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To the Mod [02 Nov 2006|05:56am]

Hey, I was just curious, seeing as how entries here have been far and few between and this community is all but practically defunct if you (the moderator) or if anyone else would object to my throwing out the line of the week?

I don't mean to offend or anything but seeing as how this community had a pretty decent run a while back and seeing as how I was recently laid off I have a crap load of time on my hands to try and sustain it. So I'll throw out a line right now and we can let it run until November 5th. If there are any objections from the moderator or anyone else then, whatever that's cool too. Just figured it would be nice to allow some people an outlet or two.

So here's a line I just ripped from Thomas De Quincey I ran across in one of his books. I figured it's open and ambiguous enough for everyone to play with to start. Ready? Steady?

I never was better in all my life.
(November 2 - November 5)
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getting home from work one day- [23 Oct 2006|04:41am]

[ mood | artistic ]

Home from work my minds adrift
clutching keys and memories
I cluck my heels on stepping stones
towards a door that only has two screws holding the top hinge
but only I knew that...
the sound of a distant helicopter grows mysteriously louder
Once bitten twice shy i've been stung before
So when i heard that dreadful buzz
I ran without even verifying my fear
even with a periphial glance...
Froze by Roses I chanced a peek behind me
YAAAHHHH! a flying buzz-saw shadow caresses my cheek
and I run sideways
faster than a professional football player
across my front porch,
tripping over garden hose(who left that there?)
grabbing onto wind chimes and then crashing
into a pile of left over garage sale rummage.
The pain of hitting my head on that old microwave
was the only thing in the whole world
that stopped my panic in it's tracks.
Pain had taken the place of fear so I called out to my stalker
"Come and get me you stupid bug, I know i am doomed".
Only to find that bugs of this kind
only come out in June...

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book (memoir) [16 Sep 2006|01:57pm]

-has anybody heard of the book "News Junkie". Put out by Process Media, that crazy publishing house that puts out weird books?....
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Only To Find [12 Jul 2006|12:32am]

Lately I've been drifting down river, only to find the current is getting a little stronger and the water slightly deeper. Floating in the canoe staring up at the stars. Watching time drift by like the trees on shore. Occasionally a dragonfly lands and says "hello". It grabs my attention for a few moments but nothing more than flys off into its own world. The stronger current drags me into a new channel, away from the leisure that I had become accustomed to. A new expierence, something exciting. I sit up in the canoe to see where I'm being lead to. The tree line thickens abscuring my line of sight. I grab the paddle sit back and brace for whats to come, steering around logs and trees jutting out of the water. Not always gracefully, but leaving me with a feeling that I'm on the right track for the first time in a long time. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the water, only to find that I'm smiling.
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Line for.....well, until someone posts on this one [29 Jun 2006|12:16am]
only to find
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Writers Block [22 Apr 2006|01:05pm]

I just posted some thoughts on writer's block over at my blog Mere Words. Your comments and thoughts on the subject are encouraged. Enjoy.
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Line for Marh 13-20 [13 Mar 2006|11:13pm]
that look in your eyes
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Line for Feb 25 - Mar 4 [24 Feb 2006|12:00am]
the point is
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[23 Feb 2006|10:24pm]

This story started with that one line jogging a memory, and then the rest of the story came with it. It doesn't seem like it BUT it really was spurred on by the oneliner. Also I plan on posting it a couple different places.
And I'm really not as psychotic as I seem in this story.

but at leastCollapse )
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Even though the line is more than a week old... [21 Feb 2006|04:14am]

I'm minding my business thinking about how it's winter and how I hate it and how my feet are freezing and how the wind keeps bitch slapping me in the face everytime I turn a corner. I'm stepping off the sidewalk and crossing the street where I spot this dude standing by the Beavertail and when my feet hit the sidewalk again he asks me if I smoke weed and I tell him I don't even though I do. He starts walking with me asking me if I got change to spare for a 'hungry brutha' and I tell him I don't.

