wonder about. I wonder why this has happened, if he just became tired of life and trying or his body shut down first. How long can we live with the sort of grief and loss that lives inside of us every day? I wanted to ask him how to cope with the overwhelming, staggering loss of the woman you loved, she who is always never far from thought, the memory and tears keeping you awake nights years and years into the future..the future. By the time I got to his ho3:10 a.m. by Reanimated4now
12-22-1312-22-1312-22-13 by Reanimated4now
This is a familiar place, muggy, the breeze shifts through the room from the opened, indifferent windows. The day is gray, even through the half-opened shades, the days are short already, sun setting and by six gone, the gray further suspends time, the relativity of time having no solid reference points, suspended truly. Hair out we lie across the sweaty sheets as the breeze cools our skin. I have known other suspended places between dimensions like this. I think, it feels like...
rain begins to pour down outside, each drop sounding through the screens of the bedroom windows. the bump and shuffle of the music shifts on, marches on. Other places, summers in the nineties, long, confused muggy days, tall grass and playing outside for fun, never inside. Other places, the broken up, radial blast houses outside of Detroit in the fallout cloud shadow of the Monroe nuclear power plant. No sun here, in time, clouds, space, we float. (and here?)
Here everything is a Japanese barren mang
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Death Sentence Promisessometimes i have disbelief playing in my eyes,
rewinding my past as if it never left.
stitching your memories along my back
so i can be stuck to your yesterdays
until insanity grows tired.
i'm a prisoner of time, because
you're permanently sketched across my timeline,
creating mental scars that never heal
& when you're writing your memoirs in my blood -
do you know that you stole my only innocence.
i'm constantly braiding your veins &
twisting your eye-sockets so you
can bathe in the misery you washed me in,
until you return something
you never deserved.
i'll haunt you til you plead for death - -
that's the only way i'll ever get it back.
Promises to KeepDusk, the late ashes of summer.
The earth is loose beneath my feet.
I strain my eyes, searching for the
piercing glare of headlights.
Help is not on the way tonight.
Is it common for man to pray for
blindness, so that he may finally see?
An owl has stalked me for miles,
circumnavigating the merlot sky.
She taunts me with the answer.
I come upon a car, abandoned in a ditch-
The same one I crawled out of hours before.
I want to take my shoes off,
to drown myself in that cornfield,
to let the tallest take me.
But, then again
In Bocca al LupoMy eyes open again for yet another lovely day of lab life. Got Will behind the wheel this time. What's with the shaky brainwaves, Will? They gonna have you do something nice and painful with me today?
The lead scientist grins. "Here he is! Say hi to the general, William."
"Hello, Mr. Arroyo."
Ah, gotta show off for the big-shots. They would have you in the pilot's seat for this. Smart kid, never steps out of line. Not the worst person to have in your head. Could stand to put a little more emotion into the voice. Handshake needs work too. Come on, show them how comfortable you are with this strength.
The general locks his gaze onto the man's pale yellow-brown eyes. "What does it feel like?"
The eyes dart to the ground, and then rise to meet the general's. "Different. I mean, of course it's different, but it's... well, it's hard to explain, Sir."
The lead scientist steps between them. "What he means is that it is a marvelous experience and he is ready to show you what can b
origamiI had met him last year, first day of Bio class. He was leaning back in his chair, idly pinching the corners of the craziest piece of origami I'd ever seen. I pulled up a chair next to him.
He nodded absentmindedly. I felt the need to say something relevant.
"Can you make a crane?"
He looked at me, almost snorted, then nodded, ripping out a piece of notebook paper.
He was done before the class bell had rung.
It was a pointed dodecahedron. It was made out of twelve pieces of paper, he said. It was the hardest piece he'd ever found, and took him a week to get to the point where he could fold it decently from memory.
He explained this all excitedly while making one for me, creasing the edges almost gracefully.
He was happy.
His mom opened the door and sent me upstairs. I tapped on his door, and creaked it open slowly.
You know the story where the girl folds a thousand paper cranes and hung them up in her room? That was his room, except with pointed dodecahedrons; spi
Hello my name is Nick. I try to pull words down to the ground and stand them in groups so when roll is called they sound like somebody organized them with a little bit of elegance. I currently work as a tattooist at Color Therapy in Falls Church Virginia and own a company for my artwork called Nightdancer Design. I do artwork in tattoo ink, spraypaint, acrylic paint, digital painting, vector work, custom musical instrument work, oil and chalk pastels, and more (:|
Please if you take the time to read anything I have written leave a little something so I know you've been here. I welcome all types of critiques from the most complete to passing remarks so I ask you don't be afraid contribute your thoughts as you see fit full analyses or otherwise.
I hope that today is the best day you have lived, and tomorrow too.
Current Residence: Fairfax, Virginia
Every passing moment is another chance to turn it all around.
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