#does the whole rule the galaxy thing not ring any bells?

[siennahrobek]

The fact that people think that Padme was on the verge of talking Anakin down in Revenge of the Sith and she would have succeeded if there hasn’t been interference…. Lol okay sure.

#weird thoughts #thoughts #star wars #think y’all may have missed the point just a bit #does the whole rule the galaxy thing not ring any bells?

[tsarisfanfiction]

Teen Tracys

Muse is on a roll today, it seems (and I even managed to get some uni work done!).  From a conversation with @janetm74 that started over a discussion about punk!teen Virgil with a green mohawk and Eco-Warrior!teen Gordon and snowballed into, well, something a bit like this.

Random, has not been particularly polished, and I threw in a time skip rather than deal with the serious conversation.  Might write that later.

For ages, we’ve got Scott at 21, John’s 19, Virgil’s 17, Gordon’s 13 and Alan’s 9.  Three teenagers in the house; uh oh.

Scott loved his brothers. Really, he did.  But sometimes, they were just too much.  Big brother just didn’t hold the same weight as parent, no matter that he’d helped to raise all of them, and every so often his little brothers remembered that.

“Gordon, no.”

The thirteen-year-old, decked out in nothing but recycled greens, glared up at him with all the self-proclaimed righteousness a teenager could summon.  It was a lot.

“Do you know how much pollution is still being pumped into the oceans?” he demanded, not at all cowed by the fact he barely reached Scott’s chest.  “They finally stopped all the fossil fuel in the 2020s, and plastic was entirely phased out by 2030, and then the world gave itself a nice pat on the back as though that fixed everything!”

Scott had heard this tirade before.  Many, many, times before.

“Yes, Gordon, I know. Preservation of the oceans is important and that’s why this family – and Tracy Industries – does its bit to make sure nothing goes in there that shouldn’t, and is why you take part in charity events to continue to spread awareness.  I know.”  He didn’t have a problem with any of that, either.  No, what he had a problem with were the rallies.

Charity work?  Fine.  More than fine.

The rallies?  Not for an unaccompanied thirteen-year-old boy, and Scott knew they often involved illegally sabotaging places that still produced pollution.  No matter how well-meaning Gordon was, it was Scott’s duty as big brother and guardian not to let him get tangled up in that.

“Clearly you don’t know if you think that’s enough!” Gordon retorted, and Scott sighed.

“Gordon, I know more needs to be done, but it needs to be done legally, and not result in you getting thrown in a lockup, okay?  You’ve got that charity dinner with Lady Penelope next weekend, remember?”

“I can do both!” Gordon protested.  “Scott, I have to go!  It’s important for the planet!”

“Well it’s important to me that you don’t end up-”

Bright green in his periphery killed the rest of the sentence as he turned his head to see his normally sensible, reliable brother looking anything but.

“Virgil, you are not going out looking like that.”

“I can go out looking however I want, Scott.”  Seventeen years old and the teenage attitude Gordon was showing seemed to have infected his next oldest brother at last.  Virgil had been such a quiet, low-effort teenager – even more so than John, whose rebellion had been entirely digital and Scott was quite frankly afraid of what he might have done – until now.

Now, the punk phase had hit, and apparently the colour of the day was green.  Vibrant, radioactive touch-me-and-die green.  In a mohawk.

Scott tried to be the supportive big brother, he really did, but there were lines and the all-leather ensemble complete with mohawk and numerous piercings were pushing it.  Worst of all was the noise-maker he called a trike that he’d gone and bought last week despite being explicitly told not to. That had crossed the line.  There had been much shouting.  Virgil refused to return it, and spent more time in the garage tinkering with it than with his family now.

Gordon considered it an affront, and Scott wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t going to be a target for the so-called rally if Gordon managed to join it.

“Virgil, please.”

“I want green hair!”

They’d caught Alan’s attention.  Great.

“No, Alan.  You are not dyeing your hair green.”

Realising both green-themed brothers – if for two very different reasons – were both trying to slip out while Alan played distraction, Scott backed up to the front door and blocked it with his body.

“Virgil did!”

“And if his hair dye ends up in your hair, his entire new ensemble is heading straight for the recycler,” Scott growled.  Three little brothers, all at once.  It was enough to give him a headache.  Gordon shifted, a shift that meant trouble, and he remembered the current household feud. “Gordon, if Virgil’s hair dye ends up in Alan’s hair, no more charity events until you’re eighteen.”

“But Scott!”

He didn’t even care which of the three said it.  It could have been all of them.  Why couldn’t they go through teenage rebellion from the sanctity of their bedrooms, like John did?

“I wouldn’t say green’s your colour anyway, Allie.”  As though summoned by Scott’s thoughts, the fourth little brother materialised.  Finally, some sanity- “how about we try black, or a dark blue, to match space?  Maybe Virgil can help make it a galaxy?”

“John!”

Betrayal.  Betrayal of the highest order, but Scott refused to get dramatic about it because he had three drama queens in the house already and that would only encourage them.  Even if the smirk John sent his way made him want to throw something.  Or scream.

Or both.

With four brothers ganging up on him – two because they’d hit the rebellion phase, one because his brothers were, and one just because he could – Scott knew he wasn’t going to win this with his sanity intact.

“Alan, no, you are not dyeing your hair any colour.  Gordon, you are not going to that rally.  Virgil, you are not going out like that.  John, if you’re not going to be helpful, scat.”

“But Scott!”

That was all four of them. In chorus.  If half of them weren’t feuding he’d think the whole thing was choreographed.  Looking at John, he still wasn’t convinced the ginger genius hadn’t managed to orchestrate it.  He was still smirking.

Scott needed to pull out the big guns.

“If you four won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to Grandma.”

The woman was in the garden, taking a well-deserved nap away from five grandsons.  Scott didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew when he was beaten. Two brothers, he could handle. Three, tough but doable.  Four, when one was deliberately stirring the pot? Even Scott had limits.

Any hopes he might have had that the mere threat would be enough died when three defiant – and one amused, damn you, John – faces stared at him.

He pulled out his phone, gave them one more moment to change their minds of their own accord, before making the call.

“Scott?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Grandma, but can you come back inside?”

“On my way.  What have the trouble-makers done this time?”

Scott gave her a brief rundown, interspersed with varying levels of protest from each brother as it reached their turn.  By the time he was done, the woman was inside the house, regarding all five of them.

Three faces were starting to quail.  Alan in particular looked on the verge of tears, but no teenage rebellion was stopping Virgil being a Grandma’s boy and even Gordon had a healthy respect for her tongue.  John continued to look far too smug, and Scott’s internal alarm bells were ringing.

Still, Grandma was here now. Grandma would sort his brothers out and Scott could get a blissful half hour – maybe even an hour, if he was lucky – without some sort of sibling drama.

“Well, I’m not seeing any problems here.”

What.

Grandma walked straight up to Virgil and started plucking at his jacket, deftly dodging the metallic spikes as she adjusted it on his shoulders.  “When I was your age, it was all pink.  Pink leather, pink hotpants.”  She winked in Scott’s direction and the urge to scream bubbled up in his chest.  “I dyed my hair to match.”

At least his brothers seemed to be as dumbstruck as him about that, even if Scott was watching his last bastion of support crumble before his eyes.

“Your Grandpa had the most amazing Harley,” she continued.  “Ooh, what a beauty.  Such a smooth ride.  He really knew how to treat a girl, your Grandpa.”

Nope.  Absolutely nope.  Scott needed brain bleach, and an escape from the madhouse, preferably before he screamed.

With a hoarse yell that was only a yell, and not a scream at all, he yanked the front door open, all but ran through it, and slammed it so hard a shingle slid from the roof.

He stared at it for a moment before surging into a run, past the garage and that damn trike, over the front gate, and headed straight for… who cared, as long as it was away. Right then, the house could collapse or burn to the ground for all he really cared.

Scott tried to be tolerant, he tried to be fair to all of his brothers, but sometimes it was just too much to handle.

***

“Scott?”

He’d ended up sitting in a tree after running all through the woodland until his legs burned.  Apparently, that wasn’t enough to stop his grandmother finding him when she wanted to.

“Are you ready to come home, dear?” she called up.  He sighed and let his head thud against the trunk.

“Am I going to be ganged up on by my brothers over stupid things if I do?” he asked.  “Because I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“Your brothers and I had a nice long chat, and we’ve put some new house rules in place,” she told him. “Gordon has agreed no more rallies and Alan no longer wants his hair dyed.”

“And Virgil and John?” he asked warily.

“Virgil has agreed not to provoke Gordon any more, but you two need to talk about policing each other’s clothes, young man.”  Scott winced. “As for John, he knows he went too far, but just like with Virgil, you are going to have to talk to each other like the reasonable young men you are.”  There was no reproach in her tone, but Scott felt scolded all the same.

He didn’t want to go home, but if Grandma was promising no more carnage…  Scott could never bring himself to leave his brothers for too long.  Reluctantly, he eased himself out of the tree, swinging from the last branch to the ground below.

“I know you don’t like what Virgil’s done to his hair,” Grandma said, looping her arm through his. “But remember it’s his hair, not yours.”

“It’s not that,” Scott admitted.  “He can do what he wants with it; it’s that trike.  He can’t wear a helmet with his hair all spiked up like that!”

“Then you should tell him that’s why you disapprove.”  Grandma was, as always, full of logic.  “None of you boys can read minds, you know.  You have to talk to each other.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “Sorry, Grandma, I messed up.”

“You’re just worried about them.”  She squeezed his arm fondly.  “They’ll appreciate it when they’re older.”

“Will they?”

“They’re not the first teenage boys I’ve raised,” she reminded him.  “There’s nothing you and your brothers have done that your father and uncle Lee didn’t do already.”

“…Even the punk mohawk?”

“I still have the photos.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #john tracy #grandma tracy #teen tracys #thunderfluff

[cyrusgoodboye]

You Get to Exhale - a Tyrus fanfiction

This is dedicated to one of the most amazing people in the world and my creative partner.  I know it’s late, but I wanted it to be perfect for your birthday.  I hope you enjoy, Di! @spaceottersart

.

The details come later.  They flicker in the back of Cyrus's head when he's lying in his room that same night, high strung and nerves frayed like guitar strings pulled too tight.  He doesn't know if he can go to sleep, he thinks dazedly as he blinks up at the ceiling.  Whenever he closes his eyes, he still sees the flames licking at the sides of the firepit in Andi's backyard, bathing the world around them in a pale orange glow.  

Cyrus can't believe it happened.  He's been forcing himself into a harsh reality of things, the land where hope and love and requited crushes don't exist.  Cyrus has never done too well with crushes; by the time he realizes he has them, he's too far gone and reason has slipped out of his grasp to the point where he can't retain his grip on it.  So, of course he'd been trying to ease himself into the inevitable heartbreak of T.J. not liking him back like too hot bath water.  But it doesn't end up mattering because T.J. likes him.

Cyrus has second-guessed T.J.'s actions before, has wondered if he's nice to him simply because he's changed, shed off the skin of his old self like an out-of-fashion coat, or for other reasons, ones that Cyrus has let himself tread but not dive into before he drowns.  But when T.J. grabbed his hand and interlocked their fingers and exhaled like the whole world was looking away, Cyrus's worries rushed out of him like they'd sunk straight to the Earth's core, and suddenly, there with T.J., his future didn't seem like it was yawning open so wide.  He was more sure than he'd ever been of anything.  So, he just exhaled in return and pretended with T.J. that no one else was around to witness this.  To see his entire life changing.  Their lives. 

And that's sort of the problem right now, Cyrus thinks.  Because he doesn't know if T.J. wants the world to watch, to see them holding hands, to know about them at all in this new sense of the word, 'relationship'.  And there's where he's less sure. 

He wishes he had that same reassurance he had when he was holding T.J.'s hand, that anchor keeping him grounded, but he doesn't and now his head is spiraling into galaxies unknown.  He wants to ask T.J., but this doesn't feel like the kind of conversation you have on the phone, anyway.  (Or the kind of conversation Cyrus can have at all without sinking into an invisible spot on the floor.)  He settles with a text asking to meet up for now, hoping it will ease his nerves for the night.  (If that's even possible.)

Hey!  Want to go to The Spoon tomorrow? -Cyrus

He's tapping his fingers in anticipation for T.J.'s response, this thing building inside him ready to burst at seams he's barely managed to sew back together.  T.J. answers before Cyrus explodes.

Yeah, sure.  What time? -T.J.

Cyrus sighs in relief.  He doesn't know why he's so nervous about this, holding his breath like even the air will befall him, except, maybe, he does know.  Maybe he's afraid T.J.'s going to take back everything, is going to close up and shut down completely.  Cyrus wants to know how comfortable T.J. is and how far he's willing to go with this.  If he even wants to label it or not (Cyrus hopes he doesn't go the Jonah Beck route, is praying, really, because even though he doesn't want to push T.J. into something he's not ready for, Cyrus wants the label, so, so badly it hurts).  He wants to know, but decides he has to wait.  Until tomorrow, he concedes.

How about 11?  I'm going to meet up with Andi, Buffy, and Jonah anyway, but I wanted to talk to you first :) -Cyrus

Sounds good.  See you then. -T.J.

Night! -Cyrus

Night, Underdog. -T.J.

Cyrus sighs and closes his eyes, semi-content.  T.J. seems like he's not going to back out.  At least right now, Cyrus reasons with himself.  

The undercurrent of anxiety thrumming underneath lessens, and Cyrus's head hits his pillow.  

Cyrus exhales before drawing up the blankets over his shoulders.  When he closes his eyes, he can still see the crackling fire reflecting in T.J.'s eyes.  If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the ghost of T.J.'s fingers tracing the outline of his knuckles.

His mouth flashes the faintest curve of a smile before he drifts off into a deep sleep.

.

Cyrus is the first to arrive at The Spoon.  He doesn't expect any less; he has always been a firm believer of the early-is-on-time-and-on-time-is-late rule, and this is further proven when he finds himself sitting at their usual booth, poking nervously at the greased baby taters in his basket ten minutes early.  

The bell chimes, and Cyrus turns around in his seat, chest spilling over in relief when he's met with T.J. and his mirthful smile and familiar, swept back hair.  Cyrus smiles.  

"Hey," Cyrus greets as T.J. sits down across from him.  As if on cue, a waitress brings him a drink, and T.J. flashes her a small smile in return.  Cyrus lets himself think about how much T.J.'s really changed.  How he would've never believed that, about a year ago, in the same booth he'd previously learned how mean he was, Cyrus would be asking him if they were dating.  Cyrus's life really had turned upside down within the past year.  "You came," he breathes out.

T.J. grins, all teeth, and lets out an amused snort.  "Of course I came."

Cyrus just lets himself sit there in the moment, lets himself wrap around every word, and then he slowly inches his hand forward.  T.J.'s eyes flicker down, then back up to his eyes again, and Cyrus wonders how he did it last night on the bench, how he took that giant leap of courage.  Cyrus has no clue.

"So," Cyrus starts out.  The words lose themselves in his throat, somehow, and he's never felt more tongue-tied around T.J. than right in this moment. T.J. lifts an eyebrow expectantly, and Cyrus can practically see the fire from last night reflecting in his eyes, if he peers closely enough.  He swallows down the lump in his throat.  "About last night."

T.J. cracks a small smile, amused, almost, and Cyrus wishes he'd just blurt it out for him.  The anticipation kills him more than the actual news, more often than not.  "Yeah?" T.J. asks.  His fingers move forward slightly, creeping across the cracked laminate of the table, and it's so quick Cyrus almost misses it when he blinks.  He lets out a small smile, relief pushing at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah," Cyrus repeats.  T.J. keeps looking fondly at him and it's making his stomach turn.  In a good way.  He'd always had hope before that the smile in T.J.'s eyes was something more than friendly, but now he knows, and he's not sure what to do with the feelings pushing and rising up in the back of his throat.

Cyrus glances down at T.J.'s hand, then back to his face, and his fingers twitch slightly.  Well, maybe he does know what to do with them.  But he has to make T.J.'s okay with it, with this, with them.  It's so delicate that if Cyrus breathes, he might break it, and he doesn't want the thing that's been building between them for so long to snap in two before he's even had a chance to explore.  To tread the waters.

"I wanted to know how you feel," he asks, and it's hushed, lower than he wishes he could speak.  "I mean, about us."

T.J.'s eyebrows draw together in the way they do when he's confused, and it's so familiar, Cyrus's chest aches.  "I thought you knew.  You know, after I held your hand."  His voice lowers, too, but the words are still blunt, and it knocks the air out of Cyrus's lungs.  He was expecting beating around the bush, but he knows T.J. and T.J. has always been upfront.  Even when he doesn’t want to be forthcoming.

"No, I mean.  Are we…you know!"  T.J. continues to look at him expectantly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, and Cyrus ties to stir up the confidence.  "Are you going to make me say it?" 

T.J. huffs softly.  "You make it sound like it's a bad thing," he counters lightly, stealing a baby tater from the basket and popping it into his mouth.

Cyrus swallows, pushing out the next words pressing against his chest.  "Do you think it's a bad thing?"  He just needs to make sure T.J.'s okay with it, Cyrus thinks.  Then they can take the next step and move on from there.

If only the next step didn't seem like jumping off a cliff.

T.J. hesitates, and Cyrus silently presses on.  T.J. scoffs.  "Sometimes," he admits after a while, averting his gaze.  It lands on Cyrus's hand, and his stare shifts.  "It's better when I'm with you."

Cyrus lets out a little sigh of relief, and it feels like a step in the right direction.  "Okay, that's good," he says.  "I'm glad it's getting better."

The bell on the door rings behind them, and Cyrus remembers that the rest of the world is still moving around them, that time hasn't stopped outside even though it has in this booth, and he's suddenly much more aware than he was minutes ago.  And he's okay with it, Cyrus thinks.  He's okay with other people knowing about...well, whatever they are.  He just wishes he knew what T.J. was thinking.

Courage hums on his skin, pulls at his fingers, and suddenly Cyrus's hand is moving forward, so, so close, and T.J. notices, and Cyrus wants him to accept the silent question in his eyes and take his hand and make everything rattling around in his head to stop.  He wants T.J. to be his boyfriend.  He wants all those good, faraway things he's let himself dream about for months. 

"Are you my boyfriend?" Cyrus finally gets out, and now it does feel like the room is pausing alongside him with bated breath, even though it’s not, and Cyrus knows it.  T.J. glances at their peers at the tables around them and, for a split second, Cyrus thinks T.J.'s going to say no,  but he exhales like he did last night and grabs Cyrus's hand instead.

"Yeah," T.J. says, eyes finally flickering up to meet his.  It feels like a promise, and Cyrus guesses it sort of is, in its own way.  "I am."

A smile splits open on Cyrus's face.  Everything is spilling over.  "I really like you, T.J."

T.J. squeezes his hand, and somehow that's more than Cyrus has ever let himself hope for.  "I really like you, too, Underdog."

They share a smile, one that’s equal parts giddy excitement and unsure expectations and naive hope that fourteen-year-old boys can't help but hold inside, even when the whole world is pushing against them.  Cyrus wants to always feel like this.  He always wants to feel as open and raw and loved as he does in this moment that's enveloping them like a cloak, warm and comforting and buttery soft at the edges.  He wants T.J.  All of him and everything that comes with it.

The bell on the door chimes again, and instead of flinching away, Cyrus stands taller.  Lets himself breathe.  

"Guys, over here!" Cyrus waves over.  He lets go of T.J.'s hand, quickly moving to T.J.'s booth and sitting to his right.  

Marty and Buffy sit across from them, and Jonah and Andi pull up chairs on either side of the table.  

"Did you already order?" Buffy asks.  She catches Marty's eye beside her, and they share a soft, private grin, the kind that's so practiced and easy that Cyrus thinks it's like writing your name on top of a test.  A thing you don't even need to think about doing, something that just finds a way of coming out of you in a moment of pure instinct.

"No," Cyrus answers.  He smiles at T.J. beside him, unable to restrict the happiness swarming in his chest.  "We haven't."

T.J. grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers on top of the table while Marty and Buffy are debating over the menu.  Andi and Jonah are too busy talking about Jonah's new song to notice life changing right in front of them, shifting and unfolding into something familiar and entirely brand new at the same time.  Cyrus wouldn't have it any other way.

"You okay, Cyrus?" T.J. asks, slightly amused in that way of his.  His voice is a strong undercurrent that cuts through the distant hum of their friends' conversations.  A familiar, steady thing sparks in Cyrus's chest.

"I'm with you," Cyrus answers easily.  T.J.'s eyebrows raise a little at that.  In a subtle sort of way that makes his eyes go bright.  "Of course I am."

T.J. huffs out of his nose, smiling, and Cyrus exhales alongside him.  The world continues to spin on, one turn at a time.  

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #i started writing this immediately after the finale but...i couldn't bring myself to finish it #it felt too final and i didnt want it to end #this is for you diana i love you queen!!

[peeterparkr]

limits of desire⤳t.h.||4

chapter 4: choose your flowers

MADE OF HONOR|AU

story summary: you met Tom a night he was trying to sleep with you, it didn’t work and you became best of friends. Wedding bells might be ringing for when you both realize what you really feel.

summary: the one with the songs and the running away

pairing: fuckboy!tom holland x best friend!reader

warnings: swearing, fluff-ish, angsty(a bit), tom is an idiot, guardians of the galaxy, wedding

word count: 6.2k (whoops sorry) 

As usual tell me what you think, this chapter was kind of painful to write because IT’S SOOO MUCH HAPPENING

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The world’s worst hangover, that’s what Tom was calling it. Facing the consequences of that night. Tom had faced the worst kind of memories from past encounters. Crazy girls sending him flowers, girls throwing their purses at him, girls stealing his clothes. Aftermaths that weren’t so nice to remember. But this one, he wanted to remember. 

But seemed that this one had the worst side-effect. A constant headache would’ve been better. Though it had been almost 2 weeks already. 

She may be the face I can't forget

And he had that stupid song stuck in his head. The entire night had been on loop. He couldn’t focus on anything. Not his lines, not in boxing, not in that stupid audition he had had. It was awful. There were no answers, it was dumb. It didn’t make any sense for him, because he was angry at himself, because he had to follow his stupid rules. Right? Couldn’t he break them? 

The only person that could comfort him was exactly the subject he needed to be comforted from. Good idea, to lose your wise adviser. 

He decided to go to the gym, maybe that could get her off of his mind. Everything about that night seemed to be blurry. He’d meet Haz there, he was also training. Maybe seeing his best friend could help him. Y/N was leaving on that day. 

Tom didn’t feel like training, however, and that was off-character of him. He tried lifting, but he couldn’t. He tried to run but fell off the machine.  Tom groaned,  making the whole gym turn around and stare. Nothing was working. 

Haz had seen him and gave him a confused stare, as he ran over. 

“You okay, mate?” 

“Yeah,” Tom lied. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything is fine.” 

“Is it?” Haz questioned.

Tom hated when Haz was condescending. 

“Yes. Fine.” 

There was something they needed to talk about and Tom could not find a way to tell him, because if anything, Tom didn’t know exactly what he wanted to talk about. Tom decided to box instead. 

Haz didn’t push it because, honestly, he had been ignoring Tom those days. Tom had been extremely annoying, and clumsy. He was like a broken-hearted teenager. Like a small child throwing a tantrum. So, of course, Haz had been ignoring him. Tom didn’t blame him. He couldn’t stand himself either. 

He was so useless. He had broken the coffee machine, burned half of his breakfast and watched all Bridget Jones’ Diary movies on the first Sunday, then the next Sunday he had pizza for breakfast and watched Notting Hill, Best Friends Wedding and Pretty Woman and then Notting Hill again, he had cried on that one. ‘Bridget Jones is a classic and Julia Roberts is fantastic in everything she does’. 

Tom was...pathetic. But he was boxing now, he was getting back on track. So while giving a stronger than normal uppercuts to his punching bag, his friend watched him doing his own gym routines.

Cold sweat ran down Tom's forehead as he went through the events of that night, it had been two weeks already. He remembered, again and again, every single little detail of the night. Andrew Jacob’s wedding had been, in general, merely forgettable. 

But there are things one can’t dare to forget. 

Like that red dress, or those words, or that one dance. Things he’d love to forget, but that were roaming his head, things he hadn't thought about before, or maybe he had but had suppressed them all along. While punching, he couldn't stop shaking, his punch was not precise, and no matter how hard he hit he could not get anything out. The lack of concentration made him shudder, with the little courage that remained, he had realized the great mistake he had made.

Every single detail counted. But there had been plenty mistakes he had committed that night. 

Harrison approached him. “Alright, what’s up?” 

Tom looked up. “I fucked up.” 

----

2 weeks before

“Y/N hurry we’re running late already,” Tom yelled. He had been waiting for about half an hour already and y/n hadn't come out of her room. 

“Coming! I’m just…” She trailed off, her voice was muffled behind her closed bedroom door. “Two minutes!” 

Tom closed his eyes. “Y/N!” She had been so weird about this, so unlike her. It wasn’t the first wedding they’d gone to together. Sure, usually it took her a lot of time to get ready, but she usually had her bedroom open and he’d watch her put her makeup on, while he scrolled through Instagram. But not this time. She had been avoiding his calls and she had been barely texting him. He didn’t know what had gotten on to her, she had even come to premieres with him, what was up with being so serious about a damned wedding. 

“Actually, I need help, come here,” she said, finally opening her door. 

Tom rolled his eyes as he walked over. He scrolled through his phone. “It’s just a party y/n.” 

“Yeah, I know, but remember I might be leaving so it might be our last in a while,” she said, coming out of her restroom as she was putting on her earrings. “Would you mind helping me with my necklace?” 

Tom finally looked up. His breath was taken away, and he almost dropped his phone. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. With the red dress perfectly silking her body and her hair tied up in a bow, her bare neck inviting him to cover it with tattoos of his kisses. He had seen her with that dress, already, but he hadn’t… Observed her. Her lips were as bright red as her dress and her eyes had a certain sparkle leaving only to his imagination how stained he could get him with that lipstick. He cleared his throat. It was wrong to think of his best friend that way. 

“Um…” 

She bit her lip. “Too much? Is it too much? I should’ve bought the other dress, right? I could still change-I think I have another--”  

“What?” Tom’s eyes widened. “No, no, no, no, you look... don’t...it’s just, wow, you...Wow.” 

She chuckled. “Really?” 

“Yeah, wow,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Wow?” She furrowed her eyebrows. 

“Yes, breathtaking...Wow.”

She blushed. “Thanks.” 

“You’re gonna make the bride feel bad,” he licked his lips “You...you look amazing.” 

“You don’t look bad yourself,” she complimented him. She walked over to him, just inches away. She cleared her throat. He gulped. “Uh, mind helping me...with my necklace?” 

He stared down at her lips but then cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he took it from her hands as she turned around. He was being stupid. But he put it on anyways, gently caressing her neck with his cold fingers. She went stiff as soon as he touched her, and he took his time to put it on. It was contrasting. Mistake number one.

“Uh, so now...uh,” He cleared his throat. “You’re ready, right?” 

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, yeah, oh, uh...perfume!” 

“Chanel, right?” 

“Is there any other?” She smirked. 

-

Glasses were clicking, and people were murmuring. In a room where the music was as loud as it could be, and the dresses as beautiful as they could get. Tom and y/n had arrived earlier at the venue, and they were talking to some other people. Tom already had a glass of white wine on his hand, trying to digest what was going on. He couldn’t stand it. Some of the other guests were very interested in y/n, they were not so subtly flirting with her, and she responded subtly, with smooth and soft fingers moving and cheeky grins. 

“The place is very pretty,” y/n commented. “I wouldn’t get married here, but you know.” 

Tom chuckled. “Where would it be?” 

“Something more fairytale-like, I guess,” she chuckled. “I dunno, guess somewhere magical.” 

“Magical?” Tom chuckled. 

“Oh shush.” 

“What would make it magical?” He asked. 

She sighed. “I guess… I’d have sunflowers,” she started. “Yes, and daisies.” 

“Flowers? That’s it, that’s the magic for you?” 

She paused. “No, I guess not, I guess the person would make it magical because I’d be marrying someone who'd love me, flaws and all, someone who knows me, who guesses my thoughts before I could even think them,” she explained. “Someone, who I trust, you know? Whom I don’t have to pretend with.” 

Tom furrowed his eyebrows. “I guess.” 

“But yes, flowers,” she chuckled. “Flowers are important.” 

Tom smiled but then let out a soft laugh. “You know what my ideal wedding would be?” 

She just looked up. 

“Non-existent,” he winked.

She gave him a forced chuckle. “Right.” 

Suddenly, all the muttering stopped. Everybody had their stares fixed on the newlyweds who were now happily prancing around with their rings. People were clapping at them, celebrating. But y/n and Tom were only faking to be happy about them, they were rather bored.

“Bet this will be the most predictable wedding ever,” Tom whispered on y/n’s ear, as he joined the clapping. 

She looked at him. “Hm?” 

“You know, all of them are, lately,” Tom said. “That’s why I’m never going to have one, I don’t want to fall into that cliché.” 

Y/N gave him a sad smile and then turned to the couple. “Their first dance,” she whispered. 

I must have been through about a million girls, I'd love 'em and I'd leave 'em alone.

“Fooled Around and Fell in Love” By Elvin Bishop. Not exactly the most ideal song for a first dance song, but he knew the backstory to it. Andrew’s and Michelle’s first date had consisted of watching Guardians of the Galaxy and their first kiss had been when Gamora and Peter Quill were listening to that song. 

I didn't care how much they cried, no sir, their tears left me cold as a stone

Tom saw how y/n’s eyes had glazed slightly as she mouthed the lyrics to the song, her lips curving just slightly to form a subtle smile. Tom knew he was supposed to watch the couple. He truly knew it. But he had time to do something else. Tom had time to observe a little more than usual. Observing how her red lipstick made her smile illuminate her eyes more, he observed the way her hair pushed back made her look beautiful, he saw how she was trying to pull a little hair back that was getting on her way, but he didn't mind that it wasn't perfectly combed, because she looked perfect. Tom realized that maybe in another context, the song was perfect for them. The song was singing to him. 