Then he sees the look in my eye that tells him I've had a bad day and he asks me if I did and its too late in the night and its not gonna make a difference to tell him that I did. Then he looks all offended and tells me but at least I have an apartment to go to and he don't have nowhere but the streets and I wonder why in the hell this guy is still talking to me and my brain goes on instinct's thought at a million miles a minute and quickly size everything up about him.

And now he's shuffling going backwards and forwards quickening and slowing his pace walking behind infront and behind again and I'm salavating at the thought that this guy's gonna try something because I want him to try something. The prospect of beating on an anonymous human being that has nothin goin and nothin doin in his life that he try to sell you drugs and then skim off you for food is making my heart beat something fierce.

An anonymous person to take the place of every mug you have to look at every day and want to tear their fucking limbs off. What with bills and deadlines and cubicles and schools and office bitches that make your life hell all it piles into one meaningless clump of shit focused on bottom lines and top dollars that right now you don't care. There couldn't be any other better place to be in the world right now cause here I am all alone with the one guy in the world who I can mould into the epitomy of anything and everything I hate and beat the living fuck out of him and no one from the civilized world would care. Cops would think it was regular underground stuff and people would protests more help for the lower classes and that would be a good thing because the hippies would be happy because the poor got money while the conservative types are just happy that there's at least one more dead and not on the streets and in the end everyone is happy.

And just as quickly as the thought comes and the rush starts to invade my body he's crossing the street mumbling something I can't make out and all the fire that had instantly been built inside me is quickly quelled to a low simmer where I'm forced to hold it in for another day.:
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Line for Feb 4-11 [04 Feb 2006|06:46pm]
but at least
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[31 Jan 2006|06:31pm]

[ mood | couldn't say ]

His hands trembled uncontrollably, as he focused as hard as he could. Slowly as the first flakes drifted down, he poured the whiskey, precious lifeblood cautiously, but invariably the shaking was too extreme and some landed on the asphalt. Cursing, he downed the shot as fast as he could, with the ease of true drinkers. He enjoyed the burn, tasting the truth of the day with Tennessee’s poorest. Anything but this reality. He couldn’t take another lucid moment. Downing his third shot of the day, he rolled up his newspaper bed and moved on to the sidewalk to panhandle.


Shivering through the cold, Jim arrived at the party dressed to kill, with truth the furthest thing from his mind. Until he noticed the girl being groped in the corner was his girlfriend. The liquid burning his eyes made him stumble, as he hunted for the vodka bottle. One lucid moment, he thought.

One taste of reality, he wished with all his might, as he inverted the vodka bottle above his mouth. Careening out into the yard, he passed out in a puddle of puke on a pad of putting green soft grass.


What a drag, she thought, taking a stiff pull on her cigarette. The ember at the tip glowed with a gentle power as she bent over a limp form in the yard. What kind of asshole gets this wasted? She kicked him delicately in the mouth, watching the red pool amongst the brown. Taking another pull, she flicked the butt onto his back and turned back to the party with the taste of truth in her mouth.


The colors seemed to flow from within and without of everything. The chemicals in her bloodstream left her breathless, examining the scenery with a fascination unfathomable. The white winter overrunning the dull brown of slow death found her blood enchantingly warm. The ultra-realness of it all gripped her, as her shivers brought her to her knees. She could feel her heart racing as the snow reached up to embrace her. A bad hit of ecstasy?

Her final thoughts were replaced by surprise, as her body found that particularly spot of yard already occupied.


Jim woke with his wish all around him.

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one lucid moment [24 Jan 2006|12:49pm]
An unflinching impulse
to do what just feels right.
An aversion to "straight" -
standing straight, walking straight,
talking straight, thinking straight.
An appreciation for anything
that sparks a smile or a laugh,
A realization that nothing here matters
tomorrow – so now is a good time

A myriad of thoughts drowned in a glass,
Concerns, ambitions, desires, hopes -
all gone for the time being.
A spectrum of feelings
happiness, sadness,
pain, pleasure…unfelt.
But in one (seemingly) lucid moment –
Love (of a sort).
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Line for Jan 24-30 [23 Jan 2006|12:10am]
one lucid moment
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The Ephemeral [16 Jan 2006|09:04pm]

