red crossed and broken like a mental patient, i spent my time looking for your misplaced roses. when i gave you that empty vase your expression turned sour granite. i took a cross section of your face but no mathematicians would even glance at it. we spend much time on old tire swings, and i wonder if the tire ever grows weary of our back and forth. long days, spent backwards, riding on the crest of every conversation, hang the lost words. my soles wear thin as we tiptoe through broken glass, our feet screaming like sirens. looking both ways, we part only for an instant, our sure grip exposing us to the horizontal. blue blooded, souls dark grey, even our eyes do not sparkle under the sunlight. losing track of all the latitudes, coordinates, and geographies we forget ourselves. morning brushes our faces, afternoon spreads evenly upon our sinew, and night is nothing but twilight blue stuck between our hands and throats. this pattern is never changed. we are living our days like god has
Time is a swing algorithm
and I read
sticks
singing down a river.
Starlit surfaces shift phases
and reversals land heavily
on reason. Thoughts, the soul,
an archetype, (Zodiac) signs?
clone
light spheres. Repeated waves
upon the human skull, while
animals, elves, beasts are clamped
to the planet
(like unformed plate)
to the planet
like platitudes. Their appeals
are dismissed on the authority
of f a i l e d blessings.
summmer nile, refusing to drown the world by BetweenTheEchoes, literature
Literature
summmer nile, refusing to drown the world
summer nile, refusing to drown the world
the languished ache of thunder rolls
through the joints and streams and hinges and basins
of the drying systems of my organs.
their creaks and groans and cracked flowers
are prayers for red rain whispered
behind the lids of my eyes.
(when i close them, blood,)
so thick with oxygen
they could be the heartbeat of ozone
in the shocking ecstacy of its last breath.
Post Dawn
Victim of pheremones, this addict
still tingles with the warmth
of sensation, like starlight
building into supernova.
Catching each breath with a gaze,
I fall from cliffs only to be winded.
The air around hums deep, but anxious
and there are still many words
left on my lips. Many melodies,
like frightened children, are still
vibrating to the sound of gasps.
Nectar pitched and rolled
like a petal between my fingers,
each parting minute is worth
more than the next. The seconds
were sweeter before the crash.
Like eating candy.
My softened hands glide with ease.
There is nothing so tacticle
as one's sexuality.
Tomorrow I will bloss
the writer
holds sway over what is
perfect. he possesses
the shadows on the ground
only to quickly disenherit
the ground itself.
being bounded, even
the shadows cannot inform
his presence.
he is no object.
what he creates is
protean. words become
like the sun and
also like the light
of it. they birth
and burn.
as life, the writer does not live.
he instead inspires
life just as life
inspires him.
and what is perfect
lays merely shadows
on the ground.
Sand Castles
the sand has never much liked being held
or
bled between fingers and palms
or
pressed underneath salt-filled nails.
the beach has never spread out like a mind
with its grains firing signals across cells
and dreamed itself into existence.
the wind cannot brain burp emotion or intelligence
by kicking up the dust
and causing the sneeze of thought.
it is I who make sand castles.
-I am a big scary man- by BetweenTheEchoes, literature
Literature
-I am a big scary man-
-I am a big scary man-
I am a big scary monster.
I smell strange and am hairy.
My teeth are crooked, earth colored.
My skin is always too oily or too dry.
My feet are not shapely
and my hands are callused.
I have sharp toenails
that grow in the wrong direction.
I have extensions that point downward
and are darker than the rest of me.
My growls are dark noises in the night.
I am always too angry or too sleepy.
I have something not much like skin
wrapped around me.
I am a big scary monster man.
First Haiku Attempts by BetweenTheEchoes, literature
Literature
First Haiku Attempts
her earth's susurrous
soil, Clay soft mother's
womb so still.
ghost with lipstick
red collars, clinging to the
thought of Roses
the moon, seated on
a bench, wet mahogany
and sunless memories
the Ant, target of
a jealous ray of gold. "At
least I served."*
*Needs serious editing. Comments welcome.
red crossed and broken like a mental patient, i spent my time looking for your misplaced roses. when i gave you that empty vase your expression turned sour granite. i took a cross section of your face but no mathematicians would even glance at it. we spend much time on old tire swings, and i wonder if the tire ever grows weary of our back and forth. long days, spent backwards, riding on the crest of every conversation, hang the lost words. my soles wear thin as we tiptoe through broken glass, our feet screaming like sirens. looking both ways, we part only for an instant, our sure grip exposing us to the horizontal. blue blooded, souls dark grey, even our eyes do not sparkle under the sunlight. losing track of all the latitudes, coordinates, and geographies we forget ourselves. morning brushes our faces, afternoon spreads evenly upon our sinew, and night is nothing but twilight blue stuck between our hands and throats. this pattern is never changed. we are living our days like god has
Time is a swing algorithm
and I read
sticks
singing down a river.
Starlit surfaces shift phases
and reversals land heavily
on reason. Thoughts, the soul,
an archetype, (Zodiac) signs?
clone
light spheres. Repeated waves
upon the human skull, while
animals, elves, beasts are clamped
to the planet
(like unformed plate)
to the planet
like platitudes. Their appeals
are dismissed on the authority
of f a i l e d blessings.
summmer nile, refusing to drown the world by BetweenTheEchoes, literature
Literature
summmer nile, refusing to drown the world
summer nile, refusing to drown the world
the languished ache of thunder rolls
through the joints and streams and hinges and basins
of the drying systems of my organs.
their creaks and groans and cracked flowers
are prayers for red rain whispered
behind the lids of my eyes.
