An Old House pt. 3
This is a new passage, mostly stairs, moving endlessly in any direction. I take the underside of the stairs that lead up to a further unknown, dark and at once foreboding and alluring. I make my way along this upside-down, winding staircase, and I suddenly find myself, not in a room, but another corridor, startlingly strait and though probably a normal size, very wide in comparison to what I had...
An Old House pt. 2
I circle and observe the people, and take note of the interesting social customs as well as the true natures of those who are left to themselves or their respective partners. I make my way, finally, into a side door to a kitchen, lit and welcoming, warm from the crisp, misty chill outside. There are about five or six people, toasting to each other silently, laughing and eating their cakes in a far...
An Old House pt. 1
This house was old, grand, and had the air of an ancient aristocracy, attractive and yet wholly and totally debased. It was a house of many secrets; it almost seemed to hold more corridors and rooms than the outside looked like it could contain. I wandered the grounds first, invisible to the fancy dress party-goers, the men in old smoking jackets, the women in gallant yet modest dresses, treading...
Messing around with tumblr and found this out
AND AND WATCH IT SPIN!!:D
Let me tell you somethin chummy. When your spirit is floating down that tunnel...– Bricktop
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.
How to ruin your life →
Stay in one place your whole life. Always order vanilla even though the menu is four pages long. Become the type of person who sends back lattes. Save up your money for a plasma TV instead of a plane ticket. Talk a lot about things you know nothing about. Have an affair with someone you don’t…
Dreaming of that face again. It’s bright and blue and shimmering, and...
Michael (pt. 6)
The darkening forest passed him in more stills until he broke the treeline and found himself in a great field. This field was strange, and yet somehow familiar, like a place he’d perhaps been to as a very young child, but lost in the chaos of growing up and the oblivion of learning anew. There was a palpable innocence to this place. Nothing bad could happen here. This was a place for...
Michael (pt. 5)
He pulled himself up into his body laying there in the dirt and leaves and he rolled over to look again at the darkening sky. The twilight was nearly gone now, but with what light there was, he could make out the silhouettes of the trees bending down at him, away from the sky they had always reached for, and toward him. Michael brought himself to his feet and started to run. At first, panicked...
Michael (pt. 4)
He jumped to glide over the treetops again, to fall across the sky again, to float briefly in perfection until the delightful terror of falling gripped him again, and the earth gently took his feet away from him to tumble underneath him until he came to rest. He lay on the ground again, fetal, breathing slow. The earth began to accept him into her darkness, and he was swallowed with softening...
Michael (pt. 3)
As he stood there, breathing in the fading colours, he felt the way he did in his dreams. Like what he experienced now was somehow more real than the normal world. Every other part of him perceived the surreality of his experiences, the trees bending inward, the extension of his body from itself, but somewhere inside him was a home-like sense of comfort. A sense that things were okay for now. ...
Michael (pt. 2)
With difficulty, he got up, struggling against his equilibrium, disoriented but so serene. He stood, breathing heavily to make sure he could. He checked himself for any pain, for signs of living. He felt nothing but his heightened sense of self and of being. Perhaps he was beyond life, beyond the living, somewhere between death and enlightenment. But probably not. Nope. He was still just a boy....
Michael (pt. 1)
Michael saw the world around him in fewer colours than usual, tinged more with greys and browns, as his vision flanged in and out, creating sequential sepia stills of the earth rising up to take him. He lay, still, forward on the ground, senses a little more focused from the jolt of his fall. The forest floor smelled rich, of fungus and moss, of the life-giving, decomposing dead. His head was...
Born in April
The scent of forsythia wafts around our heads On virgin breeze and airy music Your perfect asymmetry rests in my arms As we learn the tastes of each other You are sweet Fragrant innocence on your blossoming lips I smell of earth and of fire Woodsmoke and lascivious incense April’s birth-water baptizes new love And washes away the lenten ashes of winter heartbreak But when love is...
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. a feeling of resonant connection with an author or artist you’ll never meet, who may have lived centuries ago and thousands of miles away but can still get inside your head and leave behind morsels of their experience, like the little piles of stones left by hikers that mark a hidden path through unfamiliar territory.
‘The secret to making love last is independence and indifference, infused...– Robert Brockway
You are skin soft, smooth against my flaws Your gentleness blankets my turmoil I am still restless and you are still You lie contently awake beside my sleeping ignorance Never disturbed, with cool hands on my fervent heat The sable depths I delve to asphyxiate my torments Are in the aroma of your hair, like sweet spring earth Your quietude is tranquility I could never hope for In my...
dictionaryofobscuresorrows: n. frustration that you’re not enjoying an experience as much as you should, even something you’ve worked for years to attain, which prompts you to plug in various thought combinations to try for anything more than static emotional blankness, as if your heart had been accidentally demagnetized by a surge of expectations.
[I started this piece in the middle of one of my classes while I was probably supposed to be doing something else, but I don’t remember.] She was playfully capricious in a way that was warmly mysterious. She waltzed through golden days in vibrant summer dresses, beautiful and simple, stepping lightly with the innocent excitement of a playful breeze. Endlessly she sought new experiences and...
Huh. That's somethin'
I guess there’s no day to make your first post like your birthday. I’m kind of amused by how quiet a birthday can be, if you just don’t remind or tell anyone. I’m not upset by people not knowing. That’d be silly. I barely remember my own as it is. But, it is true that it’s something of an expectation on one’s birthday to be inundated with people cheering...