But then I fooled around and fell in love

He cleared his throat, hell, he would never tell her about all the songs he could dedicate her. He would give everything to her, and she seemed not to notice. Just as she didn't see how dazzled he was by all of her, from her playing with her hands to her lost gaze, to her lip-syncing to the song. Perfectly Imperfect.

Tom didn’t even notice when the song had ended. But it kept playing on the back of his mind. I fooled around and fell in love.

They were all clapping. Tom joined them, too. They toasted and then the couple kept their prancing through the tables. 

They ended up talking about how awful the wedding was going. Their vows had been...boring. Both y/n and Tom said they were dull, nothing too incredible. Of course, it was Andrew Jacobs they were talking about, but it was just too… predictable. 

“You know, I would’ve said something even more splendid,” she murmured to Tom. “You know, it’s the love of your life who you’re marrying.” 

“Some people don’t marry the love of their life,” Tom shrugged. 

“Well, I will,” she bit her lip. 

He chuckled. “What would you say?” 

She bit her lip. “I dunno.” 

“Ah, c’mon, you can’t just say they were plain and boring without coming up with something better,” Tom teased. 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, they said something that people usually say, I mean, saying ‘I’ve been waiting for my whole life for this’, like, really? So generic? Even if I was marrying someone I wasn’t in love with I’d come up with something more original.” 

There were lights all across the room, creating a perfect atmosphere for the already romantic ambience. The guests were thrilled to be watching the newlyweds. Y/N and Tom were sitting down on their table with Haz, Tuwaine and his girlfriend, and some other childhood friends. 

“Let’s see then,” Haz pushed. “Let’s see our writer in all her splendour.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “C’mon.” 

“Yes, go on, y/n, what would you say?” Tuwaine insisted. 

She chuckled. “I need… I need to say it to someone, so it feels more real, okay?” She laughed. “Okay, okay, okay, Harrison,” she looked at him. 

Haz laughed. “No, no, say it to Tom, let’s see how much he can resist without wanting to run away for listening to something that’s close to a commitment.” 

Y/N gulped and wrinkled her nose. “No, no, it’s fine, then.” 

Tom laughed. “It’s alright, I won’t run.” 

She gulped but turned to him. She smiled. “Thomas.” 

“y/n, my love,” Tom sang. 

She rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. They stared into each others’ eyes. Haz and Tuwaine chuckled. 

“Guys, please,” she giggled. She looked away. “Wait, should I pretend he’s someone else? I--I can’t,” she pinched Tom’s cheek. 

“No, no, imagine you’re marrying him right now,” Haz said. 

Y/N looked down. “I’m screwed.” 

Haz laughed. “You said you could come up with something even if you weren’t in love.” 

Y/N glared at him but turned back to Tom. Tom rolled his eyes and they stared at each other, again. He smiled. She bit her lip. 

“Y/N…” Haz insisted. 

“Sh, I’m thinking,” she defended herself. She blinked a few times, and Tom could take into her features again. She had a unique way to look into someone’s eyes as if she was trying to undress their soul. 

Tom felt naked with her, always. Not in the way he was with the other girls, but in a way that he could only be himself, in which he had no shield.

“They say love is easy when the right person comes,” she started. “I guess I had been dreaming a lie, waiting for that prince charming to arrive on a white horse, I just hadn’t realized that maybe he was riding a motorbike,” she cleared her throat as Tom chuckled lightly but kept looking her in the eyes. “I’ve always thought that I was wrong but suddenly, you became the right answer and I didn’t have to hide anymore, because you had always been there,” her voice was like a song he loved to listen to. “We’ve shielded under that label of best friends when we didn’t realize it didn’t have to be a boundary but a firm step in which we could always rely on because when it comes to choosing the person I’d love to spend the rest of my life with I couldn’t think on anyone else,” she paused, and Tom gulped. “Because it’s simple and as I said before when it’s the right person, it’s easy, and it doesn’t have to be the complicated mess we tend to make. So tonight, looking you in the eyes, I hereby promise you that I’ll always try to be the right answer, and to keep on strong to build over that firm step we’ve formed along because I know that although it is easy, we still have so much to discover, and so much to love.”  

Tom got lost into her words. He felt a dagger across his chest.  She looked away and laughed. “Wow, that was intense.” 

“Oh my god,” Tuwaine chuckled. “I even fell for it, man, you’re good.” 

“Fuck, how did you even come up with that shit?” Haz asked. “What the fuck,” he laughed. 

“See? Even if you’re not in love you can come up with something so not generic,” she coughed and downed her glass.

Tom blinked. What the hell was going on? 

He forced a laugh as he downed his glass, too. “Yeah, that was…” He cleared his throat. “Talented girl we have here.” 

She cleared her throat and blushed. “Yeah.” 

The wedding continued, the toast, the people dancing, the awkward pictures. Everything a wedding includes. Even the surprise for the groom. 

Y/N looked beautiful, and Tom had not hesitated to remind her all night. They ate, laughed as they used to, and even shared their desserts, they had given two cakes at the wedding, these millennials with their ideas, but they didn't complain as they could enjoy the perfect combination of chocolate cake and strawberry cake.

It was not until the time to throw the bouquet, that they began to circumvent the small motivations. 

Their friends insisted that y/n should go to catch it that maybe she’d find someone now that she had graduated, she said she was fine, that she didn't have to go, but they ended up convincing her. Y/N caught the bouquet, without even trying.

And that wasn't even the biggest deal, because, Tom had caught the garter. Tom laughed at how now they, following the tradition, should marry. They joked with that, trying to come up with ways he should propose, and how they’d serve pizza and lemon pie, with chocolate cheesecake at their wedding, or how they were going to have sunflowers instead of roses. 

“She already has her vows,” Haz laughed. “It’s perfect.” 

The dancing had started, and all the table had joined the dance floor. Tom was trying to show some moves as he pulled y/n to him. With each song, they’d find themselves a little more glued to each other, letting the music absorb them and enamouring them. 

A particular song started. She, from Notting Hill. They ended up getting closer, with flutters of butterflies in Tom's stomach from being oh-so-close. 

A particular verse hit. 

She, who always seems so happy in a crowd

They put their foreheads together, they couldn't blame the alcohol since they had not drank much, just a few glasses, but they were sufficiently sober for both of them to know what they were doing. 

Whose eyes can be so private and so proud

Their noses pressed against each other, and Tom's hands caressed her back slowly. 

No one's allowed to see them when they cry

A small skim of lips was what caused the first spark, to the sound of the slow ballad to which they danced along to. 

She may be the love that cannot hope to last

Tom wanted more, so he came closer again, brushing his lips against the corner of y/n's lips.

May come to me from shadows in the past

 Her hands were resting sweetly on the back of his neck.

That I remember 'till the day I die

Tom had leaned in, ready to seal the deal. But she had stopped him, only half an inch from his lips touching hers she had moved away from his gaze. 

“Don’t do this to me,” she whispered, her eyes were glazed again. “Please don’t.” 

Tom hadn’t even been able to respond before she left the dance floor.

Tom had followed her, he did not want to lose her, because he knew her. He knew how she loved to disappear whenever she wanted to cry. She liked to disappear. 

There was a bridge outside the venue, where she was leaning on, staring at the water and her reflection on it, with a few light posts decorated with red flowers. She was quiet, he guessed she was crying. Because he knew that she didn’t like to be seen crying. He gave her a few moments until he approached her. 

"You left, like Cinderella at the ball," Tom mentioned. Clearing his throat. “Though I guess I can’t blame you.” 

"I don't want to leave things on you so easy," she said without looking up, he confirmed it, she had cried. "Although, if I had actually done it, it would have been very easy."

"Why did you do it, then?" Tom asked. 

"Run away?" She laughed cynically. “You really are asking why?” 

"The vows, the dress," Tom shrugged. “You practically crafted it.” 

She stayed quiet. 

"Is there a reason why you don't want to?" Tom frowned. “Would it be such a sin if we had kissed?” 

"Friends don't kiss," she reminded him. 

"I know a few who do," Tom shrugged. "Though it’s clear, we’re not that type of friends, you’ve left that clear." 

“I’m protecting myself,” she frowned. 

“You’re protecting yourself by running away?” Tom chuckled, digging his hands in his pockets. “It’s not the first time.” 

"You’re right, and we’ve both ran away from it," She scoffed. "I dunno about you, but I have many reasons to, I don't want to be just one more."

"Just one more?"

"Another one who falls for the lie that your angel eyes are, another who got tangled up in your smile, and who you hypnotized to leave her the next day, I do not want to be another game, Tom," she answered. "Less now that I'm so fragile."

"It's just a kiss." He shrugged, looking away. 

"No, Tom, it's not just that, and you know that" she glanced seriously. "It's the fact that it's just a kiss for you, that's the point."

"Maybe I've always wanted a kiss." He bit his lip. 

"So you can throw me away the next day?" She pressed her temples, closing her eyes. 

"It would not be like that," Tom told her. "Look, let's forget it."

"It would have been easy now that I'm leaving, wouldn’t it?” She clenched her jaw.

"So, it’s decided, you're leaving," Tom finally turned back to her. 

"I decided to accept the job," she explained. "I need to get out of everything, my routine, my family, the school, I need a break from you, Tom, I need a break until we can keep our hands to ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked.

"You know exactly what I mean, just… Forget it, okay? Let’s pretend it never happened” she turned to him. “Besides, it's also my dream, I'm going to fulfil my dream, would be stupid if I didn't."

Tom felt his heart breaking, shattering, completely destroyed, he couldn't let her go, especially now that he was taking things into account. Tom needed her, Tom needed her to stay sane. Tom had been away from her other times like when he was going to film or a press tour, but if she was leaving it would mean that many things would change. Especially after all that night. 

“We are drunk,” Tom said. “We can blame it on that.” 

“We are not, Tom,” she answered. “You know it, and I know it, it was stupid, you’re gonna end up shagging a bridesmaid.” 

“I won’t.” 

“You will, that’s how it goes,” she chuckled. “Lots of them had that doggy-bowl look.” 

Tom nudged her. “They probably don’t think my nose is bent.” 

“Your nose?” y/n frowned as she laughed slightly. “Who said that?” She turned to look at him, the moonlight reflected on her skin made her smile beautifully. 

“You did!” Tom giggled. “The night we met, you said it dropped down at the bottom, a feature accentuated by the thinness of my lips.” 

y/n threw her head back, finally laughing. “Oh my god, I did! Then I called you... What did I call you? I said you were desperate...” 

“Uh-huh, desperate for attention from being alone!” Tom continued. 

“And I said you validated yourself by having…” 

“Sport like meaningless, insatiable sex, yes.” Tom ended her sentence laughing. “Man you really ended me that night.” 

“I mean I was right about that, I’m still right” she chuckled with sadness. “But I lied about your nose,” she confessed with a small smile upon her face. Tom widened his eyes with surprise. “Wanna know what I was actually thinking?” 

“What? Of course!” Tom looked at her. 

“I thought you were hot,” she blushed looking down giggling. “But you called me boring.” 

“Because I was trying to sleep with you!” Tom laughed. “Haven’t tried since, what are the odds now?” 

She stayed quiet, as she looked up at him, she ruffled his hair. Watching her, made Tom feel a jolt inside her. He was blushing, too. 

“Tom, you won’t change, and I mean, I love you and all, but it’s always, I’m your backup plan.” 

“y/n, you’re not-” Tom tried to convince her, but she placed her hand on his mouth, impeding him from talking. 

“No, I know I am... you are not trying to hurt me, I know, and we are friends, okay, I know that, I just need us to stay that way, I know you can’t stop flirting, and I know that what was about to happen tonight was only because you were stuck with me, and I guessed I forced it.” 

Tom didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was right, maybe it had been just the moment. She looked down at her glass. 

“Did you mean it?” Tom asked her. “The vows?” 

“I…”She sighed. “I didn’t,” she sentenced. “I mean, in all seriousness, Tommy, it’s okay, honestly, I let it clear, we’re good like friends, and besides I don’t have that doggy-bowl look anyway, and maybe your nose is actually kinda bent.” She smiled at him. 

“6 months,” he said. “24 Sunday’s.” 

“6 months,” she repeated. 

Tom looked down at the blue water that was reflecting the moon, he jumped to sit on the edge of the bridge.

"Thomas!"

“I’m gonna jump I can’t survive without you,” he said, she laughed as she hugged him from behind.

“Oh my god, stop, can’t you take anything seriously?” She asked him.

“I can’t,” he answered, kissing her cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she said as he laughed as getting back to his feet. He hugged her. Again, she looked up at him.

He stared down at her lips again, it could be easy, she was leaving anyway. He would have time to think about it. But no, she had made a point. It wasn’t just a kiss, it meant way so much more. It meant ruining a powerful friendship. Because he couldn’t give in, he couldn’t love her the way he was supposed to. She deserved way much better than him. Even if her words had said she didn’t want to kiss him, her eyes were begging him to do so.

He leaned over, anyway. And she did, too. But before she could do anything, Tom stopped.

“I can’t afford to lose you.” 

“You’re not losing me,” she whispered. 

“If I do this, if we do this, I’d have to let you go,” Tom cupped her cheek. 

“I’m leaving, Tom,” she said, staring at his lips then back to his eyes. 

“But you deserve someone who will stay, someone who is the right answer, and I’m just the wrong one, alright? I’ll never be able to feel the way I am supposed to feel, and I look at you and I know that if I do this, I’d have to find a way to sneak out of your life forever and I couldn’t do that to myself. I can’t do that to you.”  

She looked down. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, I am the idiot.” 

“No,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Then, I guess, this is goodbye, I can’t keep making such a fool of myself,” she said. “Please, don’t look out for me now, you just can’t give a woman hope and then throw her away, see?” A cheek started to run down her face. “I’m just another one, we didn’t even have anything yet you know you’d throw me away, but don’t worry, I’m used to taking the trash out.”

“Y/N.” 

She smiled. “Don’t bother.” She kissed his cheek and left before Tom could ever say anything.

He didn’t go after her.  Tom did the only thing he knew how to do, he flirted with a bridesmaid. At the end of the wedding, they ran into y/n, again who was in her dazzling red dress, watching them with pain.

She rolled her eyes, and smiled at him, and then escaped.

He had not talked to her since. 

----- 

“And you didn’t stop her?” Harrison asked. “Even after all she said?” 

“I was drunk.” 

“We both know you weren’t,” Harrison scowled. “And you ruined your friendship with her, look, you should…Maybe it’s too late.” 

“At what time is she leaving?” Tom asked, getting up. “I need to see her.” 

Harrison stared at him. “I don’t know, I didn’t ask her, she only wanted her family to say goodbye, why didn’t you go yesterday? She probably doesn’t even want to see you today.” 

“Because I’m an idiot, I can’t let her leave without saying goodbye,” Tom reproached and left to the locker room. Haz joined him at the lockers. 

“So, you’re realizing stuff just the day she’s leaving?” Haz said as Tom was getting out his stuff to shower. 

“Realizing what? She’s my best friend, I just can’ let something stupid make us fall apart before she leaves,” Tom complained. “Hey, look, I screwed up and want to make up for it, is it that bad?”

“The longer that it takes you to realize that you’re in love with her, the harder you will fall,” Haz said, as Tom closed his locker door. 

“I’m not in love with her, I just want to mend things, okay?” Tom walked away to take a shower. His best friend knew him better. 

“Sure, Tom, keep saying that to yourself,” Haz yelled. Tom stepped into the shower, to dive back into the thoughts. Tom wasn’t sure if it was love, but that night, at the wedding he had felt something. 

Yes, of course, he had thought about her. She had been the only girl he had never scored with. Tom didn’t know if it was a mere whim, or if he actually wanted to have her for him. It was a fantasy that he couldn’t even try. Because he wanted her, but he didn’t know how he wanted her, friends with benefits, maybe? No commitment needed. No strings attached. But that was being so selfish because she deserved someone who could love her in her entirety and strictly committed to her. He couldn’t give her that.  

And he was about to lose her. 6 months without her weren’t going to be ideal, especially since this last week had been hell. He had done as told, he didn’t look out for her. Maybe that had been a mistake, he should’ve looked out for her. Their friendship was the best Tom could ask for, and he needed to talk to her, text her at least every day. So he had to look out for her, show her that he loved her more than he loved his rules. 

When he got out, Haz was there. “Dude, you gotta leave now, I called her, she’s leaving to the airport now.” 

“Shit,” Tom yelled as he looked down at himself, he looked horrible. He had brought the worst pair of sweats and an ugly t-shirt to the gym. At least they were clean. “Man, I can’t buy her anything, ah shoot, I’ll just-” 

Tom picked up his keys, gave his backpack to Harrison, and ran out of the gym. He hopped to his motorbike and off he rode to the airport. Time was going too slow and it seemed like every single car in London had decided to crash or make him stop. The traffic was bollocks and he was sure he had at least broken 3 laws while driving. He didn’t care, he’d pay for the tickets later. 

His heartbeat was almost as fast as he was going on the bike. It was until 10 minutes later, he realized he didn’t know from which of the airports she was flying off. He stopped and called Harrison. 

“Please tell me she’s leaving from Heathrow, please, I don’t want to pull a Ross and Rachel, she got off the plane, thing but please, it’s the closest one-” 

“Uh, let me ...Yeah, Heathrow!” 

So Tom continued, it would’ve been horrible if it hadn’t been that airport. Quite embarrassing really. He was letting the adrenaline of the situation move him. He knew it was now or never.

Now or never what? While he was stopped at a traffic light he realized he didn’t know why exactly he was going. To say goodbye? To apologize? To say he felt something more? 

He didn’t, he didn’t feel something more. That wasn’t the point, he needed to see her. To wish her goodbye, to tell her she wasn’t just another one. What a jerk he had been, he hadn’t even called her. 

He passed a flower shop, and debated whether to buy her one or not. He didn’t. So he arrived at the crowded airport, he parked in front of the front doors and ran inside. Seemed like everyone was acting against him, blinding his path along the way. But then, just like magic, he saw her, beautiful as always. She was hugging her grandma and her mother was letting out a few tears. 

Tom ran his way over, trying not to be rude while he pushed away everyone that was standing in between them. y/n was standing backwards. Her mum saw Tom, and he saw how her smile warmed. 

Y/N saw her mother smiling, and turned around with confusion. Tom saw how she broke down when she saw him. Her eyes filled with tears, as she jumped over to him, Tom picking her up in the air, and holding her tight.  

“I’m sorry, y/n,” was his initial statement. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” He whispered in her ear. 

“I’m going to miss you, too.” 

“I’ll give you guys some space,” her mum said, as she stepped off. Her grandma stayed there watching them with a smile. Y/N coughed and her grandma realized how inappropriate she was being and stepped back with her mother. 

Tom looked down at her, as the tears were streaming down. 

“Woah, hey, don’t cry, you don’t like people seeing you cry” Tom smiled as he wiped her tears off. “Look, I’m sorry, I was a jerk, and…” 

“Tommy, don’t-” 

“Shh...let me speak, I love you more anything, okay? You’re not just one more, you’re the best  friend I have,  and please don’t tell that to Harrison.” 

y/n giggled as she hugged him again. “Let’s just forget that night, okay? Please, it didn’t happen.” 

Tom knew he couldn’t forget it, but he nodded anyway, placing a kiss on top of her head. 

“I can’t believe I won’t see you in 6 months, gosh, you’re growing up!” Tom joked, as she punched him lightly. 

“I’m really scared...I won’t go, I don’t want to,” she said, with panic, Tom took her by the shoulders. 

“You’re gonna do it okay? And they’re gonna love you, you’re going to report everything,” Tom chuckled as he made her smile. “I don’t know how that works, okay? But I want you to go and make me proud.” 

“Tommy,” she smiled. 

“And you will text me, every day, okay? Promise me,” Tom said. 

She smiled. “I promise.” 

“You won’t forget me, right?” Tom asked her, wiping away more tears. 

“I won’t, how could I?” She chuckled. “I can’t forget that bent nose.” 

He grinned and then wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t want to let you go, but it’s your dream, so I know I have to. I’m such an idiot for not seeing you these two weeks” 

And they stared deep into each other eyes, making sparks fly. Tom let her go before trouble could come. 

“Tommy,” she took a deep breath and hugged him again. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Love you, too,” and he hugged her knowing this would be the last time he’d be hugging her for 6 months. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but y/n…” Her mum approached her. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” y/n let Tom go, clearing her throat. Tom blushed as he played with his hands. The goodbye went so quick, and before Tom knew it he was watching her walk away. 

No, Tom hadn’t realized it yet, and by the time he would realize it, it would be too late. He still had that stupid song in his head. 

The meaning of my life is

She, she

Oh, she

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[pass-the-bechdel]

Stargate: Continuum

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

No.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Five (17.24% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-four.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Episode Quality:

Smashing! Now this is a movie finish worth making.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Great finish, guys.

Female characters:

Samantha Carter.

Vala Mal Doran.

Heather.

Quetesh.

Nirrti.

Male characters:

Walter Harriman.

Siler.

Paul Davis.

Cameron Mitchell.

Hank Landry.

Daniel Jackson.

Teal’c.

Jack O’Neill.

The Last Ba’al.

Grandpa Mitchell.

Original Ba’al.

Alternate O’Neill.

Wood.

Bernacchi.

Schaffer.

Roche.

Alternate Landry.

Alternate Teal’c.

Apophis.

Cronus.

Henry Hayes.

George Hammond.

Alex.

Camulus.

OTHER NOTES:

Of course Ba’al is the Big Bad for the last SG1 outing ever. Best villain(s) they ever had.

“How’s tricks, B?”

“The stargate...is in a box.”

The way time travel works in this movie is very illogical, but they buy the concession with quality storytelling. 

Daniel had his leg amputated and you know I love those kinds of consequences.

The montage of the team trying to tell their story is great. Excellent way to communicate the frustration and repetition. 

Reality ensues! I’m super into it. 

Sassy ol’ Apophis. Love it.

Pffft Quetesh name-drops Zipacna as a ‘once-powerful system lord’. That giant dingus? C’mon.

Ba’al is so smug, and it’s as insufferable as it is hilarious.

I can’t believe I’ma be ruled by Camulus in this timeline. I mean, unless the Free Jaffa get my end of the country, but let’s be real. Camulus would stick them with the shitty west coast. I’ll be stuck with Camulus.

I’m a fan of Ba’al’s whole more-flies-with-honey approach. 

He didn’t exactly play it right with Quetesh though, huh? The whole taking-her-as-his-queen thing (with the touching that she flinches at, et al) rings that lovely assault bell, which is extremely unnecessary. The only logical (’logical’) reason for Ba’al to have kept Quetesh alive at all is out of pure arrogance, which admittedly is neither OOC for a Goa’uld nor is it inconsistent with the insufferable smugness I mentioned earlier. That said, the forward-thinking involved in Ba’al blending his dominance with mercy over his subjects in order to keep them in line by giving them juuust enough of what they want implies a level of intelligent planning which is totally at odds with keeping an old enemy subjugated by his side as a bauble instead of either killing her or treating her in the same manner as he has every other system lord he conquered, and it wouldn’t have taken much effort to write Quetesh into the same circumstances as everyone else and still have her turn on Ba’al when the opportunity arose. We could have neatly avoided any implication of abuse, and it would have been a smarter choice for Ba’al (which, under the circumstances, would also be much more realistic than him having such a massive lapse in judgment as forcing his enemy to become his queen. Like that won’t obviously go wrong. Seriously).

Extracting a Goa’uld with a needle straight between the eyes may be visually engaging, but it’s nonsensical. Whatever.

This movie is so much better than the other one, damn. The characters and their personalities and wants and decisions actually matter to the story! It has emotional nuance! It has pacing! The plot has complications which follow in a sensible order and which involve all of our leads within the same narrative, no useless B-plots allowed! It’s almost like someone really tried to make it work this time instead of phoning it in. 

This movie gets us back to the basics with the Goa’uld, it trades in nostalgia, but it doesn’t get bogged down in rehashing old plot and it has plenty of fun with the time travel conceit. Having Ba’al essentially deal with everything SG1 dealt with over the years in order to model events to his benefit was a great way to bring the show full-circle without being totally obvious about it - we get some cameos and references to remind us of how things once were, the things our characters faced over the years to make the world (and the galaxy) into what it was for them before Ba’al tried to mess with history, but this isn’t a movie about repeating the past, and it makes its very own endgame out of the premise while also tying off the last great loose thread: not just the question of whether or not there were any more Ba’al’s on the loose, but the entire lingering notion that there might still be Goa’uld out there gathering themselves to cause a major ruckus. This show began with the Goa’uld in almost total control of the galaxy, and absolutely The Ones To Beat: even if there ARE some other low-level Goa’uld biding their time out there, with the thwarting of the Boss Level ambitions of our final, wily Ba’al, we establish once and for all that handling naughty space worms is old hat for our heroes, and the story we began over a decade ago now, is done. All that’s left is a full series review.

#Stargate: Continuum #Stargate SG1 #Bechdel Test #female representation #Continuum

[sugar-petals]

BTS Hogwarts Houses

Bangtan sorted with their ♦ core quality. 

Disclaimer: Written by a Slytherin. 

Jimin - Slytherin | ♦ Charming 

“What will you be like in 10 years?” - “I’ll be on the world news, what else… I’ll be a man that the whole world wants.” That’s Slytherin aspiring to greatness. Like he wanted to be the #1 swordsman after watching One Piece as a kid and picked up fencing. That easily excludes cautious Hufflepuff who wants to be loved but only in their frugal sphere without bold ambitions. And Ravenclaw who’d be in analysis paralysis before they even thought of going global. Jimin lacks most aquiline traits in particular. Like he made fun of RM’s convoluted existential philosophy in AHL. Doesn’t mean he has intellectual disdain, consider how much of an ace in math/chemistry he was. But it wasn’t for curiosity. More like Jimin’s trademark goal-orientation, concealed behind this planet’s most charming smile. He hides a lot of fraternity bias, too, with a mask of Hufflepuff’s altruism. But inside, he is motivated by praise for personal gains. He goes about it in a perfectionistic way and won’t bother with Gryffindor’s cowardice issues… which points to Slytherin. Career comes first at all cost. He wants power over the audience, the applause. Not much adventure or savior complex going on. While daredevils Tae and Hobi always say after practice/filming how fun it was despite the challenge (Gryffindor heroism focus), pragmatic Jimin - just like JK and Suga - sees the shortcomings to work on (Slytherin competency focus). He wants to avoid public humiliation, see weight and voice struggles. Gryffindor would boldly say: suck it up, haters. But Jimin is different, too dark and vulnerable below the surface. He can’t handle malicious critique or being overshadowed. I was born in Busan first! Greed to dance center! Look at me only, or else I get angry. Slytherin claiming the top spot there, not afraid to threaten. He will change his manners, looks, or complete objective to achieve. No other house is that adaptable. And with his level of smooth like a snake flirting, without a doubt he has plenty of sexy cunning, too.

Taehyung - Gryffindor | ♦ Daring 

Power or wisdom he does not crave. It’s a decision between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and I argue for the former. His goal when he was young and couldn’t afford things was to have a “fabulous” life, to provide for himself and everything his relatives lacked. HP translation: chivalry and fighting for the underdog. He said he admired the heroism of his dad, or the sacrifice of the protagonist in one of his favorite movies, “A Wolf’s Temptation”. V wanted to become a singer because of the positive feedback from his peers when he was on stage. Disclosing his core values, he states wanting to be confident and not giving up. That’s Gryffindor’s will, social adventure spirit, and valor. Consider the wild things he does on live television in general. He eats things he shouldn’t eat, endlessly teased his pet dog by blowing on it, nae nae’d for KBS and the entire world, danced in stilettos, and once left in the middle of broadcast to go to the toilet walking through the entire venue. For me as a Slytherin: unfathomable, and Yoongi thinks the same since Tae’s Cypher performance. You probably spotted a Gryffindor when the Slytherins are not having it. It’s boldness mixed with a lax attitude that rubs snakes the wrong way: ”Grades are not that important”. I don’t see a hard-working, decency-loving Hufflepuff. It’s the impulse of Gryffindor that will not micro-manage or conform. There are some other few moments that made me think Gryff. In Run BTS Ep.32 he did not play fair at all, first protected Jungkook, then bluffed to betray him. Too much mischief for consistent and just Hufflepuff. “Rescuer house” Gryffindor is a lot less focused on loyalty even in jest. Last but not least: Last time I checked, the “V” sign stands for victory so we really have a lion here. 

Yoongi - Slytherin | ♦ Goal-oriented 

No doubts about this old soul. The day Agust D finished everyone, the minute Min Yoonji entered the room, the moment Suga broke down receiving the 2016 daesang, his house was set. Need more evidence? “You need people like me to point your fuxxin’ fingers and say ‘that’s the bad guy’”. Verbatim from the mixtape cover. No Ravenclaw nor Hufflepuff would EVER promote that. Gryffindor is eliminated, too. He rather cares about the power behind the throne, the respect, the skills and resources that he will keep secret if he has to. He’d even want being feared which practically no other house desires or has use for. Yoongi operates in the shadows, literally at night. Slytherin loves the dark, the common room would be so perfect for him. 200+ songs a year? That’s what I call ambition. He knew what his purpose was ever since, too. No surprise he loves trophies, it was all in his past vision. His sharp tongue, “I’m a genius” antics, and stance of observation signify Slytherin's cunning braggadocio style. All mixed with shrewdness, as does his fixation on the past. If you go through the house traits, yeah. He does have them all. He gets along with actual living snakes just fine as well, just like Jimin. I mean, Suga is so Slytherin he could straight up hang out with Merlin himself to talk about what it means to be at the top. If he wasn’t busy producing - read: goal-orientedness and self-preservation -  he’d be a leader candidate. Suga has a lot of boss qualities and can guide things to success without disclosing everything. Confer his Festa hosting, he keeps the members on track. Most clear-cut Slytherin in Bangtan.   

