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magic book - 1st entryLes habitants de la piscine
L'eau fraîche entoure les jambes.
Elle passe comme une brise glacée. Elle rappelle la menthe.
La lumière entre jusqu’au fond.
Des réseaux blancs au premier regard, puis colorés comme l’arc au ciel, glissent là-bas.
Les lignes avancent comme si quelqu’un les faisait marcher.
Elles rampent, se touchent les unes et les autres, créent une unité.
Impossible de suivre une des lignes.
Elles semblent disparaître et puis soudain elles se mêlent aux autres – et vont ailleurs.
Un vent de sable souffle dans l’autre sens ou en travers sans déranger le trajet de la lumière.
Il passe indifféremment au dessus en en dessous – ou reste-t-il à la même place ?
Comme une fumée qui porte des grains, il traverse les raies qui avancent, sans arrêt.
On a l’impression d’une armée d’insectes qui marchent comme s’ils
Oui, je veux bien
Vacances avec des amies. Ça fait longtemps, que je ne les ai pas vues. Surtout Claudia. Nous n'étions pas toujours des meilleurs amies, pourtant nous nous amusons plutôt bien. Pas de tension comme d'habitude. Des filles, dont je ne connais pas le nom mais qui me connaissent apparemment bien, sont avec nous. Le bazar de cette ville étrange et plein de gens. Le temps fait beau, plutôt chaud, ça m'a manqué, la chaleur, l'air sec et des cigales. Je suis à la maison, enfin.
Partout des marchands avec des objets exotiques. On passe par ici, par là, oubliant lieu et temps. Là, je ne peux plus tenir à moi, il faut que je le revoie. Depuis notre arrivé, je ne peux pas penser à quelque chose d'autre. C'est que lui. Mon cur batte à haute voix. Je rougis, si quelqu'un peut l'entendre ? Mais non, c'est stupide. « Je crois que je vais appeler un ami que je ne pas vu longtemps » je dis aux autres. Elles s
Lieblose GleicheitLiberté, Egalité, Fraternité. Freiheit, Gleichheit, Brüderlichkeit. So sagt es der Franzose. ---
I have a dream... introduierte Martin Luther King. ---
Gleichberechtigung für die Frau... brüllt uns die Emanze entgegen. ---
Was soll der ganze Drang nach Gleichheit? ---
Ist es nicht das Schlimmste, wenn ein Mensch sagt "Es ist mir gleich"? ---
Lebt er dann? ---
Ist nicht unser Drang "Differenzierung", "Individualität"? ---
Leben heißt Drang. ---
Das Ziel ist Individualität. ---
Keine isolierte, aber integrierte Individualität. ---
Ich bin Subjekt und nehme meine Umwelt subjektiv auf. ---
Ich nehme meine Umgebung nicht gleich meiner Mitmenschen wahr. ---
Nichts ist mir gleich. ---
Alles reizt mich, auf die unterscheidlichste Art & Weise. ---
Vielfalt an Reizen. Vielfalt an Leben. ---
Liebe am Leben. ---
Mal mehr, mal weniger, aber nicht gleich. ---
Liebe zum Leben. ---
Ich nehme, ich gebe. So gut ich kann. ---
Ich liebe. Und weil ich liebe ist mir nichts gleich. --- --- ---
Validating Your Tears (I'm Sorry) But what you don't know is that I am frustrated that I can't write a poem about the thorns growing on my veins or icebergs rooting in my heart. I can't write about the void in me when he no longer plays me Beethoven's music or sings me out of tune songs.
Because there is none. I didn't feel anything when he left.
Truth is, I want to feel crushed and heart broken, because at least sadness could prove that I did love him and that what he said about me never loving him is wrong. And I don't want to prove him right with being happy.
I want to write something beautiful about him. I want to write a poem because that is what I know, that is the only thing that had me getting my emotions back in boxes. I want to write a poem about us smiling with dandelions on the roadsides and
Lively Colored RocksLively colored rocks
Stationed by the waterfall
Damp and moist they stay
Yet beautiful they are
Silky smooth skin from the crashing waves
Still remaining resilient after all that has happened
Oh proud and joyous soul
There is much to be admired of you
But why settle for this?
