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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books.php/item_id/1794659-Unfinished-Lie/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/8
Rated: 13+ · Book · Other · #1794659
Chilled energy fixes me incomplete; writhing without sleep, I live an unfinished lie.
Chilled energy fixes me incomplete; writhing without sleep, I live an unfinished lie. Here my thoughts and holes. Fill them in, please. I can't finish on my own.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
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September 14, 2011 at 12:21am
September 14, 2011 at 12:21am
#734044
"How would it affect your life if we suddenly lost all of the services and technologies we rely on everyday? No electricity or gas service? No water or sewer? No telephone? No television? No internet? No radio? No gasoline?"

I'd be single again. I'd fall out of love with the beauty across the sea and finally fall for what's right in front of me. I'd learn, again, what it means to be 'neighbor', to being a 'neighbor' in kind.

I'd write so much more. All hobbies be unleashed. A generation of craftsman are born. The gentile with which I'd gather would rather be rollicking frolicking in parks and be straining, training their minds comprehend a 'world-without-everything.' They'll likely be the first to disagree with 'carefree's the way to be.' We'd all be butt busy bringing back blank and Netflix, that we'd die forgetting anyone might try to move on.

That's alright, I think. Because, I think, my life will have so much meaning with so much free time. Think of it: everything you do is of dire importance, but there's little important to do, so you do what you like ('least when you're fed) and it's of the imperative type.

I'd be single again and one with man. I'd be the me in my dreams with nothing of what I dreamt, because I dream to be an instinctual being, where sex is my greatest envy and enemy. I think many new children will need to be born after the riots. I'll be on the train to Babyland before the thunder strikes. Have me a nice round family to weather the storm. Yeah. And we can shoot people for food, so it'll work out.
September 13, 2011 at 11:13pm
September 13, 2011 at 11:13pm
#734040
Some women have sex written across their legs; a shape to hold your hand and a softness that's easy to part.
September 12, 2011 at 10:07pm
September 12, 2011 at 10:07pm
#733964
“Write about yourself as you would a fictional character, in the third person. Try to view yourself as objectively as possible, detailing your appearance, mannerisms, perceptions and attitudes etc or just whatever comes to mind and only what you are comfortable sharing.”

"He's too tall for his own good; can eat anything and keep handsome..."

"Kayla, just let him know."

"Why, Sara? Why bother. He's over there and I'm not."

"My brother doesn't think like that. He's into you. I swear."

Vincent forced his head around to the girls. Oblivious to the conversation, he smiled his big funny teeth across the room at them. His supple movements started inching his body out of the crowd. A smile and a step went left. A duck, a bow, and twist and he was shaking hands waiting to be excused from the circle.

The girls just watched the dance. Kayla blushed and bored into Sara's collar. Vincent b-lined it toward his sister with a gaping smile (his nicer nature lost on the witless.). "Oh, my God." he spelled. "Oh, my god."

"Where they that bad? They're almost your age, Vinny."

"Sara, I can't deal with my age. I don't look at twenty-something-old legs and think of the relationship I'm about to start. Kayla, how's Brian?"

"Good. He's good."

"Sara, listen. I need some artichoke."

"We can't smoke here."

"A trip, then. Kayla, come on. Just us."

Kayla smiled to tearing. Sara looked longingly at the front door. Vincent spun and swept the room with an approving smile.

"Time to go, guys. They'll be here when we get back. Time to go."
September 12, 2011 at 9:37am
September 12, 2011 at 9:37am
#733923
"Today marks the 10-year anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. It doesn’t matter where you are in the world, this tragedy touched us all. It changed the course of history and altered our lives forever. Today is a day to reflect on those events and remember all of the innocent victims that were lost. The human spirit is always enduring and perseveres even through a horrible tragedy such as this. Write about your feelings, thoughts, emotions, anything that comes to mind, both then and now."

'Twas delayed, but for good reason.

I decided to give time and life to event. On this day of remembrance, the "No Fear" barbeque was created.