Jin - Hufflepuff | ♦ Caring EDIT:  I consider Jin a Gryffindor by now. 

Loyal, hardworking, practical, cheerful, family-oriented, traditional, anti-competition, friendly, slept on. Jin meets each criterium to a T. He always seems like he just came to chill with his favorite people. Hufflepuff is often compared to the homely Hobbit culture, I find it absolutely dead-on and reminiscent of Jin’s mentality. He once stated that he envied his father’s “well-regulated life” and complained about such an ordinary lifestyle being difficult as he grew up. If that doesn’t ring a bell. Hufflepuff does not fit into the KPop industry at all, but they are the ones who really keep it running. Huff takes out the competition from Gryffindor/Slytherin social structures. Look at EatJin (Helga Hufflepuff also introduced food enthusiasm to Hogwarts). “252,031 people are watching me eat. Great. It can’t get any more uncomfortable than this.” Not much risk-taking or fame-seeking involved there. Worldwide handsome you say, he’s really digging it and shows all that confidence? I say that’s Jin getting with the program of what others say about him and projecting it outward to get their support - Hufflepuff first and foremost wants love. Yet it’s in a tug-of-war, it wants to be heard but also politely restrains itself so when they get a chance to self-advocate, of course, they take it! It’s to feel secure and to adapt, not because he’s arrogant or not modest. And Namjoon put him in Gryffindor. The rule-breakers and fighters. You had one job. But I bet it was to be in the same house with him or to give him some credit. If someone does not get the lines they deserve it’s Hufflepuff, because unlike Slytherin or Gryffindor, they don’t push their talents forward because they value a cozy and less eventful life much more. 

J-Hope - Gryffindor | ♦ Passionate  

Q: “How does it feel to be having this global success?” - JH: “Woo! It’s nice!” Gryffindor loves fame. Our Hobi did not hesitate to answer one bit there. He has a whole lot of nerve and boldness, fits perfectly into America’s very Gryffindor culture, did you notice? Don’t let the flinch game or horror clip reaction fool you. What he values is daring. The rest is just exercising what he is good at - expressing emotions, and you can be sure he amps it up for the entertainment. If there is one house who likes an uproar, it’s the lions. They’re just not into snakes, that’s all. Also, Gryff heroism - “I was so afraid, but I survived!” style. At the beginning, he was confident since he wanted to test himself. And then it backfired. Like on Corden he exclaimed “Wow!” and danced toward the glass when it was his turn, then got caught by surprise. Classic: Gryff’s volition overriding all planning or foresight. It lacks Slytherin’s or Ravenclaw’s consideration and cautious Hufflepuff’s comfort mentality. He always goes straight ahead to combat boredom for everybody while the other members would be too embarrassed or slow. His room apparently is the noisiest. Is it a Gryffindor trait that they are very loud? I do think so. Partly because it ties to their traits of being people-oriented, temperamental, and talkative, which definitely applies to Hobi. It’s a good point to attach similar Hufflepuff values to him. But he still has that one edge of chivalry and glee in winning that makes him a lion, while he is neither very grounded nor unafraid of toil. In fact, he’s not into the sturdy badgers’ extra hard work, Slytherin’s ruthless pursuit, or Ravenclaw’s intellectual experiments and projects. Guess why Suga (S) and Joon (R) have their mixtapes out while he doesn’t. J-Hope excels more using a whim and scattered energy to charge into the situation at hand. 

Namjoon - Ravenclaw | ♦ Intelligent

So he sorted himself into Gryffindor. Technically, you can’t say anything against that. You go where you want to go since it shows what traits you like the most. But in his case, come on. He has no Gryffindor qualities nor do his choices in life effectively show Gryffindor values. There is a reason why he always envies Suga’s trivia knowledge. Why he’s the only one in BTS who likes to spend time in the bookstore. Why he had his “Problematic Men” show. Why Namjoon raises the LGBT+ flag so high. Why his rap and puns show great wit and second thought. Why he goes on a galaxy-level tangent any time a deep topic comes up. Why ignorance is vitriol to him. He values Ravenclaw traits. Not that his high IQ would place him there, but rather how he expresses it. All for knowledge’s sake. He prefers to be in his intellectual sphere like a scholar which clearly distinguishes him from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. He’s formal, well-conceived, caught off guard when confronted with his fame. What’s quite interesting is that he represents the humanitarian slant of his house, Ravenclaw isn’t all books and no heart, “callous” as its main flaw is described. It’s about acceptance and conscientiousness for Namjoon. He’s an iconoclastic, wise romantic who loves to learn, and sophisticated as this house suggests. It shows whenever he writes letters for SNS. Yeah I’m all for going into the house you want to be the most - RM wants to be a Gryffindor - but if he has not one reckless bone in him and effectively does not choose courage by all means, it’s Ravenclaw which reflects him perfectly.

Jungkook - Slytherin | ♦ Self-Preserving

Typical Slytherin introvert. Shy, but determined. That sets him apart from Gryffindor in particular. If he had to choose between asking IU for her number or impressing her with his skills indirectly, he chooses the latter. Gryffindor wouldn’t even think about that and dive in head first even if the odds of rejection are high. Slytherin estimates their chances instead, looks for the best way to use their resources successfully. He’s tactical, economical, but doesn’t want to accumulate knowledge like Ravenclaws who can be equally calculating. Look at his shrugged-off responses to math questions on air. The only book he’ll ever pick up is a comic or manga. Given how much self-preservation he demonstrated so far, how much he emphasizes ambition, Slytherin is a no-brainer. Social house Hufflepuff would reach out to bond, meanwhile Jungkook: showered alone in the early days, stays in his room, goes to Hongdae by himself, few tweets, mutes the group chat... On the other hand: Piano Tiles, wrestling, bowling, working out: JK comes out of his shell and gives it his all when he knows his efforts will be valued. He’s hypercompetitive even with small things, was not above shoving J-Hope aside mid-air to claim his title as #TheBunny in Run BTS Ep.33. If he’s forcibly pigeonholed as the baby maknae, then he’ll make it a freaking success. Delegate Slytherin an assignment that they are sure of tackling and they get active. Without a goal, what’s the use? Finally, there’s a pretty salient reason behind why he loves G-Dragon and was inspired by him to become a star in the first place. GD is the King of serpents. Slytherin family allegiance and aristocracy much? It also ties to how he treats his parents, this guy is on another level. 

Gif cr. x x x x x x x

#bts #bangtan #bts hogwarts #bts hogwarts houses #bangtan hogwarts houses #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #harry potter #hogwarts houses #sorting hat #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan scenarios #bangtan imagines #kpop hogwarts au #kpop hogwarts #jimin #park jimin #slytherin!jimin #taehyung #v #kim taehyung #gryffindor!taehyung #yoongi #suga #agust d #min yoonji #min suga #min yoongi

[sapphireskys]

TLJ SPOILERS (my review!!)

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OK SO I JUST WATCHED IT AND WOOOOW

1. REY AND BEN. yeah that's all. It's says enough on its own lmao

2. That uhhh... Milk scene.... Was the weirdest shit I've ever seen lmao

3. THE HUT SCENE!!! I just... It was so beautiful, and how he took off his glove, which was just so telling of... Well, him being himself, him being vulnerable. He wasn't hiding behind a mask to Rey, no, he was being himself, and that's just so beautiful

4. Also lmao at Rey being like PUT SOME CLOTHES ON and Ben just straight up ignores her lmao

5. Luke was perfect. And well... The way he went, it was just so fitting tbh. Well done

6. OK but at that part where Luke dusts his shoulder after getting blasted at the whole goddamn cinema started clapping like honestly I suddenly love my people lmao

7. They did this again when it was revealed Luke was actually just sitting on a rock lmao and yes same tbh

8. I?? Love?? Amilyn Holdo?? So?? Much??? Honestly I was so sad when... You know...

9. Poe got character development and I'm so happy lol

10. Finn and Rose. Again no words needed. Perfection

11. Shout-out to Paige Tico for making me attached to her in like the first 5 minutes lmao

12. Rose

13. That scene where Poe hugs BB8 like??? So beautiful

14. Honestly DJ I trusted you (almost)

15. BB8

16. OK but that scene where Leia just straight up majestically floats through space like an actual goddamn princess lmao like honestly that's so Leia

17. THE PRAETORIAN GUARD FIGHT

18. Snoke's death should be in those "Oddly Satisfying" videos like honestly I never knew such sadistic glee till his pieces scattered lmao

19. OK but Snoke's death being so anticlimactic was honestly just... Really poetic. It showed that no matter how strong you are, how much control you think you have, you don't. I mean I could probably phrase this better but it's late and my thoughts are scrambled lol

20. Again I love how Rey and Ben were, but what I lived the most is that when Ben, during that one moment, reverted back to Kylo (the mask) she rejected him, because he honestly needs to fix himself, and he can't do that if she goes with him

21. Luke and Leia's scene killed me. Yes, I am indeed a ghost writing this long ass review lol

22. Also Snoke is an ass. That is all. He's an ass.

23. But seriously that moment where they were all in the throne room and he just decided to manipulate Rey and Ben both by saying their bond was his doing, making them feel as though it shouldn't exist, that it was a perverse lie, BUT THEN IN THE END YOU SEE IT STILL EXISTS DESPITE SNOKE'S DEATH LIKE AAAAAHH

24. Luke's death was, once again, beautiful. It was like Yoda's, in a way, and he just accepted that his part was played. He had no role in any of this anymore. He had fulfilled his purpose, and was able to die in peace. Hence "Peace and Purpose"

25. Also I love that Ben wasn't the one who killed him.

26. OK but honestly Luke really messed up with Ben. I mean he tried to kill a child in his sleep. And then what Luke said "I saw the eyes of a child betrayed by his master" or something like that

27. Anyway the porgs were cuter than I thought they'd be, BUT THE CRYSTAL FOXES THO

28. AND THE FATHIERS

29. And that ending! Rey's disappointed face as she looked at Ben and closed the door, and Ben's sad face, as the dice disappeared, symbolizing that he could not escape his past (I think)

30. OK BUT now that Rey's saber is broken, DOES THAT MEAN SHE REBUILDS IT AND IT'S CRACKLY??? I MEAN NICE

31. The while movie in general. Enough said lol. I mean it was so great that my sister (who hasn't seen star wars and only knew the base outline of the movie that I literally told her today) loved it, and was sad when certain characters died (not you Snoke) and I'm like highkey sure she's trying to chill and appear calm regarding Rey and Ben lol

32. also I forgot this but when Luke showed up in the hut during the Hut Scene™ and exploded it I could literally feel everyone thinking "oh shit Luke what the hell NO srsly bro don't no wonder Ben hates you" and honestly I agree 100 percent lmao

33. Oh and I love the recurring thing that Ben says ie "Say it" because it shows not only that Rey's lying to herself, but also that Ben is too, only he's unable to see the good as Rey is the bad, and I just really love this parallel

34. Anyway since it's obvious that if Ben dies Rey will too (raw powah + 2 halves + Force Bond?? Duh) so either they're gonna pull a Romeo and Juliet in 9 (pls no) or they're gonna inverse Anidala and have Ben make comments on sand (lol)

35. ALSO "Join me and we'll rule the galaxy together!" "Anakin, please, you're going down a path I can't follow!"... Ring any bells? THAT'S RIGHT "Join me Rey, together we will rule the galaxy (or something idk)" "Please, Ben, don't do this. Don't go this way. (or something)"

36. ALSO I sense a pattern with Ben, he's inversing Anakin, 7 was the Vader stage, 8 was ep.3 stage (see above), AND 9 WILL (hopefully) BE THE EP.2 STAGE (get ready for Extra as hell Emperor Ben floating pears and making commentary about sand lmao)

37. I was joking about the sand and pears.

38. Also Yoda appeared and was Classic Yoda as always lmao

Anyway I wanna know Rian's ao3 account because honestly I'd read everything there lol

#tlj spoilers #spoilers #Reylo #Honestly I'd tag this more but I'd like don't feel like it lol #Also anyway I had my heart broken them patched up with scotch tape #Or whatever that weak papery tape is called lmao #I'm like sad because DUH but also sorta happy and hopeful because as I see it there's gonna be a happy ending in 9 #Bcuz if Ben dies then so do Leia and Rey #And that'd be a disservice to Leia #Killing her offscreen lmao #She'd go out in style lol #Despite it all #She is a Skywalker lmao

[turuses-blog]

Mute pt.

Alternative Lit Johnathan Edward Barrett Urbalonis

Copyright 2019

ALTERNATIVE LIT

trippy wisdom given to words

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deadly nightshade on a rose

Posted by barrett on June 6, 2014 at 10:45 AM

comments (0)

scantily wrought fences of just-turned-deep-red, read rights of leverage to the thorns that there wrest. a rustling of feather for the wind against the salut bricken brack, which if these were to wilt, still wouldn't form sullen vest. all now investing in a business, a night-lock to guard off spiders who trample on silk, like - sort of a call to arms on a coat of thread, which thick twisty greens would not abed. a cast of action in the worn breeze, easy to impress, though, just a lacklustre show all around makes it a deathly thing to fall in paro. lost in the lake a boy with tong hands serrates, bliss and wouldn't miss arrive a lucid parliament that fate the dice at its gate.

when the phone ran

Posted by barrett on June 6, 2014 at 10:15 AM

comments (0)

we aren't: part - parted - to depart upon our hearts' fair compartment. an apartment view with a lockpick, key to rampint desertion of a lip of rearrangement notice. 'preferred - our - hour to post pardon the ploxick (several metallic solid flats on a ring that doesn't rust), twice- denote sick out of slang or of a toxic; ways to find chalk kick. alter fast cerebral mask... the what? the ears... twice had; listening to a ploxick till the connotation rang with just the jittery sound. and sometime some laugh at otto and homer when the phone rang.

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bell jar 1

Posted by barrett on June 3, 2014 at 6:00 PM

comments (0)

awaking to the time 3:30. coldfront and bird chirps. lake breeze and talk about trees. maslow's heirarchy of needs - be - monolithic i'm deed, as those: astute; finger cramp tailor's can produce. but isn't that the perfect fit? when will it be nostalgic to wear something else.

perplexity

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 2:30 PM

comments (0)

arriving concave, jostled by a fir tree, the hammocked backend of the real mirror in use began accompany.

as far as we know, trees are very hard to knock down, though we can sleep in a tent or hammock, and understand it. horizontally?

perplexity

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 2:30 PM

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arriving concave, jostled by a fir tree, the hammocked backend of the real mirror in use began accompany.

as far as we know, trees are very hard to knock down, though we can sleep in a tent or hammock, and understand it. horizontally?

tailored sheen

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 1:30 PM

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a brilliant, orthodox woman. with strings of galaxies plummetting from her natural sombrero. like 'what would she wear. 'though incomplete, she dances probably with steep falls inbetween elite things that remind me of a sombrero. a cadillidac convertor tattooed on her favorite shirt. this is not too real. insofar as i describe her she merits tangible relapses into beauty. knowing most things about her would require a chair. and chairs or no chairs, sombrero and insofar as sombrero, tangible relaptic strings of galaxies which i add insofar as it lasts for however long. however.

cosmeriment

Posted by barrett on May 31, 2014 at 1:25 PM

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every other, insofar as both, as construed, are or our lover. where the sinking sand is truth. now and then, insofar as false, one or two, remain constrained to a patch, a field, a cyclic ameobic dealing with the ineptitude of love. are or our love? which lasts longer. like 'also-' witch lasts longer. which are witch our lover love stoop.

from a binocular a bird follows then insofar as takes flight.

isn't this where the magical birds come from?

and

Posted by barrett on May 24, 2014 at 5:45 PM

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             it was unpleasant. the whole ordeal. i made toast earlier and it seems to have disappeared. the toaster was not out. where, most importantly when. ive been up for about an hour and a half. what have i done other than toast bread... just then L walks in the door. he told me about the toast i ate in front of him. was that a crumb on his chin.. he told me how i walked, almost sleeping, back to bed, with the intent, to toast more... it was then, L said, lets have a toast. couldve meant like four things... he cant be trusted. L raised a peice of bread and there appeared around me many guests at and around the table, though on the other side of the toaster... I dont know why i wasnt scared, I was too hungry. Then I disappeared.

passin me by

Posted by barrett on May 24, 2014 at 5:35 PM

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they say i say the lottery is passing me by. one way, this way im on a road with no tombstone around to wave hi. the day of which and when, though its passable at convenience, is off road and tangible through a womb a wreckage and decay. i said , decaying with Gods children was building a rhythm... now artifacts of cars and syntax hold me to a sky of disdain. reclaiming an idle position is hard at times, on this road to ala coaster, spring flout letter intendency i unreign for something ever after, rest in peace harold raimes, and anyone gone on the way around the desert. it seems surprisingly small, perhaps the tombstones lay in the sand hazards.

passin me by.

a rule not a thumb

passin me by

a thumb not a rule

passin me by

whys everything sought after after

passin me by

a highways a noose before its strung into fibres.

untitled

Posted by barrett on May 20, 2014 at 1:00 AM

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a relic gifted in stone, found, dethrowned from the wall. embedded in a stone. rhythmic licensure of a chisel might fit it enough to bring it home. as i said... prone focus, a 'fast' fastening to a thread. spanning it bears the color red, a ruby. from the look of it, i'd say its dead meet.

quintessential byproduction is a growing field, i think.

typecast publishers boycott surmounting headlines; too many cases of rigormortis,

and that still doesnt hold flame like the fresh stake on the sill...

thin

Posted by barrett on May 19, 2014 at 4:40 PM

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a caterpillar hangout to the hummingbird in the morning. over toast passing french. graduation hat vertical complex, duo original animations that string out like a sandstorm. crystal yet elements of partake, abashed with no duration. all form unified specifications for a distraught mot liason. original favouring tricyclic milk glasses. 'like strawberry flavour, is going to keep me wrapt with this newspaper. 'back when paper was new, sort of sorting of the stork's occasion, to see inert pegs, cut, paste on.

inaudible recordings of select indivisions

Posted by barrett on May 19, 2014 at 2:25 PM

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If it occured to anyone, it has ownership of value, if value is sought in activity. any valued thought allows vocation or hitherto spirited activity. but of what value can the same thought be?

in allegiance, it may be necessary to rekindle the same thought, even though it is counter-intuitive. its actually used in that fashion of malcontent, accruing a different vocation. this is where value becomes spent.

"i never said i loved you. your heart of malcontent was spent on my breaks."

tifa lockhart

Posted by barrett on May 19, 2014 at 2:00 PM

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believe that i can fly. in a world

i see before me laying down the

sky, in a precautious sort of learning.

believe that these can.

whatever they are for others too

hold hands, built to ravish clouds

just testing what wear

hair lengths,

i would like to fly longer

what if i pair with

a parrot

a loch ness monster

a pidgeon

a mobster

'belie dat

thats how it started,

for all these lines, and time is ownlay: carving

the root of what i see,

come follow me, to aesop and sega genesis

where apparel costs the prophet

a glance, with which a slippet can defeat the solace

now ive truly expounded.

"i imagine sloppy seed handling."

the image is like a mirror

the listening skills of a mirror form partial glances to belie the harvest

where?

believe that these can

you'll forget it or knot

this lillie is prime place and principle

ooh look what mom bought

now im caught between a rose and a stout...

wait a second,

white paint

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 9:00 PM

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breaking buildings of trust, epithet lustrous. I want an effigy to read me. lost stuff, pleads 'be'. in a land full of happiness lived a friendly octopus, who need-be tangled up with rustic 'font', little does this octopus know of where its stowed, or going, though he felt snow on top of a boat about a week ago. oh, and between me thumbs, sorry for the wait, and whatever, though I also love my metaphors intact as tressels can become.

only breaking a building.

if it weren't for the antipathy of an occasive injury supplanted by porridge-wrought inert-asive-ship, this belittled sea creature could create a censure wherever it was plait. no more, no more.

the shore broke the sand.

at last stands a villa of domicilia, and like cilia the people tangle through the festivities.

life and the eternal eclipse of finding, part two

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 7:45 PM

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"everything should just be this way." said gypsum and led them to a sunken cavern hollow where it was dark. "if we light any fire we shall be blinded by the reflections of the treasure over the treasure. its best we hollow out the treasure in sequence to get it all out." and so they did.

it was high time they made back with the treasure, but no one wanted treasure anymore, except them. luckily every home in the village had a little treasure. yet to be, was the equal or lesser want of treasure. they had flat discs of metal, and cuttings of stone, shaped weapons of a different metal, and jewellery of all types. bailey didn't even want his horse back.

here we see what a geologist does

life and the eternal eclipse of finding, part one

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 7:05 PM

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"in a far off place, there are treasures" gypsum said, "I can take you there, to them, if the price is right."

"if the price is right, then." Hamlin said.

gypsum held back his horse which was drawing closer from the stable, alongside bailey. "the only problem is that they are guarded by the utmost, wickedest creature known to man, yet not creatures." gypsum got on the horse.

Hamlin stunted his smile and asked the valiant-assuming, postured knight what he meant.

"it is guarded by treasure."

in this tale we see the characters distraught.

a starlit necessary

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 6:55 PM

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blanket starch bold allegiance to the thrown of two for the basket. cloth never reminded me so much of eggshell, said with a mist of chalk or something. no doubt today would flout the risking of a pantomime. by very well boisterous rising of swells that dawn allegedlldy fell. somewhere else. a felt tip drags, and some mothers cry.

sweeping a ray in nightly tide, venomous uncouth hand holding that say to the nightingale across the shore: fly by! if its up to pigment to gain the moon, neither could tell, but a bright lightning light, storms her deep memory of perchance and wail and wait and why.

the arrow fur of a tonic hold deep aghast, cast sheep on the clouds that peeve and prance whisking away the tide. trial neatly folded the blanket is now set. ready for everything, yet, not in a young sort of way. asking, where is this place, and where are we off to mixes backwards and time, slightly grazes her arm and they beg to ask why.

the moon held an old coat from her closet the lake or river, or both, made a inaudible concert the blanket lay in pieces.

the next day sprung, like no one had been there, save a patch of flattened earth, the size of about two people, those that truly are due.

,hard to see fit, a reminisce, acquiesced by either while they choke on fever, under blankets so warm inside or out waiting for the sun, for no reason.

diatribe

Posted by barrett on May 14, 2014 at 5:50 PM

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it was around the ninth that a segment of the show aired in the middle of a stream of commercials. it was hailed as the only thing to look for afterwards.

bob sprocket came into work with a ticket for his leave, unknowingly, being the only member of his team to have caught a fixed the glitch

anyway, on the twelvth they had it savvy, worked like an extra suspension cable to the workings of a television show and anchored the commercial representativity to a glistening extreme.

on the thirteenth they aired a fake commercial for 'sprocket cleanser,' a little too much like a commercial. somewhere else they thought of making the product.

bob sprocket oriented himself in the lunch room before nine oclock on the fifteenth, when he noticed his picture was on the television, him from when he started working at the small initiate of office. he took his leave the following day.

things got a little messy.

«

clothes

Posted by barrett on May 6, 2014 at 3:45 PM

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three thousand years ago, and now before, a something like a sentient building will cast existence flames like sewing a curtain. a rif in the time continuum. without knowledge of us it shall pick up where it left off and we`ll be held in trust. it happens all the time, mayybe. maybe just the sound distinguishing remarks of a plot punctured. surfers these days should know all about, but it seems like they don`t.

if it were to ever happen, its most likely to be ferretted into convenient thought of a more widespread diaspora and be hassled into notation, being the differennce between now and then solely; whether it provides either way is categorically imperative and no stress we could come up with in physics could partake in its mysterious intuition.

nevermind

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 1:35 PM

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a rare breed of dog called the foglace has been meritoriously attributed to the southern hemisphere of the continent of the americas. Deep in the subtropical jungles of eastern peru there was found several packs of this breed. the foglace is of a predictable discretion, though with mild anterior bends on the ears; a large patch of black on the stomach & a lime orange tinge coating it in lacey fur. the dog hunts at twilight for prey like lemurs and muscrats, never consuming them whole, especially at first take.

the breed has recently travelled up to the tip of the panamalian canal's south side, where it inveritably waits for passage. it is being debated whether or not the dog should be introduced to a broader, dryer cllimate, as invariably breedds shall mix.

thus brings me to the account of one Peter Jogstone, a breeder of dogs and kennel keeper in at least three states. he attained a sample of the dogs hair and immediately orderred one.. two very profound events, one merit, one surmount. to his lliking he now has one male foglace. in the summer of last year he travelled to alaska with it, which he called dawson.

missing

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 4:45 AM

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course of these whimsy feverish lips and

towards you, feel restrained with locks; this feeble

attempt of garullous youthful tolerance

fills me with thee revolt of people's keep-all

circunscription where the laughter is fake.

Though a laugh shared between there and here is,

partly made practical by the weery stakes

the enamorred with whichever might kiss.

attentive recourse in all but just that

can extinguish a messy happenning

and to you i say this is just a flat

surface of thorns to call a bed again

ageless prospective atrocious kissing

versus the time it was fun to do so (

art

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 4:25 AM

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he has grace together that cares so

a caress from his hand could score wax

an utterable countenace with arrows

often marked as woman, though more man.

'at leisure he spotted yes and no

and decided to drop anchor,

with a pull string on his ward so

he let the talk come from the pure

help wanted

Posted by barrett on April 21, 2014 at 4:10 AM

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a frightening evening is all she could recall, and on this very night it started - to the extent of her interpolation - with the same few odd quirks. its funny, her and betty always seemed to dote on myla's quirks, it seemed indifferent till about two weeks ago and tonite. the two in likely sweep from work to granite street where they part ways was wayward and elongated by the extra two hours they had to put in. as i was saying, the moon shined a yellow pallor and seemed to move the clouds like curtains. sometimes they would look up and see nothing. their talk was hurried and just short ofpanic in the late evening hour where no cars would pass by and the hedges creeped. as a tactful glance into the structure of their conversation which i waiting for myla's arrival made out afterwards, was that they seemed to be coming back to the same topic of what it is like to walk by a cemetery. myla and betty ended up at granite street safely and parted. myla told me she heard betty's dog a lot sooner than usual and that it made her feel diffident - the term she used.

For the next week she remained diffident in all bodice and color; her movements, her appraisal, her reprize all diffident. i started seeing her in a new light, like she was getting over something, or for the most part, was over something.

naughts

Posted by barrett on April 20, 2014 at 8:35 PM

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a net silence of glossy colored sheets flared up with the coffee. he gave them a look and removed the green one. 'ah a sensation' he gloated. 'for that green coated slip was mean, no more meandering at the bottom of the chain. he put it on top of the manilla. already virtuoso reptilian, though flushed emerald in the light from beside the computer.

the office lights werent on, he was last to leave already, and on the sidewalk -manilla / green flanking his right side.

the next day the reverse was put on Chimey's desk and he waited for the slips to come in again, both. the coffee... nothing... the lights... nothing, it seems he'd be fired, so he looked back to the clock. time was ticking by.

the coffee, the lights.

the coffee, the lights.

the coffee, the lights.

at home on saturday he received a green phone call. "too much manilla"

the coffee, the letterhead gold, the lights, the reflection, the phone call, the fine, the workers, the elevator, the ruby red, the address, the plot thickens, the coffee colored manilla, the entropy

fixed glossy coatings

orange corner

blank white by the hundred,

pink slips

no color up the sleeves on the way out the manager said, and so he never left that white letterhead.

paste and clips

all or nothing

a black sheet of paper tacked to the wall, only. validity. special reproach to candor manifestly opaque in difference, just a different outcome, where the colors' colors shine bright. black

afficiency

Posted by barrett on April 20, 2014 at 3:30 PM

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"only a villain so fantastic could have plotted something like this" the curtains were spread apart and light shined down on the muddy boot, alone, next to the eyeing jazz fiend. "i mean, theres no connection between this jazzman and anyone within ten miles. though there are a few laniards from a nearby festival held within a week of today everyear."

"how jolly"

"except he won't be at this festival, because he's dead."

"what! are you sure he isn't just creating jazz music...?"

"he might be, in jazz heaven..."

the scene was pretty dolled up. candles found their way onto open offering surfaces and a vinyl record player lay agape on the endtable across the floor.

"it seems he was entertaining."

"wait he's coming to."

the jazz man's grasp of the saxophone gave way and slid a little on the hardwood floor.

"no, just a reproof. hes dead. he won't be at the festival, it seems the murder was done by jazz itself, cuz no man can control it."

"he was good though." aaron said

"a little too good maybe." delroy said

"why don't we play the record and recreate the scene?"

"not till the jazzman is gone."

the grave words.

Occasive Down-end

Posted by barrett on April 17, 2014 at 7:35 PM

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             drowning in a sea of silk, a lightning strikes! and turns it to felt. 'Whatever happened to the simpler days, was never so complex. and often on a podium right next to the studio you can see the next. But blaintant rampint chronologies of force (touring) can only make sport for less-subdued blood, banishing the trudge of mud.

then we climb out, nails to the brink, time is stout, fail to think, just get yourself out, trails on brinks.

