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How to Remember the DeadHow the hell am I supposed to write a poem
When my heart is dead
And my eyes are closed
The pen’s in my hand
But my fingers froze
PatienceHe waits for the girl with the
Sapphire eyes in the rain
Water running off his hair
Favorite red scarf tucked in
His body is warm though the
Rain runs coldly down his back
Fondly, he thinks of her lips
The way she laughs with a smile
Deep in those sapphire eyes
She waits for the man in the
Hallway, heart beating quickly
Waits for him to emerge so
She may steal a kiss from him
He will hug her and spin her
Around and around and then
Gently he will place her down
One last kiss before she must
Go outside to meet her friend
He waits for sapphire eyes
To come running in the rain
Cheeks red and lips freshly kissed
And his love for her in vain?
Crying in the Wrong ArmsI can’t hear past the silence
Invisible sobs clogging my ears
You’re curled into my couch
Holding in all of your fears
What happened to you angel
Where are your wings
Why is it that I can no longer
Think of happy things
Your face is broken
Heart lying on the floor
I was supposed to patch it up
But I can’t hold a needle anymore
Losing GodLike killing birds with stones
We took our life and
Threw it to the ground
In violence we tore it apart
And screamed to the sky
God, are you real now
And there was no answer
So we walked home
Empty and alone
Faith lost in the sky
Going way too fast
Into the past that can never last
We wander along corridors
That suck out our souls
And in the night time
Tear you off your thrown
So who are we now
Hanging upside down
We’ll all be okay
I promise you
I won’t let the darkness find you
We stay alive
Home and DryEveryone occasionally lost socks in the wash but Jane was experiencing a fifty percent casualty rate.
“I don’t understand it,” she muttered to herself, as she pulled the latest load out of the tumble dryer.
Fourteen socks had gone in but only seven had come out. She lined the survivors up: “And it’s always only one from each pair.”
So, she bought herself some sock clips. “You won’t be able to split up now!” she told her new batch. And they didn’t. When Jane opened the tumble dryer at the end of the cycle there were no socks left at all.
Jane screamed in frustration. “What the hell is going on?!”
“That’s exactly it—hell,” came the reply.
Jane turned but all she saw was her sensible cardigan, airing on the clothes rack.
“Who’s there..?” she asked cautiously.
“It’s me—the Sensible Cardigan,” said the Sensible Cardigan. “And the problem is that you
InstrumentsThe beautiful mistress of the house had bought four new forks and two new spoons to replenish the dwindling supply in the cutlery drawer. She put the forks away and turned round to find the handsome master of the house examining the other new utensils.
“I can play the spoons you know,” said the handsome master and he did a quick demonstration, tapping the spoons between hand and knee, and then running the spoons rapidly across his fingers. Luckily the mistress was as kind as she was beautiful, and she kept her thoughts on this to herself.
The handsome master got to his big finish: “Ta-da!”
“That’s lovely, dear,” said the beautiful mistress of the house, and she took the spoons from him and put them carefully away in the drawer.
“Wow,” said one of the forks. “I didn’t know you were musicians. You should have said!”
The spoons attempted to look modest. “We didn’t want to show off,” said the first. &
Ein Blick in die VergangenheitEin Interview mit einem Politiker 2002:
»Seien sie doch kein Verschwörungstheoretiker! Der Euro ist eine gute Idee. Und die Behauptung dass die Währung langfristig instabil werden würde, weil die Lebensstandards in Europa so unterschiedlich sind scheinen mir vollkommen aus der Luft gegriffen. Vor allem würde eine solche Finanzkrise niemals als „Eurokrise“ bezeichnet werden.«
Eine Aussage des Präsidenten 2001:
»Mr. President, haben Sie keine Angst davor dass die Iraker uns angreifen werden?«
»Sehen Sie sich lieber an wie ich diesen Golfball schlagen werde.«
Eine Hater-Nachricht aufgrund einer Amazon-Kritik 2009:
»Du bist doch so etwas von dämlich. Wahrscheinlich denkst du auch, dass die CIA deinen Computer hackt.«
Ein geheimes Interview mit Schröder in seinem letzten Wahlkampf 2005:
»Herr Schröder, sollten Sie gegen ihre Kontrahentin unterliegen, würden sie sich dann aufgrund ihres Mach
Being a Better Bad Guy: Entry 147Everyone gets sick sometime, even villains. When you’re down for the count, try to stay out of sight for a while until it passes. If it’s a bad time to go incognito, try to keep your wheezing and nose blowing to a minimum.
60 For 60: The Final Problem (2)A/N: Baring-Gould tells us that Holmes’ full name was ‘William Sherlock Scott Holmes’. But he got his information a little muddled…
They stared at the memorial plaque.
“I didn’t know your brother had more than one Christian name,” said Watson.
Mycroft nodded. “Our father was an admirer of William Sherlock; our mother an admirer of Sir Walter Scott.”
“How lovely,” said Watson, wincing internally.
‘IVANHOE HOLMES’ read the inscription.
No wonder the poor fellow had preferred to be known as Sherlock.
New SkatesHere in Canada, Hockey is what everyone likes to talk about: “When will the next Canadian team will win The Cup?” When I was young, very young, they only had 6 teams in the NHL. My father’s team was the Montreal Canadians. Mine was and still is, the Boston Bruins. Of course my favourite was Bobby Orr, the greatest Canadian Hockey Player ever! Growing up in this culture fueled my interest to play hockey but… I didn’t know how to skate.
I finally found the courage and money to buy skates. I was fifteen. I wanted to catch up to the skill level of those kids who were born with skates on. The decision was made and I bought my first (and only) goalie skates. I reasoned that goalies don’t have to know how to skate well. I should fit right in!
So excitedly, I started walking around the house with my new skates. I went outside to slide around the driveway, when I noticed a hard crust had formed on the snow. A
My Life as an Animal
Day 6. Well, I assume it's day 6, since it was nighttime when he last took me out, and it has probably passed midnight by now. Nonetheless it is difficult to accurately gauge the passing of time when I am imprisoned like this. I cannot see, nor hear a thing from outside. Furthermore, every one of my senses has been dulled. I do not feel hungry, tired or thirsty. Even my sense of touch is gone. Either that, or a force field suspends me inside a space that is too large for me to even reach the walls.
And yet, I quite like it in here. I didn't always though. At first I hated it. In fact the first time I was thrown in here, I was angry - burning with so much hot fiery anger, first at being humiliated, then at being thrust into this prison. But it was a fruitless endeavour to remain this angry for too long. I tried to scratch my way out but alas, I soon discovered the walls were unreachable. So there I remained - sat one could say, except there was nothing for me to sit on, not even a floor
Unsuccessful shoppingI do not know how they talked me into it. Let me think. Oh, yeah. It was dear old mom, proclaiming her wish to visit the mall before being put to eternal slumber. It was Zoha, too, claiming proof of my undying love. Does filial duty and holy matrimony depend on becoming the family driver? That’s what it seems nowadays. Life is not fair.
I’d regret it, I knew. But I did it. If driving four miles in the rush hour to the nearest shopping centre with incessant female chatter boring into one’s ears is not proof of filial and marital loyalty, I don’t know what is.
To begin with, they wanted shoes. I steered them to the nearest outlet and spent half an hour watching them pull every footwear within reach off the shelves. It was Cinderella redone, minus the prince. The prince was off-duty, observing from a safe distance. After thirty minutes’ worth of bargain-hunting, they decided that that store was not for them. Enough to satisfy the common populace, but not for
25 Funny Email Addresses1. firstname.lastname@example.org
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More