The "No Fear" barbeque was 'Food Network'-delicious, inspired by great patriots like Paula Deen and Sunny Anderson. Personality flourished with fragrant food; public intoxication ran rampant assisted by properly aired carafes of table wine and trays of chocolate.

I think we needed something classic. I felt a desire to make America happen. It came out as food and a gathering, good sprits, and great old-fashioned hosting (which meant preemptively kicking out my sister's trouble-making friends, and the party being all the better for it).

I think that 9/11 was a day like any other day. Like any event, it was used by powerful men to hem powerful policy. The patchwork that is our lives is generally unaffected - the economical downturn (so not caused by wars in the middle east) will effect more of our generations hope and our children's opportunity than one mad act. The day fades, but unfortunately some few still live in fear of second deliverance. And so, yesterday, I wondered with iron fist, fearlessly preparing food, drinking for the better part of the day, and generally being more merry than I had any right to be.

9/11 was delicious.
September 12, 2011 at 9:28am
September 12, 2011 at 9:28am
#733921
How do you cure writer’s block? Do you have a special ritual that you go through when you encounter writer’s block? Or do you just suffer through it and hope it clears up or goes away?


I'm not sure there's a cure for nothing to do. Much of it to me is shifting priorities.

Some days, like this weekend, you have to leave town. I scribble on notebooks. I take books to read. I do everything I can to keep creative. In the end, though, everything bows to life and fun and I'm left catching up.

Catching up - the deadline aspect - makes me write. More than anything, it's having the pressure at the back of my head; that nagging desire to produce takes care of my priorities by inserting a headache before I think to do less useful activities, like homework or making breakfast.

I need a deadline. I need to be in trouble. That's when the fire in my fingers flits across these keys. Yes.
September 10, 2011 at 3:25pm
September 10, 2011 at 3:25pm
#733766
Where do you turn to and what do you see when you're lonely?

I'd like to say I turn anywhere but inside. I wish there was a face I could get lost in. Too often, I look at the dark within. With blank eyes on the world, I peer down into the problem, the ineffable me. Why I look then, and not when I'm happy, is beyond me. I don't see rainbow passions in chaotic swirl, no choral invitations to enlightenment. I see the problem like a tarred rock, holding down the ethereal flow, disrupting. I mull in quiet, in public often enough, and sort through the currents of thought until it's safe to remove my parasite. Then, I change. Or maybe I change in the quiet, just not realizing the small shifts in behavior as I'm stuck in myself.

A cocoon. I turn into a cocoon and see the blood of my soul. I've never been able to turn to others when the problem is me, when it's I that am lonely.

Why push that on someone else?
September 9, 2011 at 12:00am
September 9, 2011 at 12:00am
#733645
Imagine the abstract part of you (mind, soul, spirit) is a house. What rooms are in the house? Which room is your favorite, or are you afraid of, or do you find yourself in most? Describe one of these rooms in detail, or give us an overview of the whole house full of rooms.


I'm more of a bubble than a house, but I get the idea. See that underneath the amber dome lies a sea of grass. Plains sparkling ideas, green stalks foundation in dreams. Currents of my life sweep across imagination-land from each direction, lapping in inverse waves at the Great Tree. My tree. Me. In the shade. See me? There, between sense's light and the shaded folds, reflected in pearl pollen on leaf, and there between the roots, dark, where the world disappears under My Tree - to karmic fountains, lost in my ether. My Tree, Me, in the shade, looking on the plains of my life, with my dragon.

Yes. There's a dragon.
September 8, 2011 at 12:57am
September 8, 2011 at 12:57am
#733554
Write an experience where you were scammed by a transaction. How do you fight with it?

Why would I only think of the transactions I make with myself; exchanging a bright future for pleasure now. How often was there justice in shoes and moral valor in taking her out again?

Every day I wake up I make a deal with myself:
Get up.
Go to the gym.
You will have more sex.
You will live longer.

And I think:
If I get up, I will have more sex. If I go to the gym, I will live longer. How screwed was my logic. I'll die of an STD addicted to caffeine in the afternoon.