When did we have to say things like "thanks for the bargain." that really means something to me,

dare we fold an iris and seeth rew totalled and friendly to the scent of focus?

tending sticks for walking till repition

a blank face on a boat with a storm with a smile. either i'll paddle backwards or reginald will while i forth.

occasive buoyancy

Posted by barrett on April 17, 2014 at 7:25 PM

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in light of the spectrum, pixels animated readdress fulcrum. though like certain applications suggest it may act upon another axis. in light of this question i shall observe glasses and try to see through the seams of nature, conjugated. in light of hindsight i'd say there has been a lot of light shed on the subject. and in light im all opaque and with-feature. in light balance of statement, theory, plan, musing and what id like to call 'entropy', i feel all masked and ashamed in the dark and empty, wanting to talk about shells and repositioning my feet. first i will look up entropy, and tie it in:

done and done

the deaf ears for crazy

Posted by barrett on April 16, 2014 at 4:40 AM

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Crazy, the word, is a professed lazy assailant of one's marker. The strongest argument made by the latest philosopher's is a discontinuity between perception and reality. Imagine hearing the sound of a straw falling in a glass of water. Maybe to bite off more than one can chew is crazy, precept reside. Spanning the tromp de l'oeil of almost ritualized perceptive artifices, none stand out more than the one's with visual scrutiny. To think something can also be otherwise is otherwise is what? a charged antinomy and a lock? No matter how hard people try to agree there's no snug or perfect syncronizattion... So maybe some are crazy, but amongst themselves if the word holds  true, there should be some syncronization.

beck at it

Posted by barrett on April 16, 2014 at 4:30 AM

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dusty vinyl records, stayin that way cause collections. people with vinyl are a grouping, theyve extended function to quality with respects to guessing. ritual also endorses the use of vinyl, many disc jockies know it too well, enough to have concerts out ofone and two vinyl players.

when vinyl records first came out it was precarious and resplendent. listening to music was more of an activity, probably based soley on the movement of people. today music is easier to access and control. so why are there people playing vinyl?

The only plausible answer is, that they haven't pirated any music and their music is all or mostly on the records they spin.

to be continued

eye care

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 6:45 PM

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an interogation of whats on hand, warrant received amidst a desperate man. Check everything. they would like to wouldn't. a round off of bullet, several cut carrots on a wood plate.

pate...

hasty taken provided liquid crystal displayed moments later he checked the fridge. (this is where it all comes in)

he found a note, right above the bag of carrots: eat carrots

Cast Cupid

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 6:40 PM

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Practical alignments' gathered feathers fettered... shuffle tilt rust recalls.

An inumeralbe immunity of pox of letters... that suffice to say it's fall.

Why this distance mistakes birds' calls for getting recon.

As whitening cold abound so thin and transparent on heat.

Pleating desperation for a new tomorrow in calm promise,

With the striking features of some meet.

Tawdry desolation, may only,

Set astray an artisan of lonely.

Tense spindle of four or five few,

Twisted indiscretely conjunctionally till they enter you,

terrace

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 6:30 PM

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a green multitude of limb. ballast-taut structures of evident. picturesque people tend, around, and then again. rearranged possessive systemic trust in needles, pinch professionals of those akin. the swarming fever of a harlequin full of attention span.

a full form tropical delay of all my whims, brought about somehow, someway. what isn't this is this and thinning, to say... dimensional recast of a forbeared stay.

it made light with words and circled thin. arrested polish of those who dine, made clockwise for all ive got to say, though pining spinning these warn of May.

taken with salt... soup,

taken with soup... relaxed

brittle piece of work

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 5:05 PM

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a red violet

glow 'doth\ braun

civil, patience...

burning turning stern,

a license to jot,

in ink violence - too fond

of ornament, of nature, of system, of pleasure

where the earth will turn

flattery battery battery

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 3:40 PM

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lithium, some nirvana. held, swallowed. expelled. talon, large... the one that shoves the real. i thought a while ago that there was a way into the next life, but tomorrow never dies. lastnight, for real though, i thought twice that a character prepared of orature would be cool if suffice, Tomorrow Night. for the night i will leave an anvil untattered, though hip hop orchestrated may make troublesome lore, where incumbrant echoing one hundred i'll attend the maze until the very last turn. now stop and turn a hundred. this aint nirvana, this is an egalitarian discotech of promotion negotiating with peaceful subjects aimed at warm heaters. madness, genius, unreal, and phallus, deducting proclivities to sunshine in an ordinary fashion, though i can hear the tarnished remarks of proctoring and gamble with the walks withini, theres never really an ending till all the sleeves are offering. so for now at the age of April, i'll wonder why it snowed today and remember that theres more snow cauterring "in utero".

tifa lockhart

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 3:15 PM

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a beautiful woman is a lot like a daffodil i said,

prove it. but flower's can't talk

i walked in the sand.

stood and offered my nose to her hand.

i tear apart a three of hearts

with no one to pick up the dirt.

its funny cuz sometimes what doest really work.

format:

welcome,

you learn conforming?

boring sentence structure detouring,

near of from, far or going.

and then a reciprocal gem of what is storing.

everything has a shell, called it!

then i ben over and fetched the wallet.

this should never leave my pocket

and in there, that there sprocket...

'the one that whimsy did' chained to a lockett

her picture perfect perfunct predetermined nature harkened

a litre in the same vain.

but it never really functioned until several finaciers arranging warped echoes

alotted themselves in walking,

so far gone, like the porridge, watch i proctor

and any official statement made by me can unsort this calcium deficient closet.

watching, to: spying. too much wall within the place.

say what is gone is now encased and shows vace

tu ne say quoi

a patrol of indecency arriving in tangents, to memory banks tthrough half handstands... 'grandslams, tame fam ran high hope tanned plans sans france bandstand land spans. and what comes off in one pluck is enough to offer eleven more words but they seem to have fell off the truck

duck duck goosed by givance and gators

pray tell negligee erased to find humour

and now i craft like one undone, too modest for malice in narrative mindsets to add fluence.

cantankerous plots of land i summon thee, question this dell and stream.

"don't pester us, pester flatter, this only flatters me."

cuz he got to talk

running through a jazz lucidity crises, mistaking real gold for fool's gold. i think...

pieceless puzzles lying on their stomaches chow down. (it was from off the cylinder)

i totally correct my vision.

"the sun rose" from lord of the rings, now that's time froze.

bashful beauty

too.

this lily has been so out of seems. i could

i tear apart a three of hearts

Posted by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 2:55 PM

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             someone sent her. i know it now. though these cards split apart. inside theres some sort of notoriety. in this decadent sobriety she says hi to me. where and when... can they go wrong? a right of thought. shes played a lot of starts. raging inbetween wagons, i would say. but then theres something wrong... is it what makes this scene? i, disparagingly lay down some matter: sadness, laughter, wrong, and tatterred. a blissful spell of 'all she does is yell' peltting me with hello, though theres a brow, braced and watched. like a professional about to tell someone off indignant of the melting tingling feeling forcing gleeful fleeting. a mix of dust. trust, ownership and yelling. don't go.

an old broom

Posted  by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 2:45 PM

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             whatever comes this way. swept off my sidelings when i found a noticable tract. probable cause in repetoire though confines so elementary

behind the wayside and the wallet, a, whatever -you - call 'it, there's a fix that needs a prix.

free from the antlers and buoyance from the found, i rush in with wooden artifice to find a kick

and around to the cranberries that so sound become handy, one grandslam armoir close like a laundry

and i always can't see it, but i'm beaming to some stowage, improper, and cogged, cognated with revery and awe.

it has been my mission just sifting, though roundabout and through wishing, with amalgammed tenancy does wrought. so temperance and allegiance, pageantry so decent, i attend willingly the problem and start with the cause in timing.

The willow stands tall outside. On it's branches are many orating plush-strained incubi that designate the orifice.

and the porridge is now warm.

warning warring weeping to stop sleeping and slept. vitamins on the table, and perfect neglect.

interior of a nomme de plume

Posted  by barrett on April 15, 2014 at 2:30 PM

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             bested, besieged. in dear ascent of leagues. trusted and animated through tunnel vision, one can perceive a conception of emotional tumult; where ridden of topic and flavour. indescent really weathering thoughts on a paper. but, with haste, the writers turn trap'd in a large ornamental gap-mishap. and render vain through a window eager to shelter.

blending, berated, in clear ominous straint, dire collection of silver strings... draw sentiment into collection. arranging 'things' like hand on rapier, and not unlike one too for favour, but altogether. relinquished it is but a tumult of emotion - ranging from despair to fresh care - given, not - where, wherefore trots' liquid dismissing of permissive givances.

like fiancee to writable, and all in one unique type logarithymic, no ventricle could hold the pencil shavings that were on candle. yet, and well crafted yet, as yets to be yet. let leaders follow folio and prefer for what's set.

an enterprise of commiserate duty in the hands of an official reality model. some betook and aghast waste away at the nomenclature as forms to clay, shaking dorms like whoknows. let it snow, let it snow.

bonhomme de neige, the recipient of this echo.

touchy subject

Posted  by barrett on April 12, 2014 at 1:20 PM

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"do that awful jazz music"

"with what?" he said looking from left to right.

"yknow that awful, jazz, music."

be bob bop batta ba

the conclusion:

jazz music can not singularily be awful, so that this guy is incredible.

oh, uh

Posted  by barrett on April 9, 2014 at 8:10 PM

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             only conformity breeds chaos, enough of borderline leaderships they cry. and we obey either way with someone and sketch the line... "lets". and then like a divet in a field of grass rain pours in and it takes days to get the worms anywhere else. well, "well", either way conforming doesn't have to be a battle, but a series of exactitudes formed in process to an aclimated state of peripheral balance. there is no way not to conform is there. if we all live eachother's lives accordingly, its just seen with a different divet...it seems examples would be elliptical style menacing renditions of the refinition of durability, seeking strong in ultraviolet, though, historically speaking we are all one part alien.and one part definition. seen oblong as an example it would seem that we choose propective candidates in advancement through spreadless paste tag 'lines' and coeffect ourselves out of sync, as perspective does. thats a good ending, as perspective does.

in uh.

Posted  by barrett on April 3, 2014 at 9:00 PM

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a fluency in english deludes the best of its commontaters. we shall become one with the striving one does to become none other than non. Anon, and abest to the corporeal indicative comingling of the undone and the undone. it has both rapport but does not asign another., or an other. sadly striving can only overcome the common efficacy of sound on a ?mantle?, but undoes just as well as the strive that places forth. sadly, striving. but to none other than a language goes a proficiency, home, to walk amongst the others of a same specious, but disparate, disparaging recollection of purified nonsense; in the same way that hands reach out and legs abound.

on a sailboat, several financiers located an agreement slip of paper and read it aloud, they agreed to sign it and then the clouds rolled over. they quickly tried to laminate it, but with such lamentation dropped it in the water.

discount items

Posted  by barrett on April 1, 2014 at 7:50 PM

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a woman, of stout physical class, was seen by her neighborhood, walking a small English poodle, of harsh detrimental physique. The poodle would call it her own and jowl at the several to many passerbys that would syrup through the gangly media of initiation and venting. it was a saturday afternoon that the dog had fell down after sitting; taken by the vet, she did a lot more sitting. otherwise it was a labouriate indignation of plausible outrage and defenseless opposition to the stout class of a specimen, likewise to the tambourine of this annal.

it so happened that her courter several years later was English and liked poodles. On the occasion of talking about anew pet, it was certain that the dog was coming back from the dead. The woman - Lily- screemed with systemic delight and not a word later the dog came through the back door. and sat. Lily and Tumnas took a turn patting her head, when occurred a high whistle that could seemingly only made out by Lily. Needless to say it was a faint echo of the dog, of which one, even i am concerned.

at the edge of hedges outside through the window was always a red cardinal. blessed be, the culprit of the whistle.

"theres no use in caging a bird" said tumna eventually.

"then theres no use calligraphying a poodle."

tumnas sat on the stairs and managed to hear a sound, it all ended with the word "remember"

untitled1

Posted  by barrett on March 31, 2014 at 4:05 PM

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"it was becoming lucrative!"

"how so?"

"knowing how to embroider specialized door mats, has never been more welcome!"

"So why did you drop out?"

"It wasn't my passion."

"and what was?" "finding lucrative businesses."

on a sailboat in the middle of the lake, a man named, guaranteed, was fishing for dinner.

a storm kicked up and tipped his boat over, so he stayed under neith to breathe and holdfast.

he washed up on shore about an hour later, a lake away from his cottage.

instead of fish he would eat among all fish, he drank kool-aid and had toast.

he didn ot see the storm coming, but it didn t destroy his boat!

and then a seahorse named "what are you doing?" was born,

rogue

Posted  by barrett on March 27, 2014 at 2:20 PM

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in a way, we find ourselves. combatting evil in illustrioustrialist right. we honour each side like a contraband, and play bellows like a shellfish in the sand. standing tall, with what all? never seeing behind us, but sometimes reminding some that we can peirce our blindness. trallopping over kindness, besmirching wickets... like: 'that covers it'. and end up sitting in front of a fire the only way it knows how. too much addressing, little less than much more confection, letting it, forgetting it, paying patience to what is now the other side of the wicket. crickets laughing in the distance dialing for forge progressed sharps that greet hay. oh, i forgot, creation inside something else, ultraparallelopedisms and misprints on slips of paper, property printing proper misgivings for more to span. lost listings of good stories, though stories of books.

monostarch

Posted  by barrett on March 27, 2014 at 2:20 PM

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in a minute's romance: brilliance plays almost dance

Casual attidude of delays of so in a minute's romance.

so much sloping like slop deliverred to and through caravan's

"my heart slew" hefty jocund rice sushi inimtables on the counter

and this wasn't outside the bracket. welcome to thee last six years:

pelt, like a pelt

Posted  by barrett on March 27, 2014 at 2:15 PM

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Several days ago, a matter of the heart had him crying, playing cribbabe. He stouted fourteens here and there as a mild sigh of relief, but technically and wholeheartdly he was losing and not in the race ultra-parallelly in that respect. it seems fourteen beamed a peridontistallite for his visible facial ties and he acted whimsical.

"another" the other said.

"tomorrow or the next, shuffle up and deal." could you imagine if that other side of the comma was outside the quotation marks?

nonchalance equisition

Posted  by barrett on March 24, 2014 at 8:40 PM

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fellows that!

hi here to thy brandish

if i werent adrink brandy thou would thy spend

well if it isn't when and where that was catalouged by the defense mechanism of a wyvern in type and term.

who holds the brandy (double back)

well then aside i must sip

while i attack?

the moss grew softer and like, very distasteful relief was all but plotted, in a niche

i didn't even drink any

brandished?

spat: a regatta

held

accountable for

relieved

your hat

false beliefs?

terms and tact

goner?

gone to better

roll with the cadences

bake in the heat

so i guess you had already

my own defeat

titleist

Posted  by barrett on March 23, 2014 at 8:40 PM

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several arranged a finacial commissirate deduction from the aspects of several. now they stone roll, and roll away the indecisive together. but not a point to make a stop to eachother all over again in ones.

opt'apelia

Posted  by barrett on March 23, 2014 at 4:00 PM

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it's what became of her. ninety seven, sixty three. stingray wheel and a shop full of feet.

like an ocean liner with too many anchors, swept and a treat to the eyes, threatening to look at alone.

two doors, seventy six. rpms standards. and the severed financial structure numeration in a history.

it wore a black sheet in the front and upper to lower back in that way. small spoiled

when it whipped past the first time it was home, they keep it on the lot to sell oil or something

some people drink it, but its neither fast nor slow down to the end.

this thing that thing, all the eyes origin and ending with a swift ninety seven.

too much handling and a brief manual on defense.

several arranged financial agreements

several

Posted  by barrett on March 20, 2014 at 1:55 PM

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at the library, several arranged financiers impatienly bargained for the new book.

dustin?

Posted  by barrett on March 12, 2014 at 8:50 PM

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"the dwarf had a silver maracca."

the pond

Posted  by barrett on March 9, 2014 at 9:45 PM

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from the bottom of the pond, i say. is where these rocks come from. if we want more of these rocks, we will wait, until the pond is not crowded with water and seaweed.

the pond.

levelry

Posted  by barrett on March 4, 2014 at 5:05 PM

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a black decent string, with silver-coated pearls

hung dangling off the box, and promoted guile.

it was hung there, heavenly like it belonged to the world.

and just because it also promoted style.

Ginger-ale and some weakened blossoms fix

and usually when trampled upon connote

a foot of sunken color like lamped wicks

though not in any way one would know.

The bracelt silver and yellow, married: gold and in circle

With one  wealthier pigment every five

Touching, the rupture of the inkblot: purple

It's hard at all to see it survive.

all to say what may come of jewelery

and all the revelry does subsist

though broken forms, through certain reveries

never to one woman enlist.

notation

Posted  by barrett on March 3, 2014 at 8:30 PM

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a hidden door way that led down a long dark hall. easily traversed compiling a set of stairs at the end, a green, oval knocker illuminated.by a single candle at the foot of the door. i took up the candle, and knocked on the door. a bolt sounded, and then all was black. the scent of smoke was wispy and gone in seconds. pringles, classic et cetera

in a sense

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 10:30 PM

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seven soldiers surrounding... whats more, whats more.

all in the noise hearts pounding... whats more, whats more

seven they started, seven they ended, and here is what is more

on top of propounding, leash proper behaviour and love for war.

type cast away

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 8:55 PM

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it is up to he who knows to know who shall know thy..

thee known as, shall know as known

and all a see shall fruit like magical kings

heels click

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 7:35 PM

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a definite amount of certain, curtains perks'n, fork hands for purpose, to propose rose flowers like same-initial form posed endings. magestic feeling astray connotes an invisible metal, that won over to this side to trim and lie. by now of i swerving out of character flawed sighs, an empire of rose flowers by fault. till the grow side by side, in abundance

his inferno

Posted  by barrett on March 2, 2014 at 7:25 PM

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In the directories of life, governed by the all-knowing but offensive to capitalization, a salamander can be found, or two. Salamander hunters have since been long-heard-off-of though they use to frequent our setting. A cabin in the eastern most of the continent, known secondarily for it's chief export: salamander-fish, strike it rich in the upcoming fall.

Jerry the cabin owner was stocked for the winter and when he had his first snowless day, looked bright on the crossroad in front of him. He made his way to the end of the fence and fished out his old slop bucket. A slop bucket which he kept from his grandfather who owned a farm just to the west. He brought the buckt in and filled it with water, took a sponge and some pinesol and cleaned the front porch, top to bottom. The scent was a signal to those that knew him that he would soon be into town, not too mention the scent he gained.

In town he had a funny feeling, from the clouds, to the winds, to the roads, to the transmission on his radio, all saying the same thing: salamanders. He went to pick up some worms and a few fresh lures and hooks and hurried back home. To the stream he went and put together his rod. Just waiting.

ati derivative

Posted  by barrett on February 26, 2014 at 8:25 PM

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A small communirty of ex-miners, with about 2 or 3 minors to each home had a terrible flood. But with all the hard work, then and before, it only seemed terrible for a day, the day of the flood that is.

tuesday special

Posted  by barrett on February 25, 2014 at 3:50 PM

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imagine a telescope that could see into the future, as oppose to the past... what would the difference be? itd probably be less powerful. az truck driving superhighway goggles... rip harold ramis. thats snaff

walk by 2

Posted  by barrett on February 23, 2014 at 3:15 PM

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in an arc it was tassled by twinkling, and blew over the clearest patch of dust hamperred grass. straight up. and everyone had a seat at the ceremony. little statues for perseverence in "can you trust me" a movie made by many. it was the prescreening, but that only now comes in. "delabous? are you serious?" overcame the overworked orchestra and the screen was lit, yet black and white. the crowd...

quiche

Posted  by barrett on February 22, 2014 at 11:45  PM

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in a category gone missing, was a folder with the headline: catchetori chicken

by one's resolve chicken shall be made-type.

and that type is fine, fit for dinner and out of the way in a way

some business that, of chicken.

with a rainhat im starting to think chicken: mad.

as such a book will thrift certain events.

you are not what you read,

my mouth can't tell me.      

walk by

Posted  by barrett on February 20, 2014 at 10:25  AM

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a translucent sphere witha drawstring case. several, in the case. the case in which is mentioned bears a face, a bear, with long whiskers, with a tribute to stars and space, in whitie lace. wherever the place, it is known to face others' paces with all similar trace.

a circle in the grass, in the sand. where no man walks away. it is not easy to pass, to be planted is how one gets away.

clad in plaid

Posted  by barrett on February 19, 2014 at 11:10  AM

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Plaidly hopped in the cart.

"Welcome, to the land of the future" a tinny voice rang "if you'll look to your right you'll see a real-life dinosaur skeleton."

Plaidly hopped out of the cart. to be with the dinosaur skeleton. Mr. Shogun ordered the ride to be stopped and went to get Plaidly. "What is the matter with you Plaidly?"

"I don't want dinosaurs in my future."

"Well then we best make our getaway onwards through this kiddy ride."

"sure thing."

They both went to sit in the cart again. When Plaidly looked back he noticed the skeleton was missing. "if you look to the left you'll see early man by a fire." the tinny voice continued.

it was a long day after the ride. Plaidly got back home safely with a note of fatigue. he heard footsteps. Someone was at the door. When he opened it his face pulled in horror thought he couldn't make a sound, there was the skeleton head of the dinosaur he had seen at the exhibition... with a package. he kicked the skeleton to pieces and received the package. he tore it open and took a look at the tiny fossil, with a note that said "use this to break the teeth and jaws, back of the skull and anything you don't like."

Plaidly's house now had a rather large gathering of dinosaur ruins in front of it. And that's how Plaidly played it out plain and simple.

the regular roose

Posted  by barrett on February 17, 2014 at 12:55  AM

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up to the ceiling with feeling, ie. the letter brought on a greivous upheaval. who could have delivered such a thing to let one corner bend after dear, and dear me, was too endearing to let it drop in the box.

i haven't known, i haven't gone. the place is new, yet the lights are on.

predictions of a certain night time upheaval, where everything wants to be read except that torn message in the envelope that said:

dear reginald,

its time to put your books on the shelf, and meet me for a goodbye shelfish dinner, or something. im leaving saturday for good. in the meantime...

and at this one point  i want my name to be reginald

«

discontent

Posted  by barrett on February 16, 2014 at 2:35 PM

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the workshop was clean as a whistle. a tinsmith could see his reflection. though he added pictures of engineered plots, this was the only one to service him. he kept a fine pocket, with no chain or ballast. his articles of clothing were fine in their sense. above the last belt of tools on his mantle a sheet of one by three tools would go- adding in a never.

he was to build the iris of a robot, at least a circular circuitboard with occulence. either capacity.

as he worked the retraction in... in discontent he realized he was only eyeing the measurements. tho

a walk through the melted snowman field

Posted  by barrett on February 16, 2014 at 2:05 PM

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"its really not my field, but is it not unnaturally warm in the sun today."

"why the snowmen have bulbous shadows by ones upon our time."

"a snow-man-angelleses!"

maybe the clouds were in dissarray.

"Let's hope that snowmen don't get upset."

"I couldn't care at all for that joke."

"Well i see."

they walked in the shadow's turn of phrase from the muddy snow hills, crushin' ice and snow. not knowing where the arms were pointed but a hall full of melting and fell apart snowman sure is still fill. The sun seemed faster as they walked out further. so many of them,

"this has to be the coolest thing ive ever done"

"watch out for the melting faces"

still on stalk, they could hear talking. was it kids? all they could think. why it was impossible not to just either be scared or amazed. the same face, faces facing. about two months worth of snowmen. it was like one of the wonder's of theworld that may have led on to something strange in the same matter somewhere else.

you don't forget something like this, yet they melt

ego mania

Posted  by barrett on February 16, 2014 at 1:40 PM

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jepordized cats by 3 ran down the midnight windy road, half slanted. A crew at the construction had already started shipping in parts. cats in three, in these parts both ran and ran for nothing, for nothing would be cat-like in fact.

where did the cats go?.. on all fours as they should. they forrayed at the fortress in the foyer of another formidable straight. and then half slanted. now two streets down. they could still here the truck.

the cats made it to the edge of the field three streets down and looked around. tacktful amazing cats like seen nearcurtains curtailed the night and made it under a cabin.

the cats live there now, on three strands of purpose.

a notice of reflection

Posted  by barrett on February 15, 2014 at 3:15 PM

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every shadow reaches its limit independent of the troughs it spans and the displacement increases with a maximum amount of darkness, im thinking desert sands.

as these higher degrees, the sun creates lower, as we travel and stay still, just how stay still becomes none whatsoever.

their then must be an amount of darkness independent of the absence of reflection in directory, plus natural shadow governed amount, that places what id call foil or a shadow on the ground, initially it may be a change in temperature, though how does it go from a natural then down.

This could be how the temperature changes, a notice of reflection (from other surfaces)

this reminds me of clouds that must go through this totally reflectively.

the olympics are on

Posted  by barrett on February 15, 2014 at 2:10 PM

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naivety can be so reassuring, yet bliss can render ignorance in itis defense.

if a blimp went by that looked like a cloud would it render in sincere delivery?

the pilot, plots, the wind doesn't shrink, yet the whole show is only a makeup.

of what the astute really think.

trumpet

Posted  by barrett on February 12, 2014 at 4:10 PM

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at convenience at last alack alas again. gainful threading...softly treading; endearment!, through around an iconoclastic circa forecast inspiration.

grateful rodsman sporting width with a colleauge of magnetic softly treading, trouble is, no one will know the connection they spread

on a planet several gloves were washed in a basin and the hands went cold. for several days.

intelligently resembling hand gloves, fake hand gloves were made. no connection to the eye or face, though the hands were spread out gently. and partisan to flock alack tacking auto-bastions was mercury.

favourites hammered and withered succint oceanic mysticisms that brought back the primer, trouble is, though no one for several days made no connection mercury.

gowns

Posted  by barrett on February 6, 2014 at 5:25 AM

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sora, soars a swoiree for her ad'or'a. wherein Wilting arose such suspicion, with'in a city grown by. on the eve of an aurora, therein quick stitching force her meridian to a timid aura, or an orphan scanning for spies with no warrant, Though fleeting everyday. it goes without saying one will, will, win over what is chaste, won't we into maybe strong and safe allowed to be prayers. And as one swimming in and out the door'of her past shores, her flora always sitting bipartisan though taken in a wake of what is more, while all her insides are our pouring.

they're in

Posted  by barrett on February 5, 2014 at 9:35 PM

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it just so happens; without knowledge. that is enough for some; yet independent. stressed as thumbs.

typeface orate

a glee club for all the maidens of the spade.

cat's eye, one

as precipitate to colleague, mentionable through this and that, the marble's chief export is force.

no flogging of the gnat.

and where can you buy a tile with a letter on it?

et cetera

lemonade

Posted  by barrett on February 5, 2014 at 3:10 PM

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oh look at that." she said with a common stumble,

he was all ready to reach for something. and down they went.

she awoke  in front of the business, and ordered once, but twice

wherein he said "i will not drink lemonade!"

and took a stand.

Chances May

Posted  by barrett on February 5, 2014 at 3:05 PM

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tidings, behold ye grand dealings. these things of common place tidings, be, holding ye grand dealings.

and then some artifact a few away, flew away in the mishap, like mishapen clay

and then around again, i found it, i found it

foundings of forwards for words.

where wars' bottles' stay

lay down along the ebb.

and follow out, too old

and noisily buoy,

until, un-tilled

until whatever

chances may.

downward spiral

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 6:15 AM

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down the man made hall.

wherever it is, its dark

se much for a good window.

meanwhile it's plateglass

The midnighter - 3 Aurora

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 6:00 AM

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I wonder what happens when you happen to be blessed, thank you… all concurrent I think we need a rest in an ambiguous dance I held these hands like chapters of a book, in an unmentionable glance I took in the power of its post postulate and deemed it its corruption… through the snowbanks such in the life of things you know and crushin’ snow and ice while the nothing in response is rooted to the foot of the glacier, moving at made up thaw speeds below the radio wave transmissions’ level all to say something up up and below sea level.i

some gathering

Posted by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 4:10 AM

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awaiting a loop in rest and relax

i say, the motion of the cars is backed

only by a few mile delay.

'someone said it brings in the cold air

on it's tracks

with no cares yet, the stack stays full of it

until it sotps, and that happense all day.

...

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 4:00 AM

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I'm beginning to take notice of the windchill

solly

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 3:05 AM

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Isolate liquid dyslexic arresting less of this, when wilt today’s catches and matches into the circle of a half force of the opposite, wherein the fastest regulates the passive into fire that whips the air like lisps.

And the ailing cannot commit to the risks the migratory mitigation memories memorize and test the air for following into the wrong places with this: fire, licking the atmosphere now for more than the awakened like flares’ to.

All done spirits spiral in likewise, find terminals and enter into the extraneous versions of sleep, encasing, wait, facing the irregularities in warmth that take down several forces of this fire, and into they go.

The air now frigid, the sniffs sapped, the gifted, mapped, sever each other in some sort of collapse, until matches fall into the hands.

Alive and dash-full digits undoing cold with world left forever take apart severances turn to warmth, awake then spread fire like-with their faces, encased waiting bows and kindling.

Lucid laughter and meals of forbearance break into now and outside wait the polarizing natural wake. On the eve of a Sunday.

thankyou

Posted  by barrett on January 29, 2014 at 2:50 AM

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id like to give you all a thank youvii

im sorry i missed the banquet

but its true i love this language

this lost in the moment, treasure and the anguish

sinking feeling deep into meaning

something else sheeps and weening

on a bend a lament to laminate

the character you've twisted fate for

negates the sentiment and scapes for

the moment that they meet

with the treasure chest, of expectation estimates

rendering drops

dendria 2

Posted  by barrett on January 25, 2014 at 5:50 PM

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built again ruins, falling away slowly, receive rennovations that transform and coo the ta'. when that seeping inner shadow plane, feels normal go it pa'. forever endearing structures of a nuisance cascading in a roman clockwork at best, time will mystify and transform that slew the star.

bar by bar up or down, and around in no complexion, waiting for connection. signals.

basic ideas, racy slices of inert artifacts. building

nothing cene or cemented.

though fashioned and effervescent,

this is easier to describe.

trouble

Posted  by barrett on January 25, 2014 at 5:45 PM

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sensitivity is a lot like two things combined.

pencil network connectivity is a lot like a wine.

stencilled pent up directed as and at activity

is a lot like a spine.

tho the plane is in doubt in the same way.

for the matter, we have light, and light we see is or an expression of our decay.

the building blocks of tetris, like cycloptic arraignment

The Shadow Plane

Posted  by barrett on January 25, 2014 at 5:40 PM

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so much space, an avenue... do say its cold.

on one avenue, of leisure enfibrocated effort, a legion borth it's que.

