these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.

these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.
three hundred sixty five stories that begin and never end.

Blog Archive

Sunday, July 31, 2011

01/ temporary fix

This never had to be forever. I'm okay with the temporary. Like the pain of a tattoo, in seconds, in minutes, in memories that resolve faster during replay. It's easier to say, it hurt the first time and remember that pain to numb second time. And then repeat the progress so that the pain never existed, or at least now it's been regulated as a part of simply waking up. I can hide the rest under makeup.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

139: congratulations

found via weheartit

This is hardly a congratulatory letter. I'm just saying that things at this stage have finished and we're all moving on. From now on, there are two stages you'll come to know: move ahead or linger in between. Move head with vigor and expectations, great ones. I'm not sure what may come for you, good or bad, but I can tell you what happens with the in-between. This is definitive.

Impressionist have captured it between sunset and sunrise, an ever changing board that finally settled right in between. The middle is where the heart hurts the most, where the pain is dragged across the floorboards leaving stains that appear unwashable by time. Always fixable but never fixed, to be unable to move forward but have nothing to turn back to. It's the impression failure has left upon you.

Friday, August 20, 2010

138: numbers and counting

 found via fullofstars

Some numbers exist because they can be created. Likewise some words are said because they can be said without any meaning. The universe is said to have expanded at thirty-fourth of a second, something altogether happening faster than the speed of light. Parts of those sentences may be impossible, but they are written and then believed because the words look and feel tangible. Words, like impossible, have a ridge and surface, they create a world within the ink just as the numbers create a time that may not have been. Numbers and words slip in between the spaces, creating a pocket for dreams.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

137: in circles

In her face, more stories than I've told,
her hands, more novels than I've ever read,
her legs traveled more than I've ever seen.
she, Mara, encompasses all that I've ever dreamed.
When all I have are words for no one,
and I tell her so, I envy her, but she tells me,
"Your mouth inspires me," but I think her kind.
And so we continue this little envy game.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

while dreaming.

She heard his voice in her dreams again. She had been dreaming a lot lately, where he appeared like the mist on her windshield. The songs he played on his guitar trickled like the raindrops outside, and danced in her mind without a partner. It was his haunting that convinced her she still loved him, how his voice slipped in and out like a whisper to find him. All this and how she left him so easily only proved that she didn't need him again. They were all lingering moments of wasted time, never given the light of day. But these dreams with him can only be described as nightmares.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Muse 135: the feline

found via marlenashores

Their nickname for her was "Black Cat." After freshmen year, word got around that dating her was the equivalent of dating bad luck. She was a gorgeous. A girl with lots of cash, time and an honest heart that controlled the muscles on her face, but in the end, she was a psycho, the kind of girl that you heard screaming at 3AM on a Monday morning. Two guys failed their exams, consecutively, after breaking up with her. One senior was erased from the Delta Tau Delta files after being seen holding her hand. She was something of an urban legend, a believable myth that had people reading, but never living. When she smiled, guys crippled at her loveliness, never stopping to think about the consequences, except maybe a shot for one night. Like all superstitions, breaking things brought bad luck, and breaking her heart brought seven years of it.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Muse 134: by yourself

found via burcumbaygut

how long does it take before you admit that you can't swim alone? even michael phelps paraded his fame for friends, girls and nights without the cold. i know the waters grow icier as the weather changes, and the warmth doesn't make it quite to your toes. you'll keep your head above water, your eyes on that far distant goal, but your arms can't take you that far. the waters will win you over, the depth will be your coffin, and the only arms to hold you will be yours... so can i come along the way?