I take a multivitamin.
September 6, 2011 at 12:04pm
September 6, 2011 at 12:04pm
#733406
"Summer? Autumn? Winter? Spring? Which is your favorite time of the year and why is it your favorite? Tell what kinds of things you like to do during that season."

Summer. Autumn. Winter. And Spring.

I've had surgery in the summer. Been run over in the fall. I've spent Christmas over a toilet. Spring has never brought my love as far as I can remember. So, experience aside, let me think.

Maybe summer. Summer is that time of year when women are allowed to dress down. Every day becomes a parade of unsheathed beauty. Legs. Legs. Legs. And they take such good care of them. Tight shirts and flowery dresses skitter by. Summer loves women and, so, I am certainly a friend. But, I'm not sure it's my favorite month. Basking in eye candy is fantastic. For all the rest of the year, though, there is porn. I'm never far from nakedness.

Spring blossoms powder society with love, cupid's popping cherry arrows at the young, downing perfectly respectable innocents to raucous sex in public places, on couches, and the warming beach. Autumn cements it. The picnics under a changing world, falling to slumber in color then colorless, lets lovers nap in mortality. It is when the cold fronts start, that I begin to think of who I want by the fireside. There's a truth to Fall forgotten in Spring and lost to Summer. In the dawn chill, the warm breath on your back is the love of your life; the Winter ready.

Winter comes with equal joy and fear. There's a visceral nature to the onslaught. All clouds become ominous. Every wind a storm sign. There is adrenaline in the wait. I can't prove it, but I'm sure my body gets excited, like before a race, when the seasons begin to change and the world knows it is time to fend for itself. I tend to call home more, though that's probably for Christmas. I haven't any children of my own, so Christmas is a lost time for me. I try to see family. I try to buy presents and send cards. But, to me, the day is dead - I'm not a churchgoer except for those chilling choral performances; not desperate except on those cold nights; always alone, and busy, and sad, and waiting for warmth. I see myself then. I learned to meditate just to keep myself sane. Under grey skies, the battle with depression begins, and I love to win. The victories are always accompanied with growth, it seems; wizening to the lessons of the cold, developing for the new 'me' to be unleashed when the sun stays high in the sky and thaws the world under my feet. I never feel more like a king than in Winter. I hate the cold. But, I love myself in it.

Spring. Spring is one with Summer for me. Act I of the catch-up dance. Exposition: introduction to new friends and the setting of a new year. Inciting incidents: nipple slips and cocoa on cold mornings. Climax: so many of these. Opportunity always greets me then, as if the world decided to be busy with 'next' and willing to let me hop on their passion trains.

Summer is work. Laying rails to next season's requirement. Fulfilling obligations made in the cold months. Here, I squeeze fun under pressure, make my day wanted by the expectations of my fellow passengers, keeping the promises of Spring.

What's my favorite? Depends on the day. Depends on the day.
September 5, 2011 at 6:05pm
September 5, 2011 at 6:05pm
#733350
"What if the "one that got away", the person who absolutely ripped your heart to shreds, came crawling back to you begging for another chance? How would you handle the situation?"

I'd have sex with her, obviously. There wouldn't be a need to beg. Dinner, maybe a drink, and then every single cell in my body lunging at her. I'd wrap her into me, toss life away, and sink into a new future with her.

Of course, I would be demanding. I have a new life, now. I have new successes and greater goals to achieve. Ideally she'd have hers too. There'd be sex and talk. We'd have sex and cuddly discussions. She'd be manipulative near my climax, and I would manipulate hers until we fought over sex, having sex, and knowing there is so little to what we have become, compared to what we were, than the sex we are having.

But, none of that would matter, because there would be the naked shields. Breasts to stay my anger. Fingers and pumps to allay hers. Love, I expect. The wrong kind of love. Biological love, reproductive love, that locks us together in long forgotten pheromones.

I don't fear anything more. If she came back, I'm sure my life would end, and I would be all the happier for it.

Because, the best parts are the mistakes we make. And God, what a wonderful mistake love can be!

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books.php/item_id/1794659-Unfinished-Lie/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/8