'what if not oft to of certain take triangles like normal fading issah?

then that is the shadow's space, irregardless of lot and command, the shadow relies on its inability to function independently.

'would oft fire or light command it hitherto?

the light speaketh cold and alone can be seen as all encompassing, for infront.

'not oft the light shine behind us, tho we cannot see the light?

aye.

'what for matter instill light as enlightment and fire in one's being

the very same that shine in place.

'oh for

tbc

dendria

Posted by barrett on January 23, 2014 at 2:55 PM

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scraggly branches of umbrella wannabe snapdragons, habadash the ringer for a ben franklin mishap. in those gaps and brink by brink we jump as locusts to become ordered like one such blip, in entries.          

«

Those that thaw tea

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:40 PM

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for some reason i had the idea that Christopher Columbus smelt the word "spice"

revision:

he may have smelt spices

Gargoyle (part three)

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:35 PM

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Gracious gill, go graciously, guilty

Stain. Just Great, guessing

Garrison gargles rain today.

Tertiary Secant (it was a strange time in part two)

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:30 PM

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Test the foil. And Remain Central

Fly the pestal, past the point of

Tesla Royal Crawl like fanblades

'till you can't see the soil.

Loyal Type treason feesibly Reaping Flats; so tangentiently mapped, I don't even feel.

Reek of havac, ad hoc, vox, populi

Moire populi proximately stops.

Etymology frost, latin fabric

Stock, short flaws paucity

prone antidisestablishmentarianism

plus talk. Rotterdam sophist plane

shocked. Cost Connote adverb.

Deneoument.

A Poe Requiem (part one)

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:25 PM

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I would like to find a case of stone, being of course, ordered and inbelievably narrated as thus printed in proper format and altogether coagulated - as one might find - situated indelibly: so liberated as to communicate with a page. As oppose to ideally mentioning a black wood article in grave extinct poetic impulsivity, such as that which creates itself then follows suit, thereby retracting a facade indelibly as a moment in time reflects a moment in time, As to be unaware of distinction possibly as a denotation, connoting taste in red books and/or that which covers them ahead though not about a apage or binding dimension of something so bitter it would crease everytime you touched it forever.

good evening.

Posted  by barrett on January 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM

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just started reading The Fellowship of the Rings, post-hobbit. the page 39 i think is the most exciting fiction i think i've read, then i went for a walk... 'thinking... "the book is about how far writers have to go."

anyway the above is some odds from my stay at a village from late Feb. to late July last year.

'battling the word bronchitis like a doctor needs the sponser, sick of sedatives a single edge making medicine a contraceptive, contrary to reason and response seeks a mild heiroglyph. tonal frequency tangential fireworks plus start dragons, read em. slash maintenance,

reperations in a box.

eyedea rest in peace.

good morning again

Posted  by barrett on January 12, 2014 at 4:00 PM

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start dragons, snapping like crabgrass. arranged like a special arrowhead. experimenting with wave tradition, in the middle of an angler's storm. when will they be caught; its cover, probably not.

to decieve and arrange the city!

the knights of the high order, under oath to cache the grass, catch the intruders, and bring trouble to malice's last.

"foam fingers"

if it wasn't for the excitement something of the highest order may be carried out... on a large flat wagon backing, with the backing of the construct's guilt.

but wait, there is smores!

victor, the candle maker arises in the first wind tunnel on there way back. "I care... us...we do not need too much flame. eaten.

and out come the flame eaters, to be continued

eight style

Posted  by barrett on January 12, 2014 at 1:30 AM

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Pluto Platonic cursed the word

It seems now, more ironic

Then ever it was where heard

Loose-spikes laconic that platitude: song is.

In a world of definition the body is least seen. Intangible greets the far-strays of what is not capable of definition. Long-breathed listing breeches the apprehension likewise. In a world of definition the body is perceived.

"and so"

-M. Averill

Journal Entries in Blood Part three

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 11:50 PM

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I don't know what is going on! I got a call from a surveryer the other day and he asked me where I lived. could it be lupus?

back in the groove.

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 11:30 PM

comments (0)

i sat there. their were too many distractions. there was a rubic's cube on the table. "wait till it knows you he said."  it can't be much more difficult then a spread sheet, or that's where i had to be. the colorless sticker had a logo in the middle. who in their right mind i thought. i drank some earl grey tea i had beside me, decided to give it a shot, casually comforted my torso, but let my feet detail the ornament. i pictured it perfect. corners first. how curious? i've seen it done, were those hands mine? im a mole. inside the block language, i let go of the absurd cube... and fell into revery, does this explain the cube? alrite alrite, "wait till the cube knows you'

in my bed with the thing waiting over there i found a need to make note of it. somewhere.  

for what? 'wait till it knows you'.

isolating the colors

opening jars

a jaguar ran past the window and i thought a little differently, there has to be a solution potent enough for the cube to be at one with itself, though finishing it... a time sensitive purchase. to frame? expand and demote maybe, what could all of this be, the jaguar.

don't forget

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 10:45 PM

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i can't forget octopusses.

thats because youre namesake is a suction cup.

no heed to levity

no head for s'up

sushi around the edges,

paint on the frame.

i can't forget about octopusses

how many times i can refrain

notice

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 9:20 PM

comments (1)

around where i live they changed the street lights from purple to white.

so far i've figured,

its not as luxurious a settings while walking, its quite distressing, and its brighter. in that order plus now, give or take a few levels of NaCl

warning

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:35 PM

comments (1)

the ocean is filled with octopuses. thats good i think for the time being. but squids might be inked octopuses too. either way, or, either sea creature, dendrites may look like people.

don't think too much about octopuses.

and

oil is purple i think, it doesn't turn grey does it, and black is basically lack of light, and/or not enough energy to produce the photoelectric effect, so maybe we're octopus cells, or psychologists didn't understand squids.

no evidence required.

don't use ink, or you might think its oil.

warrings.

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:10 PM

comments (0)

twitter representatives, ie, share holders should all say pie enought until the art of time swallows them the thing the pin as sty, in the eve of warring with a site, i cited mine as an x for such suspicion links as turuses, natural causes, inked soon like the former when everyone has popcorn but my. started thinking about when corn is grown and stuff, yup. anyways tune in too to channel two whatever news it has is certainly blue. audience scribes.

curtains

Posted  by barrett on November 27, 2013 at 8:50 PM

comments (0)

the incredibly dressed man walked into the shop. there was a lot of, slightly lesser-quality-dressed men in there, of which he took a casual glance. He then turned to the cashier walking by and asked the following question: "how much for your lesser-quality scarves on display?", to which the cashier replied "your money is no good here. take a scarf." The finely clad gentleman replied, "i would like help selecting one.", to which the cashier replied. "how about the red one?", to which the finally clad gentleman replied. "yes. that is the one for me."

the first snow

Posted  by barrett on November 23, 2013 at 11:30  PM

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             With new ultraviolet lamps the wind certainly had straight up squalls in spells

and in and out evernow and in an hour by snow was seen gliding in close snowflake-like circles

on the eve of war

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 8:30 PM

comments (0)

"Fellow scarecrows and blacken, tonight comes the adjoining of the fence. we do not know what will come of this, but make sure that you take this to heart... we have all served, done our part, needless to say that it is fit for each and everyone of us to remain strong. the straw candy is at the back.

travaille

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 2:30 PM

comments (0)

a recipe of pure spice sat at the oven then now the table. strongly stirring was abated and the cook abscond. a lucid bond of memories on this november night, where no one could respond, eating salt and celery, onion powder and garlic, oregano and cilantro, with passed around tomato paste cans for membership. All of a sudden the cook comes back and opens the can of tomato paste. "mix!" some decided to drink, some decided to sip. the bowls were almost overflowing with the stuff. The drinks were too helpful. the spoons too overcooked. The woman in the dress faints after sayiing "oh the horror". her husband rushes to find some smelling salts but can't take it.

snake faucet

Posted  by barrett on November 19, 2013 at 9:10 PM

comments (0)

If a book did a good build a house metaphor it would probably be about kids growing up.

A wot in riot, try relax tyrant.

Viper-shadow dance till both are cuspits.

An infection tolerating nothing dance as lust is,

When snake comes from the pit and languid is the rushes.

fade away type wot,i feel i could be a character in a house, but,

There is no general engineering of my own making to advance more.

Salary! take yourself higher... all the while the celery droar is empty.

I could probably write about a house with snakes and celery... I just don't know how to start.

'Possibly I need to exit more, or find a snake in the celery droar.

Maybe I need to open up a bit more, or see a droar shook like a snake.

What possibly makes a good story is the lack of snakes.

It's possible that everyone has already read a similar story.

The passage of stories are much like snakes through a house,

Top to bottom, sometimes sending more and more, from the snake-faucet.

Mainly there are gargoyles on the house, which the snakes protect.

But it could even be one short story that slid away.

clearly

Lull (the midnighter)

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 7:35 PM

comments (0)

seeing away from a shadow in the eyes

for chose thy habbit to dwell upon i've assured

miser to those who hold me up in time

yesterday is gone and its already now

down grounded found out, skittish, down grounded found out skittish

whereas the weakness depletes, rigging what seats, the colder you are the less your bound to know in memory leeks what seats, toss and turn in sheets.

alls well

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 6:20 PM

comments (0)

Fire like movement stayed still for spark. A hollow log. fleeing shadows stayed still for a moment. An unearthly smog. This is the place of control, no one has to wait, but wait for me now, 'for now we all stay. Croutons on the circle if it be menace, blades of grass if it be 'let us' and your drink if you think you're ready.

I'll bet your bottom dollar you thought I'd be the type with a guitar, I brought one once long ago, though it didn't help me author. This guitar has been in my keeping, for some time. I played licks, riffs, and chords that I thought were only mine. Tonight I bring you darkness and light, because that's what time it is, as we look into the fire.

This penchant for music I had ran deep. variables of sound that I would often fall asleep too, Back in the day I also studied the flute, but it took my breath away.

Anyway the song I once heard that will focus this greeting, is about the flow of instrument conception, and what the music is really getting to. I say, stay away from the instrument and play vulnerable to it's conception, the first one made already splays all of us in one direction. Fading and fading out like a cypress, once it detaches, puts up spokes or spicates for capture. and no one knows after, Let this time be a lesson to you, because its always been a sayiing, with me and the others, that its not the person, but the shadow that is what is practised

notice

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 9:20 PM

comments (1)

around where i live they changed the street lights from purple to white.

so far i've figured,

its not as luxurious a settings while walking, its quite distressing, and its brighter. in that order plus now, give or take a few levels of NaCl

warning

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:35 PM

comments (1)

the ocean is filled with octopuses. thats good i think for the time being. but squids might be inked octopuses too. either way, or, either sea creature, dendrites may look like people.

don't think too much about octopuses.

and

oil is purple i think, it doesn't turn grey does it, and black is basically lack of light, and/or not enough energy to produce the photoelectric effect, so maybe we're octopus cells, or psychologists didn't understand squids.

no evidence required.

don't use ink, or you might think its oil.

warrings.

Posted  by barrett on January 11, 2014 at 8:10 PM

comments (0)

twitter representatives, ie, share holders should all say pie enought until the art of time swallows them the thing the pin as sty, in the eve of warring with a site, i cited mine as an x for such suspicion links as turuses, natural causes, inked soon like the former when everyone has popcorn but my. started thinking about when corn is grown and stuff, yup. anyways tune in too to channel two whatever news it has is certainly blue. audience scribes.

curtains

Posted  by barrett on November 27, 2013 at 8:50 PM

comments (0)

the incredibly dressed man walked into the shop. there was a lot of, slightly lesser-quality-dressed men in there, of which he took a casual glance. He then turned to the cashier walking by and asked the following question: "how much for your lesser-quality scarves on display?", to which the cashier replied "your money is no good here. take a scarf." The finely clad gentleman replied, "i would like help selecting one.", to which the cashier replied. "how about the red one?", to which the finally clad gentleman replied. "yes. that is the one for me."

the first snow

Posted  by barrett on November 23, 2013 at 11:30  PM

comments (0)

             With new ultraviolet lamps the wind certainly had straight up squalls in spells

and in and out evernow and in an hour by snow was seen gliding in close snowflake-like circles

on the eve of war

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 8:30 PM

comments (0)

"Fellow scarecrows and blacken, tonight comes the adjoining of the fence. we do not know what will come of this, but make sure that you take this to heart... we have all served, done our part, needless to say that it is fit for each and everyone of us to remain strong. the straw candy is at the back.

travaille

Posted  by barrett on November 20, 2013 at 2:30 PM

comments (0)

a recipe of pure spice sat at the oven then now the table. strongly stirring was abated and the cook abscond. a lucid bond of memories on this november night, where no one could respond, eating salt and celery, onion powder and garlic, oregano and cilantro, with passed around tomato paste cans for membership. All of a sudden the cook comes back and opens the can of tomato paste. "mix!" some decided to drink, some decided to sip. the bowls were almost overflowing with the stuff. The drinks were too helpful. the spoons too overcooked. The woman in the dress faints after sayiing "oh the horror". her husband rushes to find some smelling salts but can't take it.

snake faucet

Posted  by barrett on November 19, 2013 at 9:10 PM

comments (0)

If a book did a good build a house metaphor it would probably be about kids growing up.

A wot in riot, try relax tyrant.

Viper-shadow dance till both are cuspits.

An infection tolerating nothing dance as lust is,

When snake comes from the pit and languid is the rushes.

fade away type wot,i feel i could be a character in a house, but,

There is no general engineering of my own making to advance more.

Salary! take yourself higher... all the while the celery droar is empty.

I could probably write about a house with snakes and celery... I just don't know how to start.

'Possibly I need to exit more, or find a snake in the celery droar.

Maybe I need to open up a bit more, or see a droar shook like a snake.

What possibly makes a good story is the lack of snakes.

It's possible that everyone has already read a similar story.

The passage of stories are much like snakes through a house,

Top to bottom, sometimes sending more and more, from the snake-faucet.

Mainly there are gargoyles on the house, which the snakes protect.

But it could even be one short story that slid away.

clearly

Lull (the midnighter)

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 7:35 PM

comments (0)

seeing away from a shadow in the eyes

for chose thy habbit to dwell upon i've assured

miser to those who hold me up in time

yesterday is gone and its already now

down grounded found out, skittish, down grounded found out skittish

whereas the weakness depletes, rigging what seats, the colder you are the less your bound to know in memory leeks what seats, toss and turn in sheets.

alls well

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 6:20 PM

comments (0)

Fire like movement stayed still for spark. A hollow log. fleeing shadows stayed still for a moment. An unearthly smog. This is the place of control, no one has to wait, but wait for me now, 'for now we all stay. Croutons on the circle if it be menace, blades of grass if it be 'let us' and your drink if you think you're ready.

I'll bet your bottom dollar you thought I'd be the type with a guitar, I brought one once long ago, though it didn't help me author. This guitar has been in my keeping, for some time. I played licks, riffs, and chords that I thought were only mine. Tonight I bring you darkness and light, because that's what time it is, as we look into the fire.

This penchant for music I had ran deep. variables of sound that I would often fall asleep too, Back in the day I also studied the flute, but it took my breath away.

Anyway the song I once heard that will focus this greeting, is about the flow of instrument conception, and what the music is really getting to. I say, stay away from the instrument and play vulnerable to it's conception, the first one made already splays all of us in one direction. Fading and fading out like a cypress, once it detaches, puts up spokes or spicates for capture. and no one knows after, Let this time be a lesson to you, because its always been a sayiing, with me and the others, that its not the person, but the shadow that

indigenous allegory

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 5:50 PM

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appaulled pollen pales in comparison to the pollen that rests on petals. how it got them a long may have been a string of things though that's not what I'm taunting. windy lights but shake a bit sometimes, though we may do the same if its a certain time. years come forth but never yield, though somehow we make them, is there an ace in our defence that goes for kingdom. her majesty settled her brow, and provocatively talked in an octave key, about how it was okay to overlook some bane, and what builds us up... to movement, the darkness rising, like tomorrow was an image in a camera with some daily extracts from the extravaganza.

scratch

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 5:30 PM

comments (0)

Quite like it, like it was never seen before. Amazing and conspicuous. A menace monolith, deadening the simplicity of the visit.

antinomy

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 4:35 PM

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It was off without a pence. A penchant pence for pent up thrillings. the inn keeper didn't want me to mention but though I fathomed his wisdom. he needs the slips for the slip. and a sip for sip with him is a way to lose out, though I dare not mention my arrangement now, the house down the street it shall be slipping in here and I need not tell you more. I am to clean the whole house top to bottom, without looking in the closets, and yet its all I can think of as of now.

I knock on the door

"We are just leaving." "perfect. perfect for looking through closets."

"ah you kid me."

"well, surely I will look through your closets even though you ask not of me."

"that is not wise."

"this is irrefutable."

"we shall increase your wage if you give me your word you will not look through the closets.'

"I am not in this for the wage, for you see, I am a notorious closet searcher."

"I trust you are kidding this whole time."

"Why don't we both go take a look inside one of your closets?"

that's when the man's wife came to the door.

"let's go henry."

"yes, off you go, I can't be looking through closets with all this exchange."

"he's kidding I trust."

"no, no, I shall clean your house, and look through your closets."

"just let him look through the closets."

"this is not good"

To be continued somehow

at technology

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 4:25 PM

comments (0)

"look at this"

"its brilliant"

"What is it"

"I think they call it technology"

"it reminds me a flower."

"she's got to see this."

'what does it do?"

"well anything you want it to."

"how'd you get it?"

"I made it"

"out of what?"

"the old stuff"

"I have a bad feeling."

"don't worry, here have it"

\"why are you giving it to me?"

"so that you're responsible."

correction (midnighter bits)

Posted  by barrett on November 16, 2013 at 3:45 PM

comments (0)

While drifting attached to slings and wings with this serious dart to one off side clings steering us, belted to the start... of anything or else it's missing, rifts and shelves, part and parts, clearly enough tipping, continuously lifting, a string bridge bubble stopped... so much like rain I and we almost faint as we make it below the ceiling, it's about since now I tell you in the clouds I always have a sinking feeling that's why I mention isn't there a place set for all this cradling, my word is obeying, my world so strung she almost couldn't use lungs

do you feel that jinx ice cold sculptures relocating extraneously (that's) what a jacket can do bring her home truth is i'm freezing and seeing through things quickly, you?

spot 2:50 one caged assured absurd movements make it in this place like I say like I said like I dream place encased stays but never erased debased down to zero for the moment though its always never the same, if it wasn't so much of a play placer i'd erase it, note to self: do later, no matter to charge no horse to hold up bars and in the epitome of everything i'd say it how-wronged... slipped away

like I say like I said

just mapping on the charge, it's far away somehow I know it's almost dawn, drawn to the refrain of the digits such a limit to the timid trepidation I feel, nothing reel, one's back, blissful in this soft kiss moment, I almost kneel, not allowed somehow listening to real as well seems pensive and in its peacemeal splendor I unreel a demeanor of heel pivot and off to the postulates that lost their limits

to make it, face, entropy replacement farther forth in the same direction so I can sleep.

and that

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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everyday is a learning order for disorder. More snow on your cellar door than mordor could offer. might toggle time. where offerrings of snow are like the most pleasant the tallest will get and short with thine, tho in turn a true burner of it who calls it by his quill, an upheavle into reticence, he since may mistake his grill, tho gills be hard to come by, they offer expanse, but if a fish could smoke, could it really just be thought and dance, the first time touched offering quilt from the tucker, as some often say, though id stray and be a sucker, candles and matches, could one hinge another and call itself like a gladdist, setting stone? prone to tone, alone to won? the footprints already lead indoors. "what happens when the cellar door is closed?

why that's when the wind doesn't howl as much.

eight hours allay later delay.

"this"

scary kids

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 6:40 PM

comments (0)

The kid who pronounced monseiur correctly called me one, and now I think I need a doctor.

Nature habbit

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 5:05 PM

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Isolated, mixed, abused, never allowed to be, I so late, dyed an egg and meant therefore to be aware.

Start

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 5:00 PM

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Predessors'

ghost channel

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 4:45 PM

comments (1)

here we are learning, leaning and warring over over seas, aborting plans for starlit nights with starlit kites. 'its like enjoy the kite young one, cuz when it breaks you should be strung out, or we\ll make one, anyway landing on a nuance that could populate a reason for metaphor in a poet companion, at this time we'd be watching lights move, but at this point we stand one. and finally when thee stars really come out we see the same things just on the widest crystal apparency magnetically acheiving broadness through father straws that were antler'ing into the sawdust. of to build a network of yes and no, knowledge and whats fa'struck, timid coloring from an upgathering and lots of ghosts to come. but its a hassle at this time of year, unless your ready to make snowmen. and prone to be a blend again with fences fencing in the pendulum of a creation... seriously its either the moon or the fandom, so gloriate and sorry yet, earlier we knew we found one, but at this time it\s like they're family, oh Rion, and split apart.

Worst worth

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 4:40 PM

comments (0)

Tipping point of slang versus slang verse tipping point versus the universe.

What's worst? Birth or the end of learning? or the worst thing you can think of versus versus?

Terse movements of Earth dripping into worthwhile for the North, caverns caving in for the curse? Birth of a new proffession, lots of girth movinng sideways into the first. Though I dare to remember what's worst.

the niceness of good applejuice

Posted  by barrett on November 15, 2013 at 4:20 PM

comments (0)

oh that's good, might get some more

thank you

Posted  by barrett on November 13, 2013 at 5:35 PM

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Why is the clock the slowest processor at times? is it a gimmick? it seems all ac/dc clocks are complicated machine though why the strangest and most reliant? is strange tolerable? is it necassary to make what is often the biggest proportion interesting, almost fully literally. When will that thing on the wall at work, and by your bedside hang upside down? when will it be written? is the latter even possible? circles i guess, merit the injustice of nature, and straight lines give us a picture of what is real.ie. a real long time ago we had no measure of what we call our updated time.

untitled

Posted  by barrett on November 13, 2013 at 12:25  AM

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In September of the same year, I had started taking some philosophy classes. It was a relief to hear a professor’s voice and be around the same type. This man who sat next to me always had something to say, and I always troubled him with my questions, rather than get the professor’s textbook response.

ease combine

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 1:50 AM

comments (0)

Fleeing decently receding Thee peace bequeath a Special lease undone to Thee uneasy, peacefully piecing treats and cleats to be the steam in your bereft unleashing.

Reasonably fleecing treason speeding, by beating leading, leading led on straws deleting creases in specious reasoning pleading speaking weakening bleak defeatings, deeking weaklings seeing creaking beaten fourteens, (like lying Shakespearian greetings)

Some lyrics

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:15  AM

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Astral plane travellin main making it rain in courtships with the southern hemisphere

It pits the sane against the bane of existence why flames rap around my cylindrical dame

Fame or fortune, beyond repair, vague disorder that retracts the flaps to shape the borders

We amass at centre stage taking plague pills to stand straight with the grain, korn is played out loud roars are heard our heard roams the fields in search of cookies with the help of yellow birds, tomatoes silly i get sight of word no one else can cure the ham like i can, we all say it from now on its to be debated. soft ware. thoughts pair like ruffles. truffle trifle, despite an eyefull of eggnog thats delightful when nightly chilled, its a real type night like where nikes are pronounced without the ease psych running down the street like a chain gun through belts of bullets, just like we already hit it, but wait its limping, pump another 15 inbetween

I SHARPEN MINE WITH A PORCUPINE ANVIL

TWIST RIGHT THROUGH THE FOREST LIKE RAMBO

LOOKIN UP I CAN SEE THE CANOPY TANGO

RAN OUT OF LEAVES SO I DO THE SAME TILL I CANT STAND STILL

STILT SPAN THEN A DANCE OVER TO TAMPER WITH THE RANDOM

THERES NO CONNECTION LIKE

i shake a format its raining dormats been so dormant taking hearty napps just to anchor the important, need some time stamps

erase the golden doctrine in the synapse. no one s levy enough to bout the brevity in the such is life set i say all jittery jit jit ju jitsu

i been lending beats breaks and beaks to a philosophic dove who entreats us with thoughts on love.

enough enough through the rough away away ebb out on 4 rate one one zero tarot sparrow near so

i take the bureau out. bust it up, and rob deniro

take his timestamps i need em primed and printed,

so i run to business depot, for no other reason, to complete this friggin sequence.

of mistreated hedon readings succeeding to shoddy reason.

i caught up, lost down, can't stop now, or is that all that's left to do other than be reknowned

constantly haunting thee, shores of the city. just waiting for petty pitty. hello kitty

welcome to the gritty morning drippy! catnip cacti sour milk, fourty billion bagpipes compressed into one thats compressing as one i know, its rather wintry mutiny mints be pressing coinage

to outlaw the fifty, over ten, like the quilt cakes go on forever. what i couldn't compressed with some oculence, endeavor trocking benz, was it a miracle, i sub segway into the equation to duress the mother quill staying still,

now mathematics still rocking the beat, i play a live show chalkboard scratches and screech

that dove comes back almost always so mosy or treat, this as a lament, boring as heat, heathrow, or wheat

to find the concrete solid would be solid, promise to sheet, i'll make you like the stairs

take a staircase to stars see the features form feats yours are the detours reversed and forward

lets talk a way with the run of a theoretical cave. no one can distound the word, but i propound that it might be used today

and onward we steal way to the rise of figurative sway, say siya, ger tiger druid adroit in winning bays. like it was thought from the rise of one kinda stay all the razed sand takes time to make marigolds bend for disdain ... taking orders from rhyme rate and rhyme stages. a way awya away awya away

taking time to reach the heights of midday placement, thirty seconds till i select the taste of vapour i want to takein house the truncated space favour. i might be thought astray but i walk around the minor's gold with a samsonite briefcase,

ghostship sailing without a rudder or prime directive known for frequenting the bottom dwellers

cafe halfway to armeggedon. or was it magellans last nebula a regular really to one of them, just because within the perfect beginnings now the serpents bellow, trembling sirens to vibratto and spacemermaids retelling of the chirades we surfaced as we become part of the wayward tasteless face off complacents stasis. mongering for the love of targeting ongoing rowing like it was a safe november remember me december before i turn all cold and the harpoons sharpen, or is it that the whale hunt broadens. at worlds with atwood saturating avenues with lampwick, can't collide within perfect spellings or desert dwellings ill forever be a nomad if i can't depict my addressing

when the sun warms up to a more spacious leash, i'll find the eclipse at zero anywhere then considered east, feast upon the pragmatism of a less collected beast, i beleive we could direct the warmth if we weren't such a leach.

but from astronomical units a way! trompe de loeil anyway tropical fish could say that they were the spacemermaids if we created an atlantis out of the moons dazzling race. we are moonmen, straight from sol. we ebb out when we we're home and flow when we're alone, saddling the satellite, we're prone to find our way through the ozone

to beseech the moon for a nightcap we dazzle if we say.during the night timbre an unhearty right of ways. say slay midnight a rigormortis today simpler. i'll see you in the sky maybe you could even decay yourorbit and yourself as atlantis create. i'll wonder why i never swam to the moon reflection sooner cuz thats what the scene looks like today anyway and im guessing that thats where i'll find poseidon, namor, my living self, need i say more, i already patched an echo, thoughts on techno. if i wasn't on a ghost pirate ship i'd say hellno.

but i am, man and energy, combatting trams, just to reflect on techno. i blame technology and i don't want to let go of this 3 dimensional circular pancake special

regimented invented sentences go beyond reflection to the source caveat the cohort about this sort of rhythmic aggression. is it right to sport the thunder from the enlightning sounds which one dismisses your retention and rounds off the order for mention the voice that goes before the penchant for this... hedge cut by edward with handhands,

those who know, slowly form 3d spirals cascading rival circular articles.

perhaps charred at the centre, which they never winter or reach farther than

but come to terms with as the enter. o

ffending off hand remarks with off ended marks

it got them on the naughty list. i'll take the shelves over cars.

my self as the trough, clearly the mirror doesn't even delay like that

what about stars, ripped from the crux, of cuba or art, wherefore art though shard

of diamond, to rip the glass apart

and spread time farther into this apartment's heart

second hand practically dipping, the ringdom's king won't accept infringing

for we all talk of wisdom, but when we see it, fear impinges.

i guess thats why the fireplace distances the grinch, can fire really do that timid

i enter, watching fear dissolve, probably fallacy will glady rattle me till i

make it around our galaxy. tattle be: he sat upon a comfy seat, used his hands to run along with sheep

thats how the wolf leans posit r in the nearest neutron star so we all can see

now: clandestine, arresting and reversing first impressions, neglecting mention of the monolithic beginnings

the talk of wisdom, repetitious system driven listen kissing. serving spaceships-and- remaining distant im sans which one track former 5letter wiccan tonal rhythm beta cheiftain fact checking missionary warner brother in the rights of written painstaking freedoms given by the statutes of any listener with a written consent form from themselves in triplicate sitting lightly on the statue of liberty within limits, lest fence intrinsic power trippin. dippin into doves, loud and runny, the dog barks, not because its hungry. maybe tryna be funny. can't wait until its sunny.

maybe this one will be far enough away not to mention wrongs.

i take the tongs, ostrich egg and think hard

theirs got to be a way to baldwin these 2 and a half articles into a song

tongs, ostrich egg

tongs, ostrich egg, song

theres no limit think of plymouth talkin stephen hawkins theory finished

singularities please, points of no return... believe, we all can sneeze our way out of a feesibly incandescent beam decay, asscent from turbulent censorship. ..bent on bringing out the zest from the best of the less frequent orange tips and depth.

might as well turn a profit, rest and sip, erupting through the roster would have to be dollarage star sign tolerable milestone doctorate imposters

talking over lemonade like they lost the game.

but its funny how it happens some don't feel ashamed.

is it up to them or us to find the just in just a jist of the business sifting through it

like we weren't impressive, impressing triplicates like they said all the while

meanwhile the meandering catalouge the froglike fossils

round off the relics to shear impossible

so where the crystal at, its calling kane and i aint a palladin yet i cant escape these trap doors that enforces that theres a force that doesn't want me getting close to a pure geometric source, now i know this wasn't in the brochure but i do read more, into the lore that says the mystical quest has been dealt with, i thought cid died, hes always coming back

and it all came together like anythin but fairweather such antithetical proclamations cant get any better, down a river, about a route down a river to the root

it was all the same till your name graced the page now im outta redundancies other than grey crock tame. lil advil beggar with a cane sugar its abundant like flame igniting the rudder im fighting the shudder of a 7th inning stretch with no where to place bets but at least theres

its wonderful and cumbersome to be in love with the way something sounds

seriously troublesome to be running out of sound. i take apart a three of hearts with my bare hands for no other reason than speaking bound to text and

through the wire, patches fire is scented luncheon latches lock and higher places are rented

the unlimited premonitions of a license to feel symply isn't rhythmic

its symbolic though mainly systolic diastolic when you don't really feel, something's still turning the wheel. and whats yield-ed is.