(when i close them, blood,)
so thick with oxygen
they could be the heartbeat of ozone
in the shocking ecstacy of its last breath.
Post Dawn
Victim of pheremones, this addict
still tingles with the warmth
of sensation, like starlight
building into supernova.
Catching each breath with a gaze,
I fall from cliffs only to be winded.
The air around hums deep, but anxious
and there are still many words
left on my lips. Many melodies,
like frightened children, are still
vibrating to the sound of gasps.
Nectar pitched and rolled
like a petal between my fingers,
each parting minute is worth
more than the next. The seconds
were sweeter before the crash.
Like eating candy.
My softened hands glide with ease.
There is nothing so tacticle
as one's sexuality.
Tomorrow I will bloss
the writer
holds sway over what is
perfect. he possesses
the shadows on the ground
only to quickly disenherit
the ground itself.
being bounded, even
the shadows cannot inform
his presence.
he is no object.
what he creates is
protean. words become
like the sun and
also like the light
of it. they birth
and burn.
as life, the writer does not live.
he instead inspires
life just as life
inspires him.
and what is perfect
lays merely shadows
on the ground.
Sand Castles
the sand has never much liked being held
or
bled between fingers and palms
or
pressed underneath salt-filled nails.
the beach has never spread out like a mind
with its grains firing signals across cells
and dreamed itself into existence.
the wind cannot brain burp emotion or intelligence
by kicking up the dust
and causing the sneeze of thought.
it is I who make sand castles.
-I am a big scary man- by BetweenTheEchoes, literature
Literature
-I am a big scary man-
-I am a big scary man-
I am a big scary monster.
I smell strange and am hairy.
My teeth are crooked, earth colored.
My skin is always too oily or too dry.
My feet are not shapely
and my hands are callused.
I have sharp toenails
that grow in the wrong direction.
I have extensions that point downward
and are darker than the rest of me.
My growls are dark noises in the night.
I am always too angry or too sleepy.
I have something not much like skin
wrapped around me.
I am a big scary monster man.
First Haiku Attempts by BetweenTheEchoes, literature
Literature
First Haiku Attempts
her earth's susurrous
soil, Clay soft mother's
womb so still.
ghost with lipstick
red collars, clinging to the
thought of Roses
the moon, seated on
a bench, wet mahogany
and sunless memories
the Ant, target of
a jealous ray of gold. "At
least I served."*
*Needs serious editing. Comments welcome.
-I Am A Swimmer- Poem by TheSterlingStudies, literature
Literature
-I Am A Swimmer- Poem
-I Am a Swimmer- Poem by: Sterling Jr. I am a swimmer I wonder what it will feel like to swim in the Olympics I hear the sound of the crowd cheering my name I see a stadium full of people I want to win a gold medal I am a swimmer I pretend I am in Olympic training camp I feel proud I touch the shiny gold medal I worry that my sick brother won't be able to make it to my swim meet I cry about my brother's sickness I am a swimmer I understand how much my brother wants to see me swim I say that when I win the gold, he will be there I dream about my brother standing up and cheering for me I try to help him get better every day I hope my dreams come true I am a swimmer
I painted the night with gold Suns bursting on the sky the golden thread among the stars Moon shining with unearthly beam I painted the night with silver Stars glowing with water drops Constellations coming to life Crepuscule lowers to touch the ground I painted the night with blood Hell wails as I crave for life Red in my eyes, the moon cries Stains on my hands Golden threads in my heart Silver drops on my eyes ... crimson flowing between my fingers...
Never say never.
But never say forever.
You can tear me down as quickly as you want.
You can lie all you want.
But never say forever.
Because forever, will always be the one word;
That I'll forever believe in.
Current Residence: Columbus, GA United States Favourite genre of music: Metal Favourite photographer: Don't know of any Favourite style of art: The kind that adds profundity to the mundane. Operating System: Windows 7 MP3 player of choice: 160gb Ipod Video Shell of choice: Ummm...Maple? (All the drummers will get that one) Wallpaper of choice: Mekhet Favourite cartoon character: Dave the Barbarian Personal Quote: A true genius sees math as art and art as math.
I added two poems that I wrote randomly a few weeks ago. If anyone who has me on their watch list is still paying attention, check them out and let me know what you think.
So the days have come and gone with me doing nothing even remotely aiken to writing more pieces, or even getting anything productive in general accomplished. I have work in about an hour, my first day cooking at a diner that pays me just barely above minimum wage. I'm 19 years old and I just recently took the SAT for the first time. I think I did well considering I haven't been in school for over a year.
But still time just drifts by. Finally I think I can get my ass in college, which will be my first real step in getting something real going on in my life. I'm still torn between majors, though medical school is something I've just flatly d
1) What was your first Pokemon game?
Pokemon Blue
2) Can you remember who your starter was? If so, who?
Bulbasaur.
3) Did you ever complete the Pokedex in any games? Which one(s)?
Red, Blue, and Yellow. Fuck those other games.
4) Did you watch the Pokemon anime? Who was your favourite character?
Yes. Movie-wise, Mew fucking two, he kicked major ass. Hmm...probably Gary, because he wasn't a sucky trainer like Ash.
5) Do you still watch the anime?
Not anymore.
6) What's your favourite Pokemon type? Explain.
Flying. All the best Pokemon were flying- Gyrados, Zapdos, Articuno, etc. (I'm talking game-wise here.)
7) Who's your favourite