The river awaits your calling
To an everlasting bed of dreams
Where your light shines the brightest
Wash away your fears
Oh fascinaing and marvelous gem
For your valor is needed
To service the eyes which grant me vision
To view those lively colored rocks
Words on a ScreenLife has been a v i c i o u s cycle.
I’ve stuck in it for years, since senior year of high school. This was when friends turned away, turned into things I didn’t need. Depression destroyed a lot of what I held dear, leaving my life in shambles. Somehow I made it through to the end of the year. Somehow I managed to grab hold the edge of my cap, and managed to toss it up into the air, and join my Class of 2011 in celebrating the feat of graduating high school.
It wasn’t until I was out in the real world that I realized the saying, “You are only friends with people at school because you saw them five days a week.” Quickly I watched as everyone got married off, or had kids… within the simple span of months since we took pictures on the tarp covered graduation floor. The men wandered off to their missions, the women started families. Everyone I was around for the final year of high school quickly ran off to their fut
The World Is A Trigger: Social Works. It all began with a look outside the window. Perhaps they could have of told them that they had no daughter, or that she wasn't there... But where is there use in lying when all their names are in he system? Before there was a chance, they met her eyes. After adult-talk, the sheriff walked in. His words burned against the rim of her cranium, the way he directed her to clean her room... But truly, was that his worry? Or was it the way the black mold on the living room walls curled so delicately, as though purposefully designed. Perhaps he wanted her to start simple and keep her hidden in lies, despite the obvious truth that returned her glares. Then again, maybe it was due to the dog's papers, full of business, that the sheriff slipped on. Maybe, again, he wanted her to begin small. But what is so small when he questions her desire to live in this Hell? Had she known the world, had she known a true, "normal" household, perhaps the sense would have met her to beg them to sav
KaterleYou are what taught me how to love, your breathing my dictionary. I sleep best when you're snoring next to me, as you're doing it right now...
We met when I was about ten, and I wasn't doing well. You came with sky-blue eyes and the old lady you just wouldn't stand to be separated from. The beauty of winter, but your heart was a camp fire in the deep dark woods, a comfort to the lost wanderers like me. When my head ached from crying too much, I had a soft place to lay it down on you. Your fur dried all my tears. Your gentle purring drowned all thoughts of sad and grey.
That house was never my home; but they say home is where the heart is, and you were there, and I stayed with you.
Would I still be alive if I had run away back then?
Would it even be life without you?
And whenever my heart hurts, I have you. Your sweet, gloved paws to touch my face, your calm heartbeat to talk to me. The only thing it ever says is 'I love you.'
It's an echo of my own, it's the voice of all my thoughts. T
The World Is A Trigger: Sandwich Slices Upon her skin, almost edging the inside of her left am, shortly behind the wrist, lies two scars of three marks. It took the cumulative 12-16 years of in-home slavery to cause it. All it was, was a simple instruction - heard for the hundredth+ time - of how to make her sandwich. Freshly from the knife block, silver flashed and found the girl's arm rather than sandwich. A purposeful swing & slide, unconsciously done, but almost made things better. The second was strategically placed, beginning light before a red droplet soon broke free. Her thoughts on the third one consisted of the determination to bleed years of pin over the food. But as blood shed onto a kitchen knife, it was the memory that returned normal senses. The reflection...
masochist.It's not the simple pain that I enjoy,
it's simply the pain of loving you,
which gives me my sick thrill.
lover I will never haveto the lover I will never have...
What was I in your eyes?
A one night stand?
A friend? An enemy? A lover?
Though, I thought it was strange... You always said you hated me.
Always pushed me away.. But I guess that's alright.
You called me cute though. That day, after school.
It left an imprint on me. And I wondered.
What do you really think of me?
Just what am I to you?
We never kissed. Never-- did, anything of that nature.
School's full of pretty boys.. And hot girls..
Why call me cute? Why not some chick you got pregnant?
There's videos of it, you know.. Online.. Tons..
We want to share our bodies with the world. We want them, to notice us.
To touch us. Show us how they make us feel..
I'm just a guy.. Nothing special about me.. Not at all..
Still, you called me cute. And I guess..-- I wondered what you meant by that.
Maybe it was nothing, so I'm overreacting. But maybe, maybe it was something.
I'll never know.
Though days will go by. Before long, you
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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