This brink sparked how,way at mad him reflect. He couldn't possibly, but that didn't restrict the limits of independence.

I break a bushel and shuffle into the city centre, mentoring an artiste with no headtrip that got the better of me. Just waiting to delete the layers of snowdrift amounting amounting bit by bit on typed strips of thin clipped papyrus enticing systems of revision like listening to televisions on the warring channel blips conspire rhythm on the ss give me more the trick is timid wisdoms like shake a stick at the wired wisps and the crispex perspectivisms dishing out the dirt on the

Some lyrics

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:10  AM

comments (0)

i

April 2nd, 2012

It's got to be April Second today. It can't be April First everyday can it? Well can it.

Well-crafted

its puzzling the rubble road ending at the hubble telescope,

never, always, sometimes, sure. x3

is it elastic... bands which keep me rapping?

fans in tandem with never that keep me yapping, trapping, twisting, listing, pure. thoughts which rebound on such allure. or in this state, fraught?

drought demur, i can't be lost. what creates the boundaries for our mundane world?

is it always this way, sometimes i can concur but though contradict and control lore. what wit has to do with it aches in the cortex, not too sure

though,

so i make. strides to arrive/ when the tying trolls an and that just has to roll, was it planned? a plateau that makes for tired souls and focus follows so i'll make the next few golden gilded. i lifted an instrument, bored into the mountainous monument to songs that are stricken from the record!,

can i say it moved me at least daccord daccord, in accord with the bylines beats resting easy in silent sheets. white snow on the streets

So what moves feet?- now featured, in a league or two of melted water

Scattered first then drained like a teacher. note well i can't control these spells i cast well i just borrow from the well that can be an addendum, like nintendo with super prefix or powers to uplift.

Now that gravity's gotten in, whats holding us down? i realize its a perfect world when i hear the right sound. din din dimmer, at a simmer with the alter, faltering to proctor this unstarved artist any farther.

I caught her eyeing the words, now this i am told

Is whats not supposed to happen without the help of chords. but we all can think right? I Hope we can all think right

Crash test sillilloquy silly statements made by you or me, verbatim work there way into decency.

Being decendents of harnessing ill remembrance of narsissustic thrills are overkill, like this beat but i'll rap on it still. what way should i drill seargeant. calling bosses by loosely linked synonyms is bringing in the losses. tossed to far to the opposite position rocking pauses because its as fast as ever. never sever ties with losses its costly like faucets probably are and cars and trucks and plains and trains and bars and tucks and spain is specially to spaniards connected to layniards are pick locks we all share the same home with rich parts like stirred marts. correction we now have an occupation occupation malapropped up against the hedgehog detour speed to level out the authenticity. i lost myself in recency reticently reliving read recording rarities ranging relatively rational relevancy to reiterate maybe. really? Reality rarely rivets wrongs with rights but i may have just changed mind tonight.

Trains on planes, walking the planck to tank at the box office.

Crystal dancers prancing on tunics of the lost world topple

Down to the stomach seinfeld sillouhette, still young yet he

Could correspond with the weathered years like a snowstorm yeti

Begetting a ready crowd of setis to link back the living steady

Infultrate his messy system full of fibre optic cables

Breaking fawns to flora doglsled called beverly

A lacy white strap falls from the synapse to anybody willing to grapple

The stamp pro whos able and willing, to pick apart a 5 piece perforated on the table and chilling

In dry ice, wry vice, no ones nicer than the number two typewriter cable connector illing to fare

Up the world with the balsamic vinegarrette salad dressing while nesting are

The stairs and the cupboards, fuck it we'll take cupboards and ride em over fjords

Assured we make the right choice when mine is yours and backwards

Trample over avalanche calibre remonstrances, just mashing the synapses collapses

These rap synthesis financial vibrant title geist dish guising at night in lapses

Of theoretical tangential argumentative vibratto elemental pineapple to be sure spazzes

Tear the traps back, let in the footprint of your phone's app.

No one needed to feed it these things are metal, as soon as its defeated you retract the get go

Which is now in your possesion a lesson in meddaling token medallion for your confection

Arresting the eyes of onlookers, even offlookers, can't stop/// i guess i can

Trains on planes, walking the planck to tank at the box office.

Crystal dancers prancing on tunics of the lost world topple

Down to the stomach seinfeld sillouhette, still young yet he

Could correspond with the weathered years like a snowstorm yeti

Begetting a ready crowd of setis to link back the living steady

Infultrate his messy system full of fibre optic cables

Breaking fawns to flora doglsled called beverly

A lacy white strap falls from the synapse to anybody willing to grapple

The stamp pro whos able and willing, to pick apart a 5 piece perforated on the table and chilling

In dry ice, wry vice, no ones nicer than the number two typewriter cable connector illing to fare

Up the world with the balsamic vinegarrette salad dressing while nesting are

The stairs and the cupboards, fuck it we'll take cupboards and ride em over fjords

Assured we make the right choice when mine is yours and backwards

Trample over avalanche calibre remonstrances, just mashing the synapses collapses

These rap synthesis financial vibrant title geist dish guising at night in lapses

Of theoretical tangential argumentative vibratto elemental pineapple to be sure spazzes

Tear the traps back, let in the footprint of your phone's app.

No one needed to feed it these things are metal, as soon as its defeated you retract the get go

Which is now in your possesion a lesson in meddaling token medallion for your confection

Arresting the eyes of onlookers, even offlookers, can't stop/// i guess i can

Thought beleivers would hold levers holy orders of receivers bell payphone outta order can i leave yours. notes to the quota iota i tote a hindrence of my symptoms i oughtave wrote a prescription for a different octave in a notarized alibi for those who fly in planes when the spherical properties of contingency realize it forms itself like alphabetically papoose did. a truce with the wealth of words say im stupid. now active practice makes time short. and bends around the belt ...so in the long run thats for me to decide thrice triplicate try for more order an ornate celebrate once you finish the song

\

With a wayward way with words, i fleece a million dollar bill on the back of a polo shirt. whatever will whatever won't gathers in the fabric, seats rich drones through a hat trick.

Please matches coalesce with the bones of a rubric, the rural timid ration, of the fusion.

Of tact and tease, passion, test and tone, bastion with a tunic round the bureaucratic mention of the first men that lives with a ransom noting the music. that some dance on, alone with the all, and in with the ruins of the contract ceased lest it hone the sound of lactic acid thats all around it, these adroit figures figure ligaments while the others offer impediment, and usher in new ways to connect us, to spacious blent platforms where we trek truss bridges and get around to stupendous feats

Theres a world outside of here

Whether its close far or near farther there farthest i don't care

Im going and ill change this place

Maybe once im gone ill walk away

/its unnerving the birdwings i use to break the turnpike. my inner workings, morphing like a fashion trend. satellite heights. call it a site. geo geo station synchro retrograde negation in one way street wise meet placates the defeat of common traitors acting as commontaiters by definition only save your selves from conch shells or rebel. hell i'll even throw in wealth! At war with the will to cover still covert stilts tbat i set up to stop the bells ... ...like they say: rock them shelled from the hardplace, shelled by the inbetween. like the rock use to say to man and still can you smell what the rock is cooking. just to make slang for all my children

I don't want to be in settlement, id rather just pick you a better man. how can i hide from this integrational replacable bed again

Cadillac though cataracts. lilac and lie back.

Sleeping in a new car till the sun retracts

My eye lids, im riding out waves of dystopia

Through my macrocosmic catastrophic blent myopia

Wheres the wonder gone, or is it here under the papers. oh the save yourself games we deem as majors, like! Tame yours and unfold your relatively dull straight rapier. fence to fence to fence to fence. to be again under the selfsame sky, i might be dense to wonder what id have to drink. probably die. spend the whole afterlife not having to try to relax relatively, because i got drunk and into a swordfight. how silly

No no no no here the wonder has tatooed curtains on its its belly. with angel wings on its tassles and blows a dog whistle to stretch the limits like i did. tried to relax and faxed a whole pig inside myself. fiddled with the control panel in my computer with the intent to install more software. didn't run smooth weird

Cadillac though cataracts. lilac and lie back.

Sleeping in a new car till the sun retracts

My eye lids, im riding out waves of dystopia

Through my macrocosmic catastrophic blent myopia

They say stress is a syllable impressed with itself at rest. at least i think they do to test, if it is with those that want it that way. cuz they sit

On the fence. but to no fence sitter is there a letter also deemed a number that could follow the letter i could write cest la vie deemable as a number, you could smell the ink. to bad im on a computer now don't you think its sad to have to laugh at the jokes that aren't funny thats why we need more staff writers with less stressed out math

Matchable word wrap rappable stapled papable reiterationaly detainable strung out silly\

To no fence sitter is this pity

Cadillac though cataracts. lilac and lie back.

Sleeping in a new car till the sun retracts

My eye lids, im riding out waves of dystopia

Through my macrocosmic catastrophic blent myopia

It comes from pockets, this lake lorn to profits sa storm forever marketted

In bed reassured locketed with a better stirred rocketship straw like they bend around the universal paltry

Faulty draw bridge cursed to doctor the author to balk at marker tips/ and fellow ships

Hello grips. yalls fools, in order, target stripped. like borders thatll be clipped

So how bout we dip into the sprinkles ya dig got it rigged

Reverse psychology never worked its a fib

Coerced within the drab, sadist symtematic live life logger's mill

I got a lotta milk to spill so cry your eyes out against that windowsill

Wu tang widow few can sit through full blown metal thats why its done in chambers

Little by little

We're really stars, talk about large, we're living legends rhythmic system bobbing within a symbolic farce. tardy for the charge of the trade that displaces chemical bonds a series of pawns that are normal can conceive but can't believe that two that couldn't can't relive what they releave through. kinda coalesces cuz none were made i think there was an issue of the globe and mail that relates, call it late to the place meant for the race, that reinstates you as a muse to my tape deck

Half way down we split we call the biggest bluffs, take the chips, and realize the stuff we're made of isn't rushed /its a slowburn bottom feeding toss to turn it up alright defeating of the dismal, this won't go away i try to rough it out and for years don't know how long its been though /it doesn't matter, ive seen the sad skies, asked the wise whys, flipped the coins twice. ripped the package open and seen you in a bag of rice for now i'll warm the ice of your impress/ id guess youd stress alone had so many bricks admiring the structure of your home. is it just to look at you id king my castle if i had to but i play kinda rude, no time to plan it out, just gotta get into your shoes. run about, collect the collapses, like past tense was fashioned.

I shift sands while i walk, shake hands while i talk, cheap brands when shop its all the same to the doc. stocked shelves in the past, been in locked cells thoughts fast with nothing to do but hold fast. chalked cues by myself not at the same time, but maybe impressed ladies with nothing but an envelope that was never opened i think its barely spoken but it happened and im lately overrated by sundry hate-mes thought a girl was giving birth to a baby sang my song by the same name to make it less shady had an impromtu date with an 18 year old babe sharing sad stories while i was staring into nowhere mostly was the host to a rave scene at least thats what the drugs got me saying held a prayer position too long to get them to notice i might be praying playing the 5 same songs thats still going on patients passed me by while i waited last man in the spaceship till the same cell became vacant, been there a few times racing all alone to facilitate the same which i Hope will remain clandestine till i figure out the name realized the whole banal thing was a shame had a bagel with herb and garlic, untoasted, talked in frog throat, realized i said tart lit, and many things that i didn't spit, spit like rambo, wrote about rambo, metacarpal workouts pretending to play the strings had a stand still smoked so many cigarettes drank a shot of alcohol and i think its still affecting me, saw my mom vanish in her hall and something mightve jumped out from the tree. found out it was hard to believe in a static frivolity played super mario two player without luigi, think i sat through one movie. got close before watching good will hunting till it became love scenes burnt plaid in my jeans, durst fad with the scene, cursed out loud with a serbian in the suburbs who has dreams. wrote words not knowing what the mean, kinda... read a little nietzche figuratively speaking

I take the stair case, put it in my briefcase. my legs were sore, so i soar over there say: were you aware im the rarist terrorist bearing garish overbearing parents who say no more swearing to be the fairest.

There there rest. i take a pairing of stairing to work the wearing. what is this really? Could there be more sharing. up to the minute news nightly for our type of daring. darlings markings on my skin from the offering talking out loud in syncopation

Rest assure the words that i could walk around your were were never worn till this my goodsir take one step down from your throne and pardon the yearning, learning, burning, discerning, confusing barely tolerated person myself one addict churning socratic thought to balance with balm and blame his decided practice all the while the worlds turning the furnace is a convent for my inner workings where terms lurking become birthing females some loved and some hurting some unavailable some turn pale. whatever worms its way to the surface, i cherish and wail, brandish till they stop working so i may stay and avail.

All i ask is some ears to my leers and gazes inside the lab and the mazes to phase with a stasis of my voice and patience for its not fraught with good form yet yet it might shape this whole place into a palace, the talent

Notably fastened to the cork of granite leaking out the backhand. digits rivet sifting on the bandstand. grandslam to

1Patrick Stewart – best known for his role as Captain Jean-Luc Picard on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

i Like patterns, like phantoms, like saturn, like lanterns. (like saturn, like patterns, like lanterns like phantoms.)

posies

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:05  AM

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Shaped with a hand so gentle, yet strong

It's instantly burnt and hardened. Like lentils

The vase pronounciation gentled,and drawn

And a flower for my pardon. Daffodil

in simplicity i wander like a child, too complex for the cows to come home. the scenery blends in with me like a bus-bust going for broke.

the soap i used totes, but I virtually know no one.

now you should know, that if you're reading this, there are certain words that just stick out, like hollograms. take a piece of me...

if there were an essay on it, it'd be titled: Those Who Know Me Know. I can act like I read it. hey, again, but really its just the dice. on a different starbust candy tranquility spin i realize i am only what i make of myself, call this the denoument.

there is no cafe,

there are no more intruder sundial batteries

i wish i could say something was true. days seem quill/

maybe it's maybellene

Posted  by barrett on November 12, 2013 at 12:05  AM

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so, someone got change for a $1000 bill

This is the wildest adventure you've ever been on.

Girls, grills, gills

I swam till i couldn't sea the shore, in the sands of our lies.

Running thin, on empty, and I shift my head just to realize.

I wonder how long it will take for my posture to collaborate.

If there were an easier way to say I told you so, I wouldn't.

but i melt around the edges and evaporate in turn.

And yearn for a yeilding, that doesn't even earn.

Sporadic spirally spells of sepsis, if thats well,

correct then i was guessing, and i thought it too as wells.

This is the dawning.

The

Dawning.

In the land known as Patience, representatives have patience. They are practically representing, patiently, presenting their respective land known as patience. There are no doctors, just patients.

In the land known as Doctors, representatives have credentials. They are without practice, patiently waiting for patients.

The doctors built a ship, and docked Patience. For about 3 years, nothing happened, but everyone was patient.

The patients built a ship, and landed on Doctors. Immediately the patience had docked. Credibility of their respective home had failed.

Years later, the son of God led them all back home.

The patients on Patience. And the doctors on Doctors.

Thinking back, I wouldn't have changed a thing. I hear Billy became a stockbroke, I still think about him every time I pass through the city. Ryan passed away in a trainwreck. What a trainwreck.

This is not a dream. The red numbers blink. Celia needs to get to class. I start the motorcycle, she is already out the door. She mounts the leather seat. I look away. We're already on the way. She takes off her helmet after the engine stops, I take it, and she glides into the institution graced finally with her presence.

She sits tapping her pencil on the desk, the professor is trying to see her take note. She just breaks the pencil somehow. The professor points to the door, and tells her to read chapter seven. She walks out the door quietly. The whole faculty just dies a little inside. She is already out the door. I look away. We're already on the way.

This is not a dream. The red numbers blink. Celia needs to get to class. I start the motorcycle, she is already out the door. She mounts the leather seat. I look away. We're already on the way. She takes off her helmet after the engine stops, I take it and she glides into the institution graced finally with her presence.

She sits tapping her pencil on the desk, the professor is trying to see her take note. She just breaks the pencil somehow. The professor points to the door, and tells her to read chapter eight. She walks out the door quietly. The whole faculty just dies a little inside. She is already out the door. I look away. We're already on the way.

This verse abridgement of my first project: Sewn Crates revised April 17th, 2012, 19:00.

Sewn Crates

Epilouge

Some writing can be Sewn, as so. His silly, but mainly: influential, writing, in some places known as negligee parts...Where, some don’t assume positions of retained-anything-at-all, for

they retain creativity constantly, creating a void of tolerance. But by what bias does the distinction between poise and constancy become immeasureable.

In other words, when do we consider which is best?

It takes only a matter of time in a truer sense to see what.

“So what do we make of truth?” The Sewn idiosyncratic collection of thoughts put together to be part of this endeavor notably.

“Well, it has to be time, or sequential apartment inside thereof.”

“A path between points might stumble on some segment of the answer.”

...But she is brash as the brass: arriving thorough jazz of lucidity.

brick a brack

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 10:55  PM

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This morning was different. The sun had already made its way past and over the shrub. It couldn’t have been me. As I walked along the brick and what? Plastic structures I envisioned the place from a top-down angle, it seemed wonderfully cloying, for the time being, seeing it, with reason, was enough to dream.

Sarah woke up off the bed and parted her hair, alone… shook her head and went straight for the kitchen. Out the window she saw the houses and shrub and shrubs. She had just reached for the cabinet when Allen came back from his walk, he’d be having coffee too.

“Sarah, I think it’s time we…” he abruptly paused.

Sarah reached the instant and smiled to him with a turn-out-pout in assuming.

“There are just too many bricks. We’re living in a brick cult or something…” Allen trailed off and sat down, “some for me.”

I knocked on their door where they retold the

While the poet practises philosophy...

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 10:25  PM

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Through a torn implement of a derivative of something subjective, translated where no relationship exists, I pirate an alien tongue to make you slave to the wonders of fun readership.

Nietzsche: The philosopher usually quotes the poet.

"smash my harp onstage"

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:50 PM

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newt

a baby newt watching destiny.

fell in love with albany.

all crazy and felt, like a rail in a felt.

the stealth belt melted weltd

Total War Part three, and the startling beginning!

The fighter plains came below the ceiling and the Japanese destroyer stopped in the water, the few anti-aircraft guns slowly and laboriously positioned themselves to predict the flight path of the almost versatile American aircraft. Suddenly the most versatile aircraft made their way from the west, the destroyer shot in front of the intercept path of the American aircraft.

The American aircraft two by two split up, the two west most dipping under the flightpath and towards the destroyer, the other two heading directly towards the Japanese aircraft going as slow as possible.

American transmission:

"Move in from the Indian."

The flak exploded, the planes fired, the propellers roared and the subs searched for each other.

American Transmission:

"Scramble."

There were 4 Japanese planes, they all went down towards the destroyer firing precisely behind the flightpath of the two American Mustangs that were headed for a death sentence. The other two Mustangs fell to intercept the two aforementioned Japanese aircrafts. They were gradually torn apart by the other two Japanese aircrafts.

TBC

Space Lakes Poetry, plus infinity stuff too!

The stars arranged in waves, of replete figureheads seizing lovers’ eyes.

By far the rearranged slaves, were defeated, leading to cover thighs.

At large the paved derringers, were seated after hovering thrice.

So

I’m a poet, I take pages.

And crump on the podium of precedence.

Drunk all the time on love,

Seeing straight through the steel bars.

Posted 1 year ago

meadow

So they walked through the meadow, half sullen, half sunken. The deep end again. He grabbed her by the turned coat and kissed her in midair. She thought deeply right away. He broke the lock that bonded them substituting his astute, and trembling lips accordingly. Of course it was cold, it was always cold here.

The snow fall flaked, For just one day, And it had them distraught, With what came there way.

trail blazer

i was walking in the forest aloof!

with no shoes on my feet, new chew in my tooth!

all of a sudden, I realized something!

The one’s who knew were family too!

So i travelled past the mountains in a flash!

dashed through the tropics in my past!

got around the world in under 80 days

reminded myself it was all a dream, i mean stage.

no one was listening, when the relic hunter came on television.

i guess no one wanted to search for treasure.

or they found it, and had preforsaken it luck it was sunken.

no one remembers the how about a luncheon!

deserted island phonetic witness, to the drastic plastic, hold fast kid.

timex.

rolex

i’ll take a brief habbo to remind you briefly.

Posted 1 year ago

eyeglasses

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

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stockpiled insufferable malaise mayonnaise outfitter. a title I once hold in good standing, though my new one unabashed regulator suspicion hunter is more to my liking, though I might've liked it If I suddenly went backwards.

a sir lancelot

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

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the dragon table they called it.

a lamp upon.

no doubt one was talking

when another fell out.

strange enough it was platonic.

like the board.

gypsies, gypsies, unicorns.

two

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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In retrospect I noticed nothing but hands on the clock. The, or what used to be the five, was now a somnolent elevated fracture of a fault line. I mean it could have been a three, no, that would have made it more of what is was and/or trying to be.

As I closed my eyes again I tried quite hard to remember the time, it seemed that it's only requisite feature was that it wasn't really moving.

I take it for granted that it doesn't remember me. Though it had several dislocated minute particles, which reinforced the irregularities, which lead me to believe, that in fact it may have been me, that was indirectly surfacing an extraneous amount of attention towards it's fortunate twice removed indecision, stretching.

A Person eating a croissant in D minor

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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"Delish." Bryant said. "Just, delish. Milkman, brush my gums with 3 ounces."

"Only if you say so."

Spring Paint

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:45 PM

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Snail bold entangle

Servicing built mold mallet

weaving a next hour.

Sail build nautical

Surviving billed miled mollusk

Welding a next hour.

Bale full of caskets

Bringing fledged files wild

Dying, dying durst,

Fraying those flasks'

Tailors on a ship fledged

Dyng, drying reign.

Bleakly abiding

Rain. providing provisions

The darkness cold as,

Faint, drying, nice! Spiced

Emergent flame slain vice

Breaking fees feed fleet

"To society"

Captain called slower cranks.

"We'll" Wheel "we're" well well.

It was an Ideal.

text space

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:40 PM

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Start, I did, once, at lost.

I found a lot.

Out of gaze.

Listening to paradise.

Mastering the flow.

Of where is lost.

Vice.

Is my spice of life?

trite communique

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:35 PM

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Although youth can be fleeting in an impartial clause to retreat, meeting of such distinct distinction can often suffer meet. Alas, in order to become a due, must defend where and when without a reason to offend. By what starry matter do we rise and fall to be patient enough to seek refuge in death? or do we pretend?

Perhaps night shades the intolerable, and the sun soaks the valuable, and the twilight speaks to mollify the all able in creationism on the fly. With such summits of surpass!

The predestined, find ways to allay. The tolerability holds buoyantly, and lastly the changing is dope, so I cut in line at the refreshment table holding a nine with a peace sign. Perfectly constructing a change in demeanor as expressed, presses the certain issue, and the rain must fall as well, plus the moving of the heavens, including but not to mention.

one

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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I was sitting in the middle of an NRA meeting, again. Fran was trying to have a smoke. The biggest gun we got to talk about today was a new Mississippi brand sawed off mod of a single-barrel revolver.

She says, "Pronto, let me have this right now!" To which everyone just wants her to hold the thing.

Some guy at the back opens a tin can and tries to make it louder than it was. Fran doesn't like that, is what I'm thinking. She gently takes the Mississippi loose weight, spins it around, some new guy from, well probably Mississippi walks in and I make myself scarce. Finally, she drops it and I get to hold the thing

«

While the poet practises philosophy...

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 10:25  PM

comments (0)

Through a torn implement of a derivative of something subjective, translated where no relationship exists, I pirate an alien tongue to make you slave to the wonders of fun readership.

Nietzsche: The philosopher usually quotes the poet.

"smash my harp onstage"

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:50 PM

comments (0)

newt

a baby newt watching destiny.

fell in love with albany.

all crazy and felt, like a rail in a felt.

the stealth belt melted weltd

The rain stopped and Dreifus was truly gone, Gezabelle made a snide remark about how Dreifus always fucked shit up. Damian chirped. Prince Scarlet, uncapped the bottle and poured it on the glowing axe. He thought a little faster and gave the beaker to Gezabelle. Gezabelle neglected the axe and Damian appeared. Prince Scarlet cradled the axe into striking position and swung it aiming for Gezabelle’s neck.

TBC

Categorical Imperative,

The categorical imperative is selecting an imperative to execute.To decide what you are.

Going beyond things is the most compromising you can do. It astounds and transforms the boundaries of compromise. Now, I won’t compromise while invading the jurisdiction of formative collaborations, but there is to be noted that, among us, we live with formations of rocks, fences, and meadows. But condolences aside, there is no vague idea for the input that goes unfounded, no one ever finds the solace they’ve truly ignored.

Contrary to belief, it is a good idea to transcend freedom; this is the meaning of freedom. If we are not freeing our transformative opinions, then we are not recognizing solace.

Now, with respect to the geometric simulation of transformation it is really not out of place, just recapitulated slightly within the imagination and imagination’s grid. Whichever way you look at it, you reassign the configuration into accordance with whatever symbolic representation you want to enlighten. It’s not rocket science.

Rocket Science,

Preperation is key to success. Just configure the solace that you misttakenly guided into the Sun. “Sol” if you will.

Now, if there are a few things acting on a rocket, then there will be a net gain of ordinance. Any which way you transform a free thing, you will transcend it’s transcendental freedom.

Starship Enterprise,

I am under attack.

The Stigma of Mental Illness,

Many people are afraid of mental illness, they think that the ones who have a mental illness are somewhat flawed, and they would like to help them. They do not like to help though, therefore they take the fall by falling under the categorical imperative.

Midnight Starship…

The milky way reflects on the surface of the lake,

Slowly walking away at light speed, surfacing tension and calibre.

And even wagon of dialect graces the ripple of a new dimension.

And we all look back to the land.

WE’ve blasted off again,

out of time, and out of space.

There is no way home Christopher…

You are slowly getting more united with

whatever takes you, and rocks you back and forth.

Pray tell, what is your dialect?

is it the ebb and flow of humanity?

are we a weeping ocean of waters?

Do we sail at night wondering the earth?

Is there really a way out of the impure stature of a forebearance?

how do we succintly stoutly, softly ebb out like you.

Rock me back and forth.

Carousel Distinction.

You are not a fucking Horse.

Wet Napkins,

You bloody pinpricart.

doth though feel limp?

Haggle your way through my snaggle tooth

and rinse out your woven texture abundant,

The Navy Blue Cross,

We are the Hindsight of Malpractice,

We are the true Total Menace of Wrought Desire.

We sail above the rafters, and travel gallantly through the fog.

Always sending good men to the Crimson.

Oceanic Letters of Revelery.

Dear Mom,

Ever since I’ve been on this thing, this ship, I’ve been sick. Home sick mostly. I don’t know when I’ll reach home, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll be homesick then as well. I remember your apple pies and the way you treated me like I was a good son, but I think I’ll take Dad’s side on this one and say that I’m just sick.

Dear Dad,

I respect myself now.

Turbulent Fossilization,

Posted 1 year ago

all i need is one mic, and maybe a record contract… rs im looking at you

i battled ballads my beloved rattled with atlantic salmon and travelled above to see the sandman coming, but theres nothing like a muffin from a lady that made you go on and on about nothing like you were punched in the face thrice. enticing victims of the lovely, roughing tridents just to make the blood stop coming. and i rap in fact inside my residence, which takes precedence, but we both watch futurama, where i’m obama, and who santa can’t gift me more than my granma but the llamas that i phathom can’t take lamoz classes because its random. land one, land two, land three and your outlandishly standing at cubical tenement where the roof’s become a sheet landmine plant a flag fragment to mention mine, and yo you can wine and dine any rhyme but the rhythm is decision. so i’ll take you to my ordinary village where i become a villain, take my pills and avoid children, spilling guts like a mut who ate grass and talked to us. you can fuss and dust and rust but rustem. wait buttons! flutter over supper and sputter out crumbs like an usher. im a pencil pusher, but i only push myself to push that pencil aside, and take a stride into the wood, where it could be like santa, but wouldn’t even matter if you were madder, so sad to see you look down, im sorry old lady but i see youre smile as a frown, sometimes i drown in the gown i could create for my sound, like now, but love how? with no other way to do it unless i play cupid with ashtrays, spades, dig me up when you learn to behave. someone save me a square dance till you’re there and sing till you’re rare. bear this tip in mind kevin smith has two eyes in it, and that has two e’s, off me please, are you happy now you beeseech? treason in front of treason, to the sides: reason, now im pleading, mercury is fine, but i know you got a blue tinted visor that reflects signs.

