| You can really tell when I'm feeling fucked up from my poetry more so than my prose. This piece actually scares me a little. |
| You can really tell when I'm feeling fucked up from my poetry more so than my prose. This piece actually scares me a little. |


Eight Years LaterHe surprises her at work eight years later, just ponies up to the bar and orders a white Russian as casual as anything. It barely takes her a moment to recognize him, and she drops the carton of cream on the bar. Dress and hair dripping with splattered half-and-half, she wells up with fat, sloppy tears and chokes out his name. "Am I too late?" he asks, and she shakes her head. Never too late. That night, she packs her things and leaves her husband of four years while he sleeps. No, it'd never be too late for him to come and collect her. They drive south, cross the border, check into a motel and make love. While she criEight Years Later


It's Not a Walk of ShameI finally fall asleep around six-thirty, holding in my mind's eye the vague final memory of him kissing the pad of thumb, only to be jolted awake again fifteen minutes later when an alarm goes off somewhere in the dark. Through a haze of booze, weed, and exhaustion, I feel him kiss the nape of my neck and pull his arms out from around me. I arch my back against the sudden cold as his damp chest peels away from my back, and he pulls the blanket back over top of me. He shuts the door behind himself. I can hear the shower and then, quietly from the living room, the news on the TV. I haven't watched the news in months. The microwave wIt's Not a Walk of Shame


My Birthday Weekend Take IIThe red bible open in the hands of the guy at the next table is bound with packing tape and looks like a phone booth Yellow Pages pad left to warp and wrinkle in the rain. What draws a person who trust any doctrine so much that he would have it accompany him so far through life? And then there's me, my cracked copy of an acid guru's manifesto, straddling religions, keeping kosher and building altars around a pentagram. Telling stories about Mother Lilith to an audience of college kids bent on MDMA and flickering. On the last warm day of the year, highlighting passages from my new 'bible' in a coffee shop and thinking, hell, when I said I'd reMy Birthday Weekend Take II


Things I LearnedThings I Learned About My Halloween Weekend (But Not Until After the Fact)Things I Learned
I. I smoked no less than fourteen Belmont cigarettes on Saturday, at $9.50 a pack before tax. This is a rough estimate and, surprisingly, comparatively few. This morning, I'm lending my last ones out to boys who dropped yellow powder and smoked Legends 'til they puked.
"I'll spot you one tomorrow." Of course you will, Pumpkin. My lungs must hate me.
II. Before going to bed, I am told, I took two Flintstones multivitamins and an Advil, then organiz
(and happy belated birthday)
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donny osmond? what are you doing at the north pole?!
avatar by ~onigiri-chu
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Masked by an identity been worn for so long by thy we forget the persona`betwixt the mask and reality. Faust
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donny osmond? what are you doing at the north pole?!
avatar by ~onigiri-chu
--
Masked by an identity been worn for so long by thy we forget the persona`betwixt the mask and reality. Faust
my email is listed under my info in my profile.
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donny osmond? what are you doing at the north pole?!
avatar by ~onigiri-chu
--
Masked by an identity been worn for so long by thy we forget the persona`betwixt the mask and reality. Faust
--
A person's two biggest questions in life:
1) Who am I?
2) What's my purpose in life?
Alec - Can you answer these questions?
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