Peeking at the card again, his eyes brimmed once more. God, he thought, why am I such a sucker? I get stuck on every one. This was more than just ephemeral, more than just a kiss one night, more than just a fuck one weekend, he told himself. Just like every other night. But with every kiss, with every intimate moment, with every lingering touch, he could feel the truth of the world kicking him in the face. Were they all deaf? How could they fail to hear it? Pounding in their ears, moving the blood throughout them? Every tick one closer to death. Every man living in his own shadow. Every death coming a day closer.
The reality of the world was ephemeral. And people were still bleeding over land, like it was more than just a place to live, bleeding over oil, like it was more than just an energy source, bleeding over small thinly sliced trees, like they were more than just paper. Was he the only one who could hear it? Everyone was bleeding. A small incision placed inside of them, from which a drip escaped every year, widening the gap in the dyke, letting more drips slip through. The red liquid was pouring out slowly from each. All bled equally, regardless. Could they not hear their bodies calling them to their end? Were they not aware of this beating, of living to escape it? Well, they had their primitive soma, their so-called “religion” to tell them they would live forever. True, his lifestyle was one few could sustain. He understood why. His own mind tried to reject his body’s urgent messages. This is more than just ephemeral it said.
He repeated that to himself over and over again, biting his lips in frustration, alternating each one til they were equally chewed. And still when she appeared he kissed her, and when she whispered in his ear, telling of the future he smiled. His mind liked what she said. When they were together, he could ignore the ephemeral. He felt ethereal with her. Looking at the card, his eyes blurred again. The tearing of the anchor shook his whole frame, as a light wind blew him right out of town. He was ethereal, ephemeral. Eternal.
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Line for Jan 16 - 23 [16 Jan 2006|12:26pm]
Contributed by kurobei

more than just
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[15 Jan 2006|01:45pm]

If you've ever seen someone do make up, watched, sitting back, relaxed on the edge of the toilet you just had sex on, watching them reframe their face, and their world, you know what I'm talking about. I wonder how they do it so wonderfully. Make-up the made-up. The ways those worry lines disappear, those minor blemishes, which only I appreciate as beauty, which you blot away in such a hurried fashion, because you hate me, the way everything returns to normal. Distrust. I wonder if I could do that too if I wanted. If that's really how easy it is. A few torture devices (have you SEEN that thing they use to curl their eyebrows?) a nip here, a tuck there, that shadow stuff, and oh yeah, plenty of concealer. That's really the important part. That concealer stuff. I'd probably needs gobs and gobs. But staring into that mirror, I'm not sure that even that could hide my eyes. My eyes look a little too tired, a little too wired, a little too on edge. I've seen too much, whatever that means, and you can't hide knowledge like that. It broadcasts on all the unseen ways, sends the strings vibrating that connect me to you and you and you. Oh I'm sure my freckles would disappear without a scream, my skin would tan, hey, it's only a little cream. My irishness would disappear; but my eyes will still ask the question : how long, how long, how long my dear?
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resuscitating the community - Line for Jan 10-16 [10 Jan 2006|12:24am]
I cannot hide my
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by the light of the moon. [01 Dec 2005|05:00pm]

[ mood | accomplished ]

illuminated by the light of the moon
a slight shiver ascends the aching spine of a mad woman
aglow with the silvery light of forgotten hours
she raises her arms to the sky
as if making an offering to the heavens & whatever deities that await her in the afterlife
upon the earth before her burns a great funeral pyre
awaiting its sacrifice of this, their child of divine darkness
ever the faithful servant to her master & his wicked bidding...
she calls out into the night sky invocations & chants of great praise
as she sets her words adrift in the sky,
she lets her words burn images into the impressionable minds of the weak masses
she steps forward into the flames without a word
only to be violently consumed by the hungering embers
molten fires consume flesh angrily as her body blackens & turns to ash
the essence of what was once a beautiful woman,
deemed mad by the world around her,
now only remains as a fine silt set adrift to the four corners of the earth.

November 29, '05

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Line for November 28th - December 3rd [27 Nov 2005|10:54pm]
by the light of the moon
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