Posted 1 year ago

yo

sigh, citation, invitation, invention, tantrum, tantra, mantra, mammoth, hammers width, famished gift, selfish gift, travel tips, exponent life, life, sift, tif, blip, pill boxes that shot the doctor’s patience. mason’s take on staking the stranded with underhanded band famished land of lost atomized tyrants, based in cincinnati the way a rowdy saddist might mechanize his favourite doll faced doll face. face doll. ollie over and forget about surfing the net for me, because we’re all part of this, it’s you, it’s me. v v v icodan icarine… buy my fucking book if you can’t wait…. anyway, i just put myself down the same way, anyway i would like you to know i will be at the cliffs, if you want you can meet me there. ‘listened to two of the three meter feeder’s . who does w/e think ? anyway, id like you to know. there are astronomers that are backwards but there are satellites too.!

Reblogged 1 year ago from philphys-deactivated20120616 (Originally from 9gag)

2,926 notes

Source: 9gag

some new stuff.

Recumbrant diction is a must-get fiction, frictionless, and imprisoned by etcetera throughout the district. Distinct and cheerful, the precinct quoted an imbecile and put the fashion trend into the motorized vehicle. Already a speeder, flashing demons the cheaters without poise or purpose or pronounced public speekers. Those who know, know. And those who don’t, know.

Okay double down on the pirate envy and wrap an m-16-macheti around your dark navy tribe. no one is offering you any more bromides. so in distinction with reliving the centre of a intrinsic pistol postulate, relegations of negations go famished for the one without a taste for apathy adjoins the furiously comprehending syntax.

If it were up to me, I’d look down upon you all.

Hey is for horses.

Three days later,

Welcome, sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but I’m busy at dueling with prose…

1.

Darling, no farthing is farther than my grasp. You are a scent, even your weakest, most fragile moment is silence. Let me try to caress your golden locks. Yes, quite. anyway, i thought i’d let you know I’m heading to the cliffs, you can meet me there if… anyway, let me caress your metronome. I’m sure my heart beats faster. anyway, i t hought i’d let you know that im heading to the clif. yo,

2. hey hey its your’s

3. Try to sty the virus that stylus want to be moody assistant. But don’t reveal the secret passenger code! oh no oh no oh no! Have no fear, my whims are heard. Yo, i just want to let you know, I’ll be going to the seal. hey, appeal, up here, altreal.

Vivid was the interplay, surrounded was the dismay, relaxed was the way of life, and intricately woven was the beautiful heir.

Listen, I don’t want to come off naive, but isn’t it you that I see in my reason. ‘Pleasing thank you’s at every turn. It is your turn.

4. Catch me if you can re:

3. I told you, didn’t I?

2.

1. I wanted to tell you, I’ll be.

and now for something completely different:

Formulaic racecar drivers are familiar with the track. Oswald was clever enough to spot Waldo a Subaru for nothing but noting. Twinkling a toting was the voting for Waldo to trophy.

"This Subaru handles curves."

"What doesn’t?"

"good point."

ethics or pride?

and now for something exactly the same

Formulaic racecar drivers are familiar with the track. Oswald was clever enough to spot Waldo a Subaru for nothing but noting. Twinkling a toting was the voting for Waldo to trophy.

"This Subaru handles curves."

"What doesn’t?"

"good point."

ethics or pride?

and now for something, outrageous!

Yo, ollie, lets take the trolley, to the mall, he, the volleyboy, is about to be destroyed… i mean employed, by the way he gathers baskets and weaves in certain tapestries. Baby! Lady! Maybe freckles all over my petals.

Chance of flurries.

Warm your bureaus

I’m about to get aromatic.

Daffodil distant, can’t even fly your feathers.

What teathers you to the Earth, for I fear we’re all letters.

But be that as it may, the stars can reach you, for they have longed arms only to beseech you.

On my quest through poetry, I give a roundhouse my reply. I say, I’ll kick it with you, if your lips aren’t even dry.

But be that as it may, say, have I seen you before, somewhere pleasant, somewhere for?

Realizing the count down is backwards is like finding out the…

Dear Anteater,

Would you stop eating all those ants, they are just ants!

I practice speaking out of character:

Spoiler alert!

I’m no critic, I’m hardly a cynic. I care for cyllindrical things and lampshades.

Where no wolves go, is the place where I’ll go. ‘They say follow the footprint low, and await the runaway.

It was truly beautiful; Earth had collided with a falling angel. No one knew why it was placed this way. Maybe to interupt the fashion dialouge of a caretaker stray. Play with me now:

It was aesthetically pleasing, rocks fell on the rocks. Everyone thought they put it in place. Maybe to interupt the fashion dialouge of a caretaker stray. Keep on!

I will now reveal a secret about winning the lottery!

it’s tough

I think I should try to focus, as not to locus the impurities I adore. J’adore.

A map is a contour

A star is an end

A black hole is something else

Where have we happened to bend!

Lend me your eyes! tie in the rising tide! Confide in a map, and try to peel that False hood out of bed.

Tread lightly on speculations. for the spectacle.

Exclamation points for 145 pages starting now.

Finally a dj that knows what I like

Finally a jd that i can take

Finally a fantasy

Finally a love sorry

Finally a fifth entity

Finally I’ve remotely battled a ship that would cease to seize up manufactured goods at a salsbury price

Finally the cloud’s got angry

Dices don’t go up to seven

its rhetoric

its bliss

its ignorance

its beneficial

its detrimental

its insane

its inhuman

its protege is turning upside down

the humble never yell

Anyway

Anyway

I’d like you to fill in the blanks…

119 to go

Prince Robin Hood,

Would you return to California for make up.

Okay, this guy and i were sailing on a yacht, when we decided to pick up morse signals on a transister radio. no one was expecting it so we were able to hear the dolances, cadences and cliff note offenses. we were submitting our memory to stimuli.

It’s a simple procedure, they shock you.

Hi, this is my essay on

Transcendental Didactic Dialect and it’s Recursive Dichotomy of Sanctuary and Syllabus.

Many don’t think didactication is a word. it’s recursive dichotomy of sanctuary and syllabus.

"worst quote ever" : "actions speak louder than words."

do you see what people get away with?

do you know how to bridge the gap between moby and techno?

do you paint with all the colours of the wind?

you can’t own the earth until!

I envision a large estimate of subculture gone awry for the lack of deposition and dilligence.

I dream of a fruitopia

My reality is relative to others’ reality.

I subject myself to theirs, creating no objection usually, unless it is “pro”jected.

Then I jettison the goods like a really overweight gentleman.

Figuratively speaking I am one.

But this does not deny the fact that I am biassed to bias, and try to try, and harassed to harass, and figure things out.

my inventory is replete, my headphones are stuck on repeat, and im meet for mead with any swine fellow who’d like to look at defeat.

Glory,

The compassion, the betrayal, the sardony, the farthing line, the cast of

Will and Grace

I’m just Debra Messing with you, I actually can pay attention.

…or pave retention, or wave indecently.

Aristotle was a lumberjack

Plato was a triangle

Socrates was intolerable

And peter pan jumped over the candle.

I’m so nomadic, I turn styles like coats on display.

Whether THIS is right or wrong, we’re all asking the same question.

and it goes a little something like this…

What is a quasar?

it’s funny, i never really thought about enigmas until it was jammed down my throat as passivity.

its funny, i never really thought about parrots until they jammed their chin in my treblecliff

its funny, people has stars in it

its not funny, because that is not right!

is THIS a quazar?

anyway, id like to let you know, vulcanize my tires, and i’ll retire.

yo, this is the best way to get someone up

oy, this is not the worst end to forget you down.

I’ve only been writing for about an hour now, he said softly, speaking into his soul. and he was about.:.

The grace of a thousand whiskers.

The tenacity of a tendency.

The revelry of revelation.

And the putrification of petrify

The audacity of England

The stench of a skunk,

The tablet of a doctor,

and the feeling’s run amok

The audacity of a minature model factory

For children to read good,

and be good at other stuff too, good.

Every night he wandered aloof

In the Reciprocity of Relish

The err finds its way

into the end of a sentence

and like sci/fi just day

Strangled past the point of inferiority

by a femininity known as a panther

A type of dance just to shatter,

The glass you saw my through, faster.

A glitch and an alibi,

Sought precedence,

Ali baba was hiding

in a technologic briefcase.

Casing the rhythm for melody…

Chasing the chasm for bridges

Tracing the steps through the symphony

As the slither out of the sides of correct technique

Slop.

One De-sigh-or

Scene:

A movie set. Five stars. Pop-corn, overpriced, celebration.

Weak at the knee, hunger in the tooth, i third vermouth.

so, someone got change for a $1000 bill

This is the wildest adventure you’ve ever been on.

Girls, grills, gills

I swam till i couldn’t sea the shore, in the sands of our lies.

Running thin, on empty, and I shift my head just to realize.

I wonder how long it will take for my posture to collaborate.

If there were an easier way to say I told you so, I wouldn’t.

but i melt around the edges and evaporate in turn.

And yearn for a yeilding, that doesn’t even earn.

Sporadic spirally spells of sepsis, if thats well,

correct then i was guessing, and i thought it too as wells.

This is the dawning.

The

Dawning.

Posted 1 year ago

"spend some dough at table three!" »

a rare artifact known as bookin it.

Posted 1 year ago

one of hundreds of lyricisions.

never, always, sometimes, sure. x3

is it elastic… bands which keep me rapping?

fans in tandem with never that keep me yapping, trapping, twisting, listing, pure. thoughts which rebound on such allure. or in this state, fraught?

drought demur, i can’t be lost. what creates the boundaries for our mundane world?

is it always this way, sometimes i can concur but though contradict and control lore. what wit has to do with it aches in the cortex, not too sure

though,

so i make. strides to arrive/ when the tying trolls an and that just has to roll, was it planned? a plateau that makes for tired souls and focus follows so i’ll make the next few golden gilded. i lifted an instrument, bored into the mountainous monument to songs that are stricken from the record!,

can i say it moved me at least daccord daccord, in accord with the bylines beats resting easy in silent sheets. white snow on the streets

so what moves feet, now featured, in a league or two of melted water

scattered first then drained like a teacher. note well i can’t control these spells i cast well i just borrow from the well that can be an addendum, like nintendo with super prefix or powers to uplift.

now that gravities gotten in, whats holding us down. i realize its a perfect world when i hear the right sound. din din dimmer, at a simmer with the alter, faltering to proctor this unstarved artist any farther.

i caught her eyeing the words, now this i am told

is whats not supposed to happen without the help of chords. but we all can think right? i hope we can all think right

Posted 1 year ago

these pieces were taxed under “wackchainwriting”

when you finally catch what

you been thinking backwards about youll see the pattern how you farfetched the freedom

As I stood on the porch it occurred to me how challenged I was for words. For something only the word robust check phonetically can tolerate had perched its own tolerance on the fencing in front of me and heard. It came to order magnifique with fjords and fissures under its belt and a penchant for pronounced plummage. One that must plummet! from the summits of city buildings only when it was coaxed not to function. Ceilings brittle and young yet. He took his wing and threw a bolt of lightning into the hopes that it wouldn’t use its feet and came at me like a jet.

"Take off your hat"

Sorry Mrs. Hawking

in simplicity i wander like a child, too complex for the cows to come home. the scenery blends in with me like a bus-bust going for broke.

the soap i used totes, but I virtually know no one.

now you should know, that if you’re reading this, there are certain words that just stick out, like hollograms. take a piece of me…

if there were an essay on it, it’d be titled: Those Who Know Me Know. I can act like I read it. hey, again, but really its just the dice. on a different starbust candy tranquility spin i realize i am only what i make of myself, call this the denoument.

there is no cafe,

there are no more intruder sundial batteries

i wish i could say something was true

The planet known as Folksong can be a long ways a way. Tourists range from rare owl watchers, music afficianadoes and - mostly - independent artists who wait for transit, hitchhike or save up their money for low class vessels in search of a gig or two. You see: Folksong’s varying governence funds many artists as a way to import technologies that keep up appearances in the other sectors. With more than two thirds of its 11 billion inhabitants, artists - it is known that in this galaxy, the best music is from Folksong.

Ever since the Stradivarians invaded in 1867, and situated their population of 3 million the people of Folksong’s cheif export has been audio files. Having no computers at the time they recorded the music in many different formats and stored them in temples erected almost immediately after the subordination. Nice, insulated temples. Before 1867 it is hard to find any music data from Folksong, though the Stradavarians prolific style of ballad was almost instantly blown up into a complex diversity of song in the late 1800s. As it is said in prose many times over, the surviving members of Folksong probably became instruments themselves.

Books authored by conspiracists, theorists, intergalactic historians and radio djs with too many samples, comment on the fall of cities, loss of state demarcation

Grafiti on an AS

The planet known as Folksong can be a long ways a way. Tourists range from rare owl watchers to music afficianadoes and mostly turn up as independent artists who wait for transit, hitchhike or save up their money for low class vessels in search of a gig or two. You see: Folksong’s varying governence funds many artists as a way to import technologies that keep up appearances in the other sectors. With more than two thirds - of its 11 billion inhabitants - artists, it is known: that in this galaxy: the best music is from Folksong.

Ever since the Stradivarians invaded in 1867, and situated their population of 3 million the people of Folksong’s cheif export has been audio files. Neither races having any musical interest or ability at the time, it is odd to think that in the few months of situation, instruments and inspiration became widely available and almost immediately were put to commercial use. Having no computers at the time they recorded the music in many different formats and stored them in temples erected almost immediately after the subordination. Nice, insulated temples. As it is said in prose many times over, it is quite possible that the whole historic liberty taken by a scholars, was that Folksong ordered 3 million classical instruments to keep up appearances. With no such race as the Stradavarians having existed. Having afforded such a liaison - one that outweighed the rest - Folksong earned its reputation, quite like those scholars.

the take on it is submersed

two strands.

one jettisoning goods but restocking just as easily

the other an emerging world

a jam band emcee feesibly makes the two first

over and over,

now a piano sounds.

the take on it is submersed

two strands.

one jettisoning goods but restocking just as easily

the other an emerging world

a jam band emcee feesibly makes the two first

over and over,

now a piano sounds.

“Where to start? emits what was locked inside someone but arts are like parts of us collaborated constantly tart specimens of specialization in small muscle tissues.” a loud gaffaw is heard. “Trust me, risk you, before I lose you to my fancy take a dance with the chance you might also be lost. Ransom. Balsamic vingerette on the green petals, that were raised that way. I say, is it not right for a ripe melon to contaminate a hole in your body

its all about arches,

attention deficit

Posted 1 year ago

nf book i’m working on, prospectors?

S

ense and Nonsense\

Sense is something we deal with, nonsense is something we negligently try not to for our own sake. Can you really call someone insane? Rorschach.

Paintings always provide nonsense, because perfection isn’t even real. But do we gap the bridge, making reparations with the likeness?

Now, it’s no surprise cymbals awake the senses.

Symbols are studied and then catalouged in a commulative database. When someone hasn’t heard a melody do sometimes they know how it goes? Cross-referencing from popular culture? What amneties are there to offer to whats ill-reputed as nonsense? Any form of movement is discernable both to witness and to catalouge, and everything is moving.

So

This makes sense if you agree that everything is making sense. If it weren’t you wouldn’t know of it.

Denial

Sometimes I have thought that a part of a human knows mechanisms - in a laymens metaphor circadian rhythms. That maybe we always know what time it is. That we know what the dice roll will yield. Maybe we always know the answer to a multiplication problem. That we really know when someone is lying.

What the brain makes sense of just by commissions is hidden prior to understanding, allowing us to alter reality in able to experience it. This is where rendition becomes interpretation and sense is made. Interpretation should be seen as a process over time.

Numbness

Programmed to be unaware of these answers, leaves us to be fashioned by external forces, which is perhaps the only thing keeping us conscious. Like a surgery that is taking place the time of day unmonitored will confess its wishes to the individual when they have just regained track of time.

It is the reason why we sometimes hear our alarm clock cohering within our fading dreams.

A nonsensical statement’s diction will attract different recognizances. As the malaise of alien sensitivity subsumes your consciousness, different thoughts come to mind. All sensitivity is alien though, everything is interpretation.

Luck

Luck is made by the brain for the brain, strictly associated with expectation. Luck is just another neurotransmitter that takes any given length to reach its destination w. The path taken by its representatives enforce either self righteousness, or self wrongness when one has made a prediction. This venn diagram-dichotomy of right and wrong to the self must be ambiguous since its host is unknown; although its receptor intuits a little and unearths some of the numbness. With the repeated exposure to words and nuances of an authority, the more meaning and value will be added upon it.

Being Aware

After enough self righteous action, the part of the brain implicated to make a certain choice will produce more valuable outcomes. This immediately precedes and parallels repetitious action. The two go hand in hand. The former being committal and the latter being promiscuous. Then again the former’s shadow is always cast on repetitious action, entailing a little commitment all around.

Commitment

Being committed to one source

I’d wish to remain anonymous, but that’s not humanely possible in summation as well.

monster M*A*S*H*

you heard it here folks.

Posted 1 year ago

salvage all ballasts, bastion to the dance, grandeur of connoisseurs, words to spurn sporadic temperament.

Posted 1 year ago

there must be a way to make a generator out of a windmill that also acts with gravity to increase the amount of force collected.

like you know those machines that constantly move, what if one was driven by wind too? wait, everything is a windmill. lyl

Posted 1 year ago

saidness

I’m a poet, I take pages.

And crump on the podium of precedence.

Drunk all the time on love,

Seeing straight through the steel bars.

meadow

eyeglasses

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

comments (0)

stockpiled insufferable malaise mayonnaise outfitter. a title I once hold in good standing, though my new one unabashed regulator suspicion hunter is more to my liking, though I might've liked it If I suddenly went backwards.

a sir lancelot

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 9:40 PM

comments (0)

the dragon table they called it.

a lamp upon.

no doubt one was talking

when another fell out.

strange enough it was platonic.

like the board.

gypsies, gypsies, unicorns.

two

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

comments (0)

In retrospect I noticed nothing but hands on the clock. The, or what used to be the five, was now a somnolent elevated fracture of a fault line. I mean it could have been a three, no, that would have made it more of what is was and/or trying to be.

As I closed my eyes again I tried quite hard to remember the time, it seemed that it's only requisite feature was that it wasn't really moving.

I take it for granted that it doesn't remember me. Though it had several dislocated minute particles, which reinforced the irregularities, which lead me to believe, that in fact it may have been me, that was indirectly surfacing an extraneous amount of attention towards it's fortunate twice removed indecision, stretching.

A Person eating a croissant in D minor

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM

comments (0)

"Delish." Bryant said. "Just, delish. Milkman, brush my gums with 3 ounces."

"Only if you say so."

Spring Paint

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:45 PM

comments (0)

Snail bold entangle

Servicing built mold mallet

weaving a next hour.

Sail build nautical

Surviving billed miled mollusk

Welding a next hour.

Bale full of caskets

Bringing fledged files wild

Dying, dying durst,

Fraying those flasks'

Tailors on a ship fledged

Dyng, drying reign.

Bleakly abiding

Rain. providing provisions

The darkness cold as,

Faint, drying, nice! Spiced

Emergent flame slain vice

Breaking fees feed fleet

"To society"

Captain called slower cranks.

"We'll" Wheel "we're" well well.

It was an Ideal.

text space

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:40 PM

comments (0)

Start, I did, once, at lost.

I found a lot.

Out of gaze.

Listening to paradise.

Mastering the flow.

Of where is lost.

Vice.

Is my spice of life?

trite communique

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:35 PM

comments (0)

Although youth can be fleeting in an impartial clause to retreat, meeting of such distinct distinction can often suffer meet. Alas, in order to become a due, must defend where and when without a reason to offend. By what starry matter do we rise and fall to be patient enough to seek refuge in death? or do we pretend?

Perhaps night shades the intolerable, and the sun soaks the valuable, and the twilight speaks to mollify the all able in creationism on the fly. With such summits of surpass!

The predestined, find ways to allay. The tolerability holds buoyantly, and lastly the changing is dope, so I cut in line at the refreshment table holding a nine with a peace sign. Perfectly constructing a change in demeanor as expressed, presses the certain issue, and the rain must fall as well, plus the moving of the heavens, including but not to mention.

one

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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I was sitting in the middle of an NRA meeting, again. Fran was trying to have a smoke. The biggest gun we got to talk about today was a new Mississippi brand sawed off mod of a single-barrel revolver.

She says, "Pronto, let me have this right now!" To which everyone just wants her to hold the thing.

Some guy at the back opens a tin can and tries to make it louder than it was. Fran doesn't like that, is what I'm thinking. She gently takes the Mississippi loose weight, spins it around, some new guy from, well probably Mississippi walks in and I make myself scarce. Finally, she drops it and I get to hold the thing

empty beaches track number two - midnighter

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 5:45 PM

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tied to nothing, it seems nothing's ever right sometimes at this nothing's ever right. nothing scrubbed off the side of the chosen sojourn of those that fly a kite - at anytime, just makes it stay still a little longer for the clouds to present a quilt to hide, lay under up themselves, over and in the middle the air contours and defines what wouldn't happen to you before it draws the line... and dare, you leave, but nothing's going nowhere for a good while, another mile or two and your set for the ever-yet most majestic set of shore and wet sand that landed you here, panoramic constant view, you can hear you think.. was this even the plan, as you reneg against the wind and head for the pier. the land grows lost, this mist seems coughed, might lights lining the mighty road where shining seems cropped, the one's: out there... possibly caught up in fanfair or some kind of well-wrought self-same desire or a plan of fire... mine's defined divine cost cast fosters water outta thin air. and that's it. while miniscule antiquities givin guff and energy to tough waves, crash. its all this world coming in and breaking what I got, I fill my gull wings up but it seems I've gotta lot and naughts and nots and knots away the privy, hold delay but I can't wait for this air its time I set it straight, set aside, abide, betray align and convey to the point of clutching that rock outside the bay. alright, I'll rake like Velcro, cast silhouttes like shelltoes pose imperfect like van gogh though awkward walk away for heck knows, trim the glass sensitivity with a hook for a hand, till it scratches the surface of a land walked by land, captured, unabashed synapse-structure some guy named Javier's, longlived momentuous embrace caressed by stasis places post puncture the same as ever was best in show these caltrops of mood fun ring-types holding points together the picture (et cetera therein)

you wouldn't even know

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:40 PM

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She tried a stint in movies, but that didn’t last very long because her desire for attention irritated the director and he couldn’t work with her any more. Now she is spending some time at Mr. Boddy’s mansion, hoping to work her way into his money.

“Well I’ll tell you what, it wasn’t Mr. Boddy who did this… or maybe it was!” Lightning crashes, the lights go out.

“Why are we playing games, Miss Peacock!” “Shuttle-cock!”

“Well I’ll tell you what, it has to be one of us, we are the only people in this mansion and if it weren’t for Mr. John Green’s scatter brained naivety, he wouldn’t have taken his own life into his hands and married me, Miss Scarlet.”

“Scarletia, darling, where are my glasses, let me see the real you.” Lightning crashes, and in the instantaneous heat John glances at Miss Scarlet and sees the murderer in the reflection of her eyes. The lights come back on, John continues. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you darling, where are my glasses?”

“Okay let’s wrap this up, it was Mrs. Peacock.”

Journal Entries in Blood Part two

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:25 PM

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it seems rainbows and militant atheist Richard dawkins' unweaving process of the former seem to be subjugating old news to old news. This is a book I have read. could there be more than 7 colours? I don't think indigo has been shed, though. Looking at alive snow in a hymn to tourach nightly gall'ant yesterday I saw the moon's ring'ed corona for lack of what to call it... in the spirit of this I even thought to think, which I brought no pen yet this ink into the formation of the idea that the moon is a time lapse of something we're so vertigonally dizzy from plus yet!

Anyway could everything we see through our aqueous humour be rainbow spectacular? integrated only through that concept, whereas the liquid crystal display which transforms color from the primaries to the integral to fruit in synchronized fashion like flowering pixel?

Then it seemed endearing to think of colour.

And my eyes couldn't absorb the notion that colour is something we do without, or in abundance/profession in areas of the land non-populated. And fire and wild equatorial forests south of a couple borders where all there is is water, sun, and I'm not sure.

No I'm not sure.

boot with a problem

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:05 PM

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in the wake, of a rollerskate, as a blade, thy blossom's must fate.

Take a walk on ice if both were slated, for a mate cross bearings' date, wherein the road melts into some sort of symbolic roll of dice.

Might I gather from this intention of inertia, that the worst way to close yaw, is to add to to too little cross two and add two in the far.

Demoting far to the solicitude of direction that is, where in textbook sequence it is wrong, the first taught egotism of a boot with a problem.

Twelve

Posted  by barrett on November 11, 2013 at 4:05 PM

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Twelve, noon.

The scene was electric, like lilies being turned on.

John didn't want to give away any of his smokes, anyway.

the unlimited premonitions of a license to feel simply isn't rhythmic

its symbolic though mainly systolic diastolic when you don't really feel, something's still turning the wheel. and what’s yielded is

Books authored by conspiracists, theorists, intergalactic historians and radio djs with too many samples, comment on the fall of cities, loss of state demarcation

With much reluctance I return to the act of writing.

I fear instruction will intrude upon my production.

What is and what isn't. Now just take in the isn't.

Try to drink these words, drink them, drink the words.

There can't be anymore insane doctrines motivating artificiality,

because without sanity there is no motivation for reality.

If you walked towards a house, with a bag, full of candy, and

asked for more candy, what would you get?

Trick or Treat,

The candle ins\\mide the orange hollow cooked the sinews.

The kids dressed as pirates and ghosts, goblins in droves,

Came to ask for candy.

"Trick or treat?"

See that pumpkin, inside burns a fire so bright, it cooks it's home.

The seeds drip from the sides trying to extinguish the flame!

Sleep when the candle burns out, but children, don't play with fire.

For it's only desire, is to burn up it's cage.

Yes we can see through the eyes of Jack, and look through his grin,

but that pumpkin gets cooked by the candle that hates it, cuz no one

Can see what they've doomed.

We cut that thing open and stick fire in it, give it a face and place it

to scare kids away, Why ask me again, I'll trick you real good.

"Get out of here."

Thanksgiving,

I am thankful for the fire that burns inside of me.

I am thankful for the fire that burns inside of me.

I am thankful for the fire that burns inside of me.

Trick or Treat (Director's Cut)

"Trick or treat."

"What do you want, this apple, or this soda?"

"Soda please."

"That will rot your teeth."

"We want people to see the fire inside."

"What will you do when the fire goes out?"

"Sleep."

"I think I see trouble."

"Run, take this soda, drink it, show people the fire inside"

"Oh it's Jack, he's back."

Jack stopped his nightmare, front hooves to the air.

The moon smiled. Jack looked at the moon, which reasoned with Jack.

A year later, the kids showed up toothless, now what would they drink!?

Jack alighted walked over to the house muttering to himself. He pulled off his head and placed it beside the other jack-o-lantern and his body vanished, clothing fell to the ground!

Now these flames, together, this moon reflecting the fire that burns inside of them.

Next Hallowe'en the pumpkins weren't carved, but stayed in the patch, and whoever does cut them, will ride a nightmare through the streets.

Blockade

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 10:45 PM

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Out into snow, the variable, the rarity slow... I don't recall... Though this map has ever flourished inside my inner workings let me see can this be European never mind it's too kind I see

Orange crabgrass goner made his way into town

and not a grind not a petal not a suitor did frown.

chalk

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 5:05 PM

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broken openly, wroten wrought priority dimension all a bliss terribly, berating token snaps at tobacco flak and focal point pointsetta free. flame a priori done one d

sleep walk track 11 the midnighter

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 5:05 PM

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I see it farther off, a dazzling fade cone, it presents itself well. Enough to make myself elf, yet im in and out on the spot, I can take you dazzling fade cone, even if you’re warmer and I’m not,

what does one of these dazzling fade cones have to do with right here? Ask the cone I tell myself, well here’s what it cheered stir and said quite clear

Dazzle dazzle, bright bright, black as a piece of broken filament, without a noticer and I’m out of spite, you dazzle too, I’ll somehow notice us not and maybe we could switch spots if you’ve got time to.

Oh dazzle cone, fading in and out of dazzle and shine I guess, if there were ever any reason for me to drink the hyde tonic, id sleep and that’s all but me, im off to the next dazzling fade cone peace.

Now Im in an uproar of sentiments from the news and whats being grown at the edge of this, while hedges reign at wreckless once about as I was somehow walking that is so so calm as calming water is

Walking thinking that and this about the pantry which I come across with its noisy doors

You’re not a Dazzle bright cone, what makes you so sturdy and angry at the floors

Well im open to mostly anything

You’re not a dazzling fade cone, im outta here

X2 “what have power chairs thrown”

Drifting span tips through grass and moisture like an abyss of lie down mist pasteurized like whisper-vapour switched blades fresh still on some so so parade, though I know im really about a mile away, dazzling fade cone, what sort of hunt is that! the inspiration leads like a trombone scale

You’re not a dazzling light cone, hack

In a city of art illumined by those, and artistry as shows, no light or dazzle enter lest it owner be prone.

I will walk these halls of street encompassed in strap and sheet, so those who fail home can see me shown sleep.

A bone to pick with a kitchen and a key to the memory illuminated I mean by the light and not by the tree.

A fig would figure place about and above the beach, what power chairs have thrown are those of heightened sensitivities, and yes we do have feet,

Branching out to seek, and all relativity all weak and reep.

