I was there the day that the idea of nation ended. When the black flags went up next to the reds and blues, the stripes, the stars, the figures, and all the rest. It wasn't just the black flags of course, it was the greys, the oranges, strange symbols that might not have even been human, but expressed a very human idea, "This is mine."
It seemed to happen all at once really, old boundaries didn't matter anymore, people were now brought together by an idea, or ideas more accurately, no longer separated by false lines drawn on old maps,...
I jumped when I saw the mouse scurry across the kitchen floor. The counter sagged and groaned as I sat up on it and screamed. My husband came in and asked what the matter was, so I told him I just saw a huge, black rat. He eyed me suspiciously, but then began to search for it. I pushed the dirty dishes away and pulled my knees up to my chin and remained on the counter.
My husband was down on his knees, looking under the stove.
"It came from over there," I said, pointing towards the pantry.
"You sure...
without wine, my table would have only small slices of bread and small slices of cheese. without wine, my table would have only small slices of truth.
Bring me wine friend, and ill tell you things i know. bring me wine and let's sit on an evening where nothing is happening, on my old soft couch looking out on the mid-section of a tree. Bring me wine and we'll swirl it around in our glasses, we'll let our noses rest on the rim and feel the vapours on our eyes. We'll sit and let ideas come and go,
sit and...
Giving in wasn't an option. Michael had broken my heart i don't know how many times. Each time, hurting more then the last.
Here he was, running back to me again after his other fling had fallen through. I couldn't give in this time. I didn't want to feel my heart breaking into a million pieces again. "Please, take me Izzy. I'm serious this time it will never happen again, let me prove it to you." "How?" I asked. "Well, let me start with this. Will you marry me?" I was shocked. I couldn't believe I was hearing this. After...
That letter I almost-wrote? I almost told you today through a text. It wouldn't have come out the same. The "Hey I almost wrote you a letter saying..." text... I can't imagine the response I would have gotten.
Instead you told me to runaway. Runaway to see you. To LIVE with you. To leave my life behind that I'm apparently messing up and too young to be living. Live with you in a state I've never visited to an apartment I've never even seen in pictures. To an address I've never sent a letter to...
What to do, what to...
Gradually, the ankle will become the hip, the hip will become the shoulder, because the parts become the whole.
The whole joins to other wholes becoming greater wholes.
Gradually, everything will unconnect, unbecome because of something somebody wrote down in his notebook. As then, gradually, we will reconnect and rebecome.
Gradually, you will realize everything is in your mind and nothing that happens ever happens
Never leave the house looking less than your best. It is this way that we show respect for others (paraphrased from Tom Ford)
We are respectful of your anger, we are wary of your rage - we are aware of our own imperfections. The sight of us naked , raw, unshorn will sicken you send into a blind fury of cataclysm.
So we buy hats
And thank you for the many choices.
My sweet Lord
He sighed as he read: "This image or video is currently unavailable."
"Thank you, Flickr," the man said to himself. He'd been trying to upload the photos he'd taken at the reenactment all afternoon and was constantly frustrated by the site's refusal to work with him. James had been adding pictures to Flickr almost since its inception and had never had problems like today. He didn't know what to do, only that he felt like pulling his hair out.
"Forget it," he said in disgust. I'll try it again tomorrow. Standing up, he turned and walked away from the computer...only...
The cover image for the book was not exactly what she had envisioned. Then again neither was the book really. But she was published, that's what mattered right? True she had used a pen name, but she knew the book was hers. The words on the pages her doing (well most of them anyway). But that image. It really didn't have all that much to do with the story in the book. Would people be disappointed when they read it? Would it make it more buyable as the publisher claimed. Well it was out of her hands. Thank God she...
A heart is a beating machine. It's an organ, it's a force beyond all reckoning.
The doctor will now see you," said the nurse in all white.
I glared, knocked over my coffee and walked behind her, moving towards my fate. I would hear that my beating heart skipped beats-a heart murmur. Murmur echoing in my head. Mumu-a dress I wore in Hawaii as a young girl. My mother was in Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked.
The doctor was in the room before I was. Is this a good sign. He's anxious to tell me my heart will explode....