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I want to be swallowed up in sharp, bruising sound.
Hold my ears and tell me stories I already know. Hide me away somewhere familiar. Harmonize with the sirens screeching in my head Until there's a dull ache between my ringing ears and my Hearing is blunted. Shake me, spin me around, Take me away from Here, painfully. Art or Nature?
Sticks and a brick and a pile of stones, colorful leaves in the summertime, angled branches with spindly twigs. The water is still at the creekside bouquet. Nature or Life? The flowery ribcage blooms. The circle of rocks, caved at the top, is nearly a heart. The clean line of dandelions is infiltrated by a spider. The pinecone sits alone. Life or Change? The staircase to nowhere has found a low, wide oak to befriend. The berries are for the fairies. The yellow flowers close in the sun. Death is reborn with a stump, dried leaves, and a pinecone. On long nights:
Long nights are best spent alone, coated in twinkle lights and warm socks. The world is locked out and your brain is quiet, so quiet that you can hear the music of your own laughter when you laugh at your own joke, clever and private. You stop laughing; the world is so silent that your ears ring, and you're sure that, even though it's past three, you'll never sleep, because this moment is already a dream. On heartbreak: Heartbreak is not the pain of the death of romance; it is the bitter sting of the death of trust. It doesn't matter how I loved you, just that I did—I loved you, and you looked me in the eyes and called me a liar and tore into my heart so suddenly that I couldn't breathe, and then you left. You let me fall into a fitful sleep without another word, and when I woke up, I was sure I hated you. What is sudden, lung-crushing hate if not heartbreak? On general admission concerts: It is a kind of religion, the long lines in the biting cold and the wild outfits and the strategizing as they wait. (Who's doing coat check? Who's buying merch? I'll get our spot.) Once inside, they continue to wait and wait and wait—but then they scream the words to hours of music in unison like they will die if they don't, and the press of bodies is a comfort. There is nothing but swinging hips and stomping feet and craning necks to see the great stage above; there is nothing but freedom, nothing but energy. We are losing our world, betting against ourselves
with a laugh and a twirl and a cigarette between the lips. Grab a gun and shoot the towering worlds of ice until they collapse. Pick through the shards, half-melted, glittering in the burning sun, and steal the crown of bones from the beast buried deep. Remove it, bejewel it, string it from the ceiling like a twisted chandelier. Drape the carcass in thick white fabric like the ancient statues of the gods and let the frozen flesh slowly thaw, blood seeping and reeking of your sins. Tilt your mirrors and watch yourself grow tall and frail, see the rust claw at your eyes and silken hair. Behind you, the glint of a funeral stares back, unwavering and infinitely cool, cooler than the hard, dull metal feet of the frozen deer and colder than the bullets still lodged in the run-down glaciers. I thought the sky would be bigger. I'm deep in nature, isn't that the point? The night sky isn't supposed to end; it should bleed into the horizon or tangle in the branches of far-off trees or whatever the poets say about it after their great adventures.
There aren't many stars, either. Half of them blink and move and ruin the perfect illusion of an untouched night sky—you would hate it. But I saw a constellation, aren't you proud? The Big Dipper, which I'm embarrassed to say I've never seen before. It had to be pointed out, but I saw it, and that's what counts. The moon is bright tonight, so bright that I get sunspots when I look away. So bright that I can't seem to get it in focus, no matter how long I stare. Even though we're seeing the same moon, I can't imagine it looks like this wherever you are. If you were here, you'd probably try to light a one-match campfire. It rained today, so you wouldn't be able to, but you'd try anyway, and I wouldn't laugh when it didn't work. Instead, I'd try to find a fire starter, which you would protest until it got too cold not to use it. It's cold here at night, like I'm in the mountains. Are there mountains here? Is this a valley? If you'd come, you would have known. You would have known every tree and trail in a twenty mile radius, and if you didn't know, you would have asked. I wonder how many of these planes are on their way to you. Not many, right? How many planes over the tip of Massachusetts on a Tuesday night are on their way to Philadelphia? Curfew is soon. I have to go. I'll write again tomorrow, even though you won't get this for another week. I love you. Give Jane a hug for me. Remember to eat food that isn't Swedish Fish. You know, I've always loved the idea of running,
of feeling the rain fall relentlessly but not at all minding its cold, not minding my loss of breath, not minding where I'm headed-- the idea of feeling the ground hard under my feet over and over, a rhythm, an acceleration as I build to a full sprint with no direction other than that I'm finally fully free. But, in reality, my legs burn and my sides and chest ache and my stomach tears a hole in my body, threatening to rip itself apart and my pulse spikes dangerously, pounding against my skin like a prisoner against glass. But I don't stop. You know that feeling, when you don't feel in this world
Like your far away, in a realm of thought Lost in your mind and away from this world Drifting, floating, feeling Like your out in space, but you just don't feel anything No cold vacuum of darkness, nothing Just Drifting, Floating, Thinking Like your a ghost, watching over the living Smiling as you remember your own life Just Drifting, Floating, Dreaming The animals run. The house burns. The times where light has climbed up to the sky was already over. Where the light shines, the ruined building says, “Today is August 5th, 2026. Today is August 5th, 2026. Today is…”.
What comes next can only be conveyed by the places where beautiful bulbs grow and kind mammals are born. . . “Today is May 6th, 2027! Today is May 6th, 2027! Get out of your bed, go and eat breakfast!” The usually colorful and clear ball is barely glowing with pride. Basically nothing had even made a beep on it. It could of really had been it for the hopeless cycling spheres except one thing. . . . . . One bulb was determined to rise out of its forever slumber and pushed out the cover where they fled from in the first place. The forever shinning creature started to rumble on out of its resting place, and forever was the Earth shocked. Light finally made its promise(see the title for a clue), and the wild, colorful snake in the grass finally peeked from its gloom and started biting and spreading its glorious color throughout the entire universe. BANG! BANG! BANG! “Rebooting! Rebooting!”, “Done! I feel like I burned and caught on fire!” (cleans the ever burning fire.) “Scanning, Scanning, Scanning!”, “Time to clean up this place!” KICK! “SQUEAK, SQUEAK!” “Oh, sorry, little harmless creature. I was just going to clean up here!” The electronically magnified metal box looked down and saw a poor, little, harmless, furry creature with long, furry, pink ears. The creature was not seen since 2025. As the programed metallic square was touching up on the fire blanketed ruins, the small rabbit was running like rambo firing, just desperately trying to find someone of similar kind. They eventually found another creature, looking like it mutated. It. Was. A. Few. Deer. “Today is March 7th, 2030! Today is March 7th, 2030! It is 12:30PM! Go outside and celebrate!” The Earth had fully got refunded from its missed out exertion to take care of the creatures, now able to sustain themselves without help from the crystal blue ball’s roundup. All the furry living structures had been back and walking and ruling parts of the greenlands. The machine had finally “Cleaned up the place!” after longing days and years of work. “SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUACK!” Famous Sesame Street actor Elmo has finally broken silence on his divorce with fellow actor Abby Cadabby. After being married for only 6 months, Elmo announced on July 11th through twitter that Abby had filed for divorce a few days prior. People were let down, but were quick to anger after Elmo went on a vicious rant on the app against Abby. Elmo called Abby a “meanie” and referred to the car accident
he was involved in earlier this year. He was still recovering from the crash when Abby filed the divorce papers, leading him to accuse her of only staying with him until times got tough. This, along with a few other tweets, lead to many people responding, saying that the incident changed their opinion of Elmo forever. Others, however, showed little interest in the issue at all. The incident has also led to Elmo being unverified on the app. |
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