You’re not a dazzling light cone x5

climate

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 5:00 PM

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Beautiful, like sand

Delivered in brand,

trope

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 4:55 PM

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To no one's inclination I shall undo the workings of my serious alter ego. That is all. No on second thought I'd like to ungainly reduce my inclination to the workings of my serious ego. That is not all. My serious as I've began to call it, is not really much of a good title for what that ego permits, instead, it is more of a fallacy of intercourse between the undoing and the doing, much like a half-knot. The strands are somehow vivaciously unstringable into certain whiplashes, doing mostly, yet undoing. This comes from the amount thereof. Now the only circumspection I can come across is the unwillingness of all of them to undo, needless to say... vivacious! Where I come into workings of them I began seriously, but don't recall the tearing bipartisan sustenance which gains on the level or point-tropic that has me subdued by reverse engineering, though this could be my view. The only thing stopping me from actually performing this activity, is everything here I mention to you.

valurous yarn

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 4:50 PM

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I met her in a coffee shop, our coffee shop. She had heels and a dress, I had a longsleeved shirt and a raincoat. She stepped up to the counter in dots and asked the counter for her address.

I said, “you’re not a telephone operator are you?”

She said, “Pleased to meet you.”

She may have been a little too persuasive but I was beaming on the inside.

She said, “Why don’t you take off your coat.”

I said, “oh I’m on my way.”

I recall that that was my coffee shop once.

Winter's Breath track 5 the midnighter

Posted  by barrett on November 9, 2013 at 4:40 PM

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Winters breath

Come on and follow, bereft, in other now: adept, as while snow light crept, the your basic loco motive step, into step, into step, and got away with what’s left, sweet, I can almost hear my feet before they echo into my ears, sheesh, what a blast, and more than the last, what fell to smash into pieces to succumb to reaching my lead, defeat… featured in an eggshell pattern, comprised of witchcraft and made into a lull with what you have it… I tear apart a three of hearts. I in all in all lay down my cards, no draws, drawn away into step and I say, windy, low, howlin, wailin crawlin down pale and all windy assailing, with which left with “come on and follow”, so as now intrepid movements I eschew. Four hearts find eachother and I’m exact sense like move. More than one could guess, to look now seems out of breath, but I know I can catch up like the lining of a vest, addressed.

Empirical Rationalism

Posted  by barrett on November 5, 2013 at 6:25 PM

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Rocket Science

In a dwelling with only windows a man lives violent as a clock. The fear of alignment eventually departs... at first easy then quite ease. His only wish a metronome.

The Coffee Spiller

Posted  by barrett on November 5, 2013 at 6:10 PM

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"Look at him over there, unaware and aloof." Sherry said.

"I know, he's probably going to buy something cheap." Larry said, coughing up the money for a newpaper. "his name isWaldo probably."

Waldo walked toward the back of the store with a jingle.

"Like someone out of a book."

"Or short story."

He came back with a hold of coffee, looked at Sherry and Larry while spilling some and moved to the counter.

Larry put the newspaper on the counter. "You're spilling coffee."

"It isn't news to me." said Waldo.

its like finding a book, in a book

Posted  by barrett on October 28, 2013 at 7:50 PM

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She said "Besides these seeds," paused, then we, said "A walk deepens Earth" together "we may have a knack for out curse," I said "out of context" then we said be of course. she asked me "Trying to calculate a normal?" I said \I thought \I was trying to create a normal.

It was dark, black beads of sweat electrically parallel to our eyes she said, "Let me see" birds sounded "Sing me to sleep at night" she said "Don't play." I said chess isn't it the matter at hand. Can't quite recall.

Make me alive.

"that's the spirit, back to exhile." she wondered,

I said "Walking up and down searching for a fire.

Where the moon smiled in descent to mars for it, signifying an ellipse, so truncated and perfectly in disarray, that it could say it got the point. Burning wax and wane like a flame. Burning a stain in my cavity concave convex just to follow suit. Addressing the natural idea of why wind howls at it from it's basement.

"Sneaking glances at?" in desperation for another moment with it, follow me like I was following the hue, as maybe a monolith cries out & reaches distinction. "Sneaking a glass shelf so rotund it abdicated an aberration so a cantaloupe can become some sort of syringe or surrogate, parasitically invigorating a lunar eclipse it would make a blue moon think, at about exactly midnight for ever evading some sort of elevation until it hits me for just looking up, in every waking hour like a strategy somewhat covalent and conveniently constitutional comingling and collecting my skin just to save hours, whence relocating became pigment just to organize some sort of specious reason to feel low, at home at the stroke of winter and spring, while miles away I and who I am not walk west for east to beg a clause to pull me out like a flag which may or may not sit there, knotted by some sort of movemeant, basically the logistics between geostationary and geosynchronous orbits.

"Eclipse to me, I watched the Sun die out."

"That's what the moon said to me!" "as I gazed into eternity. "sheesh, darkness is darkness, and black is black,: Read deeper shallow pirate. x2

"I don't know where the title went."

"so lost ipso factum"

"Watch out fracture..."

"Gallon of?"

"Tongue depressor."

"for both of us?"

"no."

"Is that a satellite?"

"No."

"Is that?"

"A satellite?"

"Heavy?"

"Really."

The moon was 2:45

"You know the sun rises soon."

"Why I never would have known."

"Did you hear the piano, I hear he was talking about you."

"I'll be there."

what is the universe? volume 1

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 8:25 PM

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The inefficiency of text has never been so reliant. Presuppose a notion roots into this labor above some paper. How often does it come out the same. It goes to say that the production of transmission of these aforementioned proximities hold one in the same, though motioned by an alternator.

As feelings may be more cumbersome, it might be wise to think of the transfer as something that happens in an overlap, as it is to see in cascades in some new starts and fresh excerpts while still in production or closer to a final product. A midway can allow transgression, but something on delivery can be underwhelming. It goes without saying that a lot gets caught up and insofar as it is dealt with.

Does this happen to thoughts?

is composition plural

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:20 PM

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Which has begun to occur queried an odd fellow with a woodwind? To the matter, undescribed in a cellist at heart whence it came to ordinary, ordinance within a medley of composure, though mostly composition and furthermore, as such, notwithstanding, as aforementioned, as a hunch as follows: composition. Harps do not understand math.

As an instrument, strung, last, so , that that can divine arrows as tolerant as craft, some men, in sum, all, all beome strung, while interpreters become undone. Notably in the various iconography of passage, no suitable equivalent becomes prevalent among tranced and/or trampled upon magical movements like one.

Platonic Individend

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:15 PM

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Fracture in descent of a fraction chisel

Destined to foray, where? missing Earth

Gamut recon, a third, a forth, a fifth.

I am not about to go there yet.

Risking a life, livid as lace.

Lost in a realm of sought earn pace

Tore through a flush of never stain

Proud from the way I made this taste.

And I can see them now, they're space.

Cycling fond of the place, I state.

Never reminded of a time they were.

But that's not today. Tomorrow don't.

Feel the same, I know you can stay.

Because when this hammer sates

I just don't feel this whey.

It's not impossible, I know you just.

Don't feel the same

Caligraphy

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:10 PM

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Curser caused interrupt ;inside a moment of the action.

Slow drops out to about right with route written calligraphy Realizing in triplacte: page pending profession, nothing but period in use.

Eerie dots, choked virus thunder. Blissful realm of yet to be manifestation of dreams and file : 'Screen from this stop sign. Leeking letter virus, blazing probabilities seeking down like life from left to ceftre

ALL I grap fin

ALL I grap fin.

the lack

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:00 PM

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The lack of a committed surface. as oppose, to facet.

Is it an image, or a force to dispose of what adheres.

Is an intimidation stretched, through a retching, culminating,

in what is nears, coheres as

impositions of all dispensed

delve in sinc, and out until, every nettle, every weed, every word & everywhere is in an doubt?

one one

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 7:00 PM

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Heredity is an important fate,

For whose crux holds thy gate.

In evening, prim and late,

Hollowed out for a fiend to grow,

Lest this hair bestow: an evening rose,

Enchant doth fall on her fairy sole.

And don't, doth trot betroth and Glow,

To bloom at once, fall oh.

Invent ive end

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:55 PM

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Preperatory: Tell me dissonance fury.

Fresupposition within one's glory.

Pour these Herculean Terrestrians.

Practically painting a blind man's story

Contour Reciprocal for four foreign force More Smore's Flora Fjords cure sure pores, as roars to lightning.

Invent ive end

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:55 PM

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Preperatory: Tell me dissonance fury.

Fresupposition within one's glory.

Pour these Herculean Terrestrians.

Practically painting a blind man's story

Contour Reciprocal for four foreign force More Smore's Flora Fjords cure sure pores, as roars to lightning.

a few trees

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:50 PM

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Cold and clear (something crisp) like an ambulance's ransom.

Ran some Together in the gathered in the mist we. In the forest, yet.

We intangibly had widows in fronna out of in void for now, in hours. four windows saw some:

Spiders wearing "horse shoes", a' circus of The Path Untrodden to

Down before I get up I never had a chance.

The contours of an allegory in mend, in story. Strong and resembling history close, but no solid curtain, just the one all around that lifts backwards and fits... everywhere, close.

something sacred

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:40 PM

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knife down on a table... a pack of hunters,

iron cage right beside it... enough of a treasure

forget the trade... "I'll see us later"

a reason to rifle door close, a mountain without a trickle of spiteful

the first one to let us off the chain... howl

Names like Barbara under camero thighs

Dames patch farvora manning levers quiet

Fame stuck tamare cans be viral eyes.

yellow orange blue blank close cap cap chirp bless your

forever hasn't mentioned anyone yet let's get this shielding shed on ryes

If I haven't forgotten I came to get through.

No feeling as certain as a way to just get through.

diagonal type on paper, blue

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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Lost

also, "well adapted", well intact.: this fact is, "fact is" fake if like an elastic not stretched but fact is not coiled to make another, and an umbrella could open so sibly & \yes I said sibly silly listen its really a ruler I used, to will me, as these words rehearse and find me a way to rather around on an in and out of a town-o-town clown frown unsound fest test touch down wearing eve gown sense - slide where with those as these least three sheets, I say say I say say I exactly say draped only by rhythmic page of this even ever scape, draped feebly shaped antiicollapse protracted umbrella named brella so sibly Umbrella now it's with a wallet sleep watch watch which one watched the lost 8 or 7 get treated like a loss to me, check my shoes 'till they're loose, go through nurse-imbued go-throughs ' till I hit port and remember my order Mordor Door Dorothy Alice sharps like from the grip of a gryphon holding his baby entar all penguins and that ain't to either of those magical places.

lost in treasure

lost in line

in line I here that spine

dwindling in measurements

like the loss when I found mine

livery in art.

diagonal type on paper, blue

Posted  by barrett on October 22, 2013 at 6:30 PM

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Lost

also, "well adapted", well intact.: this fact is, "fact is" fake if like an elastic not stretched but fact is not coiled to make another, and an umbrella could open so sibly & \yes I said sibly silly listen its really a ruler I used, to will me, as these words rehearse and find me a way to rather around on an in and out of a town-o-town clown frown unsound fest test touch down wearing eve gown sense - slide where with those as these least three sheets, I say say I say say I exactly say draped only by rhythmic page of this even ever scape, draped feebly shaped antiicollapse protracted umbrella named brella so sibly Umbrella now it's with a wallet sleep watch watch which one watched the lost 8 or 7 get treated like a loss to me, check my shoes 'till they're loose, go through nurse-imbued go-throughs ' till I hit port and remember my order Mordor Door Dorothy Alice sharps like from the grip of a gryphon holding his baby entar all penguins and that ain't to either of those magical places.

lost in treasure

lost in line

in line I here that spine

dwindling in measurements

like the loss when I found mine

livery in art.

scratches

Posted  by barrett on August 15, 2013 at 6:00 PM

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broken up like thick chalk along the bottom of the wall was some "hey spray - chalk repellant", this might add a fix-note to that awoken.

token of a day by day fainted spake, worsten hearsed reversed thick cloud of milk on the bottom of a cup pay stub.

arriving privy, pretty class, pretty crass, decided id crash beside a lash, full form contort and out of order since I heard the report, mam may I say I can I reorder, the issue, "miss you" got it handed and half went out like bandit

caress capress, liquidity, foundation and such, plus touch, rupt' fuss, no no cuss

the importance of time

Posted  by barrett on August 15, 2013 at 5:45 PM

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Rampant, spreading through a forest... a fire!

Leeches crying, plains,on fire nearby!

A helicopter breezes through a thick full of smog, and cuts up a cedar,

a dead leaf curls into autumn.

five star commodities

Posted  by barrett on August 15, 2013 at 5:25 PM

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Gripped figure: you sit there

Ripped briefer: now list where

This train was running.

etc.

one:

Almost evident, in a fragile

Moment,

Never lasting past a

Hard greeting

In sequence with, and

even without spoken

Not much more than

Something fleeting.

two:

Waiting, a piece of life

wait,

a theme inside

a broken lead

depth as often red

a sheath of coursing

waiting fled.

three:

a natural drawing, seriously,

with a novice at drawing,

drawn to beam down

round at that 'in,

drowned influence,

through 'in' ruins, doing

nothing but, thick and - sound

at that but found in

flat, now based in fact

where non-forever now

lives as tact. attracted to

(tract to try) a tract attack and.... plough

  ...Spin with tick down talking cloud.

four:

To name a poor flower

Endowed with stains

That leek in pain

And don't shoot off or over

Or sink in a convenient fashion

or gain!

A flower with stains, and flowing

How these wisps sustain,

Wilt or forever hold the flower.

(Arise and wake.)

But still it is offered, and off-red is how it is met.

five:

The day may grey on Earth

But the Sun will burn out before that very day

It let's down that grey,

I feela cylinder scrape on page one,

And the rest can only simply say..

[andrewrosswatson1987]

REVIEW: MAX COOPER PONDERS ONE HUNDRED BILLION SPARKS ON NEW ALBUM

Max Cooper released his third album, One Hundred Billion Sparks, which came out today (September 20), released via label, Mesh. He quotes many ambient, downtempo, neo-classical, and post-rock musicians as his own influences; including Sigur Rós, Boards Of Canada and Nils Frahm. After receiving a PhD in computational biology from Nottingham University, the part-time DJ from Belfast spun records and made beats at night, while working days as a genetics researcher at University College London. He made his full-length debut in 2014 with Human. Then second full-length, Emergence, appeared on his own Mesh label in 2016.  He has released numerous EPs and collaborations, too. Singles for it are “Hope”, “Identity” and “Rule 110”. It’s only the start of the album, so it’s understandable there’s a sense of “Incompleteness”.  It comes in peacefully ringing, like wiping the sleep out of your eye.  This reverberates like a sudden realisation, a dread that the ensuing day will be Hell.  You ascend beyond this onto purgatory, albeit an upper lane of Hell. Your soul’s shattered and incomplete. “Hope” only around the corner, though.  It rings like a buzzing in the ear, swatting away an unwanted fly in the ear.  It’s like you’re being dragged up from the hot centre of the Earth.  Chugging like an elevator taking you to the Earth’s surface.  Ascending changes in key truly evoke hope.  It borders on ethereal. Maybe the pearly gates are only two levels up?  Complete and wholly mended. “Phi” is either enveloped in sadness or tears of joy, it’s up to interpretation to some extent.  Booming bass drum gives it a sense of striving and endeavour, so maybe determination against all the odds.  Does it link with the previous two in that it’s overwhelming joy to meet family and close friends on the other side? The pedantic “Rule 110” rumbles low in bass and emphatic in drum. Incomprehensible vocal samples add a jarring effect, an electric overload somehow within ensemble with the rest of the instrumentation.  “Reciprocity” and its light keys wash over you, delicate yet you’re not quite able to shake the feel they’re the prelude to something ominous. The subsequent ringing out confirms this.  It’s a very exploratory piece that encourages the power of imagination, each individual interpretation could be massively different and unique.  Next you’re “Emptyset”, which has a futuristic feel, the musical soundtrack to deep space travel.  The sound effects of a console controlling a ship beyond this galaxy and solar system.  Industrial sounds are latterly percussive, clicking and weighty.  Cargo bays opening and slamming shut.  The console sounds then go into overdrive, like an error of potentially deadly proportions. “Volition” soars but in a more grounded way, this time. Feet on the Earth looking up to the stars, kind of thing.  Industrial sounds, again, suggest the tribal but tribe endowed with sizeable technology. Adapted scraps cast aside as useless to the First World. You’re only friends in “Platonic”. It comes with a ringing, then climaxing with cacophony before anti-climax.  Is this the deep seated yearning that one can be more than friends with someone else, only to realise a platonic relationship is as far as it’ll be taken?   The industrial and hectic drum somehow the clattering minefield of negotiating such a friendship? Your “Identity” is cyclical and intense in a subdued kind of way, like shooting a gun with a muffling silencer. Hi-hat punctuates moody bass, driving from round in circles to forward momentum.  Towards the midpoint there’s a sense of building, coming in scratchy and abrasive.  The cacophony is almost overwhelming.  After all, if you have no sense of who you are then perhaps this would be a genuine identity crisis. “Reflex” is pulsing as the layers gradually embellish the track.  Smacking drum shakes you out of any kind of reverie you might be in, the reflex of waking suddenly.  Bass rings like the toll of a bell, like tired eyes fighting sleep but granted no rest.  Feedback takes over the piece, sinister and nightmarish before fading out. “Lovesong” is sedate and brooding.  Probably the most time the instrumentation has had the chance to breathe for most of the album.  Sense of dynamics to let everything ring out in a sparse soundscape very clever.  Is this being reunited with your significant other on the, indeed, other side? How the album closes, “Memories”, is morose.  Perhaps crestfallen that life has ended, but glad to look back upon a multitude of memories.   Proceedings come to a complete halt midway, the silence eerie as if death has no sound. This continues right until the end of the track, no sudden surprises. Perhaps they regard silence as golden. This is proof Max Cooper can pull off an ambitious sonic offering.  The way it comes together as a full, cohesive piece with linking tracks is remarkable.  The first three tracks, “Incompleteness”, “Hope” and “Phi”, seem centred on ascension with the third a highlight of the whole album.  Similar said for “Emptyset” and “Volition”, where the former seems set in the stars and the latter looking up to said stars from a terrestrial perspective, both sounding industrial. “Platonic” is another highlight of the whole album.  Yet more linkage between “Lovesong” and “Memories”, too.  One is embracing your significant other, and the, indeed, other looking back fondly upon, daresay, your time with them in retrospect.  Reunited and looking back, respectively.  These last two tracks, in turn, link back to the narrative of the first three.  You go through Hell, glimmer of hope, gratitude, love requited and looking back on a fulfilled life. Max Cooper has created an epic album; one terrestrial with the other partly based, seemingly, in space.  Your imagination is often limited dealing with lyrics in songs.  You think something and that spark(s) of imagination is immediately extinguished upon realising the song’s about something else.  Thankfully, this being instrumental, your imagination is only swayed by the song title.  Max Cooper’s One Hundred Billion Sparks can be bought on iTunes, here.

#Max Cooper #One Hundred Billion Sparks #Sigur Rós #Boards Of Canada #Nils Frahm

[badbackgroundscience]

I don’t always write about non-superhero comic stories, but when I do, it’s probably about space.

As stated in the panel, this is Lokar, warlord of the “distant planet” Venturus. He’s super-superstitious (even of whistling), so even though he really, really wants to, he’s not gonna invade the Partheans unless a giant ball of fire in the sky tells him its okay.

That (goodness gracious) great ball of fire does show up, but first, I want to address the fact that there are apparently only 2 inhabited planets in that galaxy.

Because astronomers do think about numbers like that. I mean, they’re totally guessing, but hey. They’re trying.

This is Frank Drake. A long time ago (1961) in a galaxy not at all far away (ours), he crafted an ‘equation’ to demonstrate all the things you’d need to take into account to estimate how many alien species in the Milky Way could be sending out detectable radio communications. 

The Drake Equation estimates how many intelligent species are out there, but is understood by all astronomers to be more of a thought experiment than a genuine attempt at pinning down the real number.

Yes, that is a lot of letters all multiplied together. Here’s what they stand for:

R∗ - the average rate of star formation in our galaxy

fp - the fraction of stars that have planets

ne - the average number of those planets per stellar system that can potentially support life

fl - the fraction of those planets that actually develop life

fi - the fraction of those life-developing planets upon which intelligent, civilized life, has developed,

fc - the fraction of those civilizations that have developed technology capable of emitting a signal into space

L - the length of time over which such civilizations release said detectable signals

The first couple of these values are actually ones astronomers have rough estimates for (~2 stars per year, and most (if not all) stars have at least one planet), but everything after that is completely up in the air. While we’ve found some exoplanets people like to think are habitable, we don’t actually know that much about them besides their overall densities and size. Also, we only know of one planet in the entire universe that has had any amount of life develop on it, so...yeah...it’s entirely possible that we’re the only intelligent civilization that currently exists in the Milky Way.

It’s also entirely possible that there’s a whole future Federation (and baddies) out there. 

So I have absolutely no problem with there only being two civilizations in an entire galaxy. “Inhabited” might be pushing it a bit, ‘cause there’s a much greater probability there’s loads of planets with bacteria on them. But what’s the point in conquering bacteria?

Where’s the glory in that?*

Anyway, here’s Lokar’s omen:

(I’m rather impressed they used the word “spectrum”, because you totally can identify types of stars and stellar remnants by their spectra. Four for you, comic.)

For being “millions of light years away”, that omen’s just a bit too bright. Our nearest major galactic neighbor, Andromeda, is 2.5 million lightyears away. It’s larger than the Milky Way, and would appear about 6 times longer than the Moon if you had good enough eyeballs.

But Andromeda’s apparent magnitude -- that is. how bright it looks given how far away it is -- is +3.44, which is on par with the faintest stars you can see in the naked eye in an urban neighborhood.

Not even a supernova would be that bright that far away. In fact, Supernova 1987a, which happened just ~160,000 lightyears away (in the Large Magellanic Cloud), was only slightly brighter than Andromeda in the night sky (+3.03**).

We’re going to have to chalk it up to someone making a math error or two, especially when said omen turns out to be bad news. 

Very bad news.

In the time it takes Lokar to round up his armada, this star was supposed to traverse over 2 million lightyears of space?

Barring a very significant gravitational disruption, like one galaxy colliding with another, stars don’t leave their own galaxies. But let’s say that did happen, here. This “falling star” would have to break the laws of physics to get to Venturus in a reasonable amount of time.

If Lokar had been prepping for an entire year, that star would have traveled ~2 million times the speed of light.***

Space is big, y’all.

But there’s an entirely separate booboo in those panels. Really, I’m just starting to think Lokar’s royal astronomers (or whatever they’re called) are really incompetent.

‘Cause a star wouldn’t enter their atmosphere. Venturus - or rather, the broken up bits of Venturus - would enter its atmosphere. 

Life, of course, would die long before then - the oceans would boil, the people would burn, everyone would have a very lousy time - when the star is millions of kilometers away.

As for when the planet will be ‘shattered’, there actually is a distance away from a massive body where the gravity is so strong that it’ll pull a planet (or moon, or whatever) apart. It’s called the Roche Limit.****

It depends on the densities of both bodies, and the size of the destroyer, so we can’t calculate the exact distance for this specific scenario, but for the Sun and Earth it’s about 600,000 kilometers.

Hopefully, the astronomers of Venturus will catch up on their book learnings while they head to the only other habitable planet in the area. 

* Later, Lokar states Parthea is also the only planet in “our star cluster” capable of supporting life. That’s an entirely different problem.

** Yes, magnitudes run backwards. Astronomers are dumb.

*** Any massive object, from a single electron to an entire star, is prevented from traveling at the speed of light because of special relativity. Basically, it’d require an infinite amount of energy to accelerate the matter up to the speed limit of the universe. However, there’s no rule that says space itself can’t move faster than the speed of light, which is how warp drives could work.

**** And it’s why Saturn has all those pretty rings, for now.

Tales of Suspense #53 - “The Omen” Writers - Stan Lee and Larry Lieber, Art: Larry Lieber, Ink: Geo. Bell

#comics #space #Astronomy #drake equation

[just4programmers]

Difference between HTML and HTML5

In this article you will learn about difference between HTML and HTML5.

Introduction to Markup Languages

The term markup language may not ring the bell for an individual who has never been a part of the web designing universe but for the professionals, it is no less than the gravitational force that keeps the world wide web organized and accessible. The markup languages are basically used to process, embed, manage and manipulate text in style files and tags by making them easier for computers to understand and control. The markup languages laid the foundation of World Wide Web years ago and all that you see in organized format is due to the perfect combination of design (CSS), text (markup) and their interaction with the help of front end scripts.

HTML

HTML (Hyper Text Markup Language) was the first out and out markup language for web development purposes and all the web pages that we see in an organized and interactive format with engaging multi media, styled texts, and many more things are due to some form of variation of the latest HTML language version. The language allows developers to organize text, hyperlinks, and multimedia in the form of interactive and engaging content in web browsers. The text structures are defined by various tags and these tags are defined by < and > characters. World Wide Web Consortium is responsible for regulating the HTML standards and its developing guidelines and works ethics since 1997. The language has evolved greatly from its primary days of complicated style and content tags principle in one single go to use of style sheets and content defining tags separately.

HTML5

The HTML markup language has very much evolved with time and HTML5 is the latest version that comes with a plethora of new features and efficiency in the web development galaxy. The latest version is a better integration of CSS, Java and HTML components that are focused to make it easy for developers to create better apps and make the whole technology better accessible for the mobile devices.

Difference between HTML and HTML5

HTML HTML5   Allows the JavaScript to run only in the browser interface but not originally in the browser background. The JavaScript can actually run in the background of the browser itself through JS web worker API. Does not allow audio <audio> and video <video> tags. Does allow audio and video controls and the tags. One cannot draw various shapes (circles, triangles, rectangles, and others) in older HTML versions. HTML5 allows one to draw various shapes (circles, triangles, rectangles, and others).  Older HTML versions are less mobile-friendly. HTML5 language is more mobile-friendly. Supports vector graphics only with the help of programs like Flash, Silver-light, and VML. HTML 5 allows the use of virtual vector graphics without the help of programs like Flash, Silver-light, and VML. Doctype declaration is too long and complicated in HTML. Doctype declaration is quite simple and easy in HTML 5. Character encoding is long and complicated in HTML. Character encoding is pretty simple and easy in HTML 5. It uses cookies to store temporary data. It uses SQL databases and application cache to store offline data. Tracking the GeoLocation of a user browsing any website through HTML is almost impossible. One can track the GeoLocation of a user easily in HTML 5 by using  JS GeoLocation API. Old elements still exist in older HTML. strike, frame, frameset, font, center, tt, big, dir, acronym, basefont, noframes, applet, isindex and various other deprecated elements are dropped completely in HTML 5. Attributes like charset, async and ping are absent in HTML. Attributes of charset, async and ping are a part of HTML 5. Parsing rules are less efficient and overall compatibility across various platforms is obsolete. HTML 5 possesses better parsing rules and compatibility across various platforms. It does not allow drag and drop effects. HTML5 allows drag and drop effects.

IT technology is susceptible to changes and upgrades over the time and the fact that changes are inevitable holds true even in terms of markup languages. The HTML5 language has provided more benefits to developers in terms of better audio and video support with the help of incorporating the use of third party plug-ins which was not possible with the earlier versions. The various other differences between the two markup languages are:

The latest version of HTML (HTML5) boasts off more API’s than its predecessor. For example, HTML did not allow Java Script to run within the web browser but the latest version does support Java Script to run in background by using JS web worker API.

HTML5 supports the Vector graphics without colligation of programs like Flash, Silver-light, and VML.

The mathematical notations are better presented in HTML5 than its previous versions through the use of MathML.

The latest version of the markup language allows better drag and drop effects that were not possible with the previous versions.

HTML5 provides better compatibility across all platforms due to the much-improved parsing rules that it possesses over other versions.

HTML5 allows SQL databases and application cache to store temporary (offline) data while in the previous versions; only browser cache was available for serving the cause.

The HTML5 allows better input attributes and form controls than its predecessors like email, date and time, URL, range, tel, search, number and much

The deprecated elements like strike, frame, frameset, font, center, tt, big, dir, acronym, basefont, noframes, applet, isindex are dropped completely in the latest version of markup language.

The new and improved HTML5 consists of various new elements like; nav, audio, figcaption, progress, command, time, datalist, video, figure, meter, data, section, time, aside, canvas, summary, rp, rt, details, wbr, header, footer, keygen, embed, article, hgroup, bdi, mark, output, source, track, section, ruby and many more.

HTML5 also possesses the attributes like charset, async and ping, which were not present in the earlier versions of the web designing language.

Tabindex, id and repeat can be applied for all the elements in the latest version of markup language.

Conclusion:

Change is the rule of nature and information technology is no exception to this rule. The fickle technology aspect is consistently improving by leaving behind old technology and embracing the new. The markup languages are focused on providing a better web experience for developers and end users alike and also to make World Wide Web more accessible to the people living in even the world’s remotest corners and only better technology and attributes can help in that process.

The advanced HTML 5 is always a better prospect than the older versions due to the simple fact of more audio and video controls available with the interface. The developers who want to stay relevant with the latest technology and practices should never shy away from the latest version of the markup language. The future roll outs of the language are expected to provide better privacy tools and other core applications foundations along with digital rights management tools as stated by the World Wide Web Consortium.

The HTML horizon will expand more in upcoming years and in order to combat the needs of modern day users and to provide a better web browsing experience to them will definitely require the present developers to unravel new ways and use better technology to cater the needs of social media and mobile interface that are constantly changing the face of the digital media industry. It is very important that the web developing professionals embrace the latest version of markup language to not only stay relevant with the present demands of the industry but also to use the latest technology to overcome the challenges posed in terms of mobile technology, more responsive designs and better compatibility of the overall web applications.

Comment below if you have queries or found any information incorrect in above article for difference between HTML and HTML5.

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