#not really prose

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Cried to the Queen from behind the waters, pled gasping. To she and the Carrier I wept, sanctuary and guidance. I do hope their postage is swift as the Son’s, for what I wanted is not so dire as what I now need, damn the specter.

I act on necessity, these words unfamiliar but automatic. Beg for what I cannot myself do, shaking and desperate. Do not fret for my devotion to the Father, my soul is not of concern.

Just help. Please.

I shall be threshed for my intent I’ve little doubt should my request be fulfilled. But oh what a sweet sound shall the grains make as they scatter across the floor.

[katherineoliviawrites]

Dear Michael, You say you love me. You’ve said it nearly every day since I was only 14. And you still say it even though we aren’t together. And even though you say it, I’ve come to a solid conclusion that you don’t love me at all. It’s just what you say because you think that’s what I want to hear, and you think that it’s some kind of phrase that’ll immediately get me to drop my panties for you. Because that’s all you want anyways. My body. It wasn’t so obvious for the three years we dated that you didn’t really care about my opinions, but seeing you again after not seeing you for almost two years, I feel incredibly stupid for not seeing it before. You never let me speak when we’re together. It’s all about you and you and nothing but you. Your “hilarious” stories that really go nowhere, your rants about “fellow pro gamers” that I really don’t understand, and your rants about how everyone questions your masculinity at work because of the dog pictures your sister, who hates me with a passion, sends you. Three topics I honestly don’t give a shit about. You say you love me, but you don’t know the slightest thing about me. How could you if you don’t let me speak? But you know what? I don’t give a shit about you anymore so go run along and find someone else to listen to your stories and kiss the bottoms of your feet. Very sincerely, The girl who is no longer your slave

[katherineoliviawrites]

I promise I have really deep shit to say. I just don’t know how to say it. Sometimes, it’s just hard to choose the right words to help others understand what’s in my mind. And that’s why some of my work is honestly really shitty. Because sometimes, I give up mid writing on finding the right words. Sometimes I have no motivation. And even though some of my work is honestly shit, I still expect people to love it.

[120134450135-blog]

Scratchwork

First sentences of stories:

Muses are excuses.

Raymond Queneau is sitting on a German metrobus at rush hour.

I didn’t even realize that something had changed until I realized that I was captivated by the sensation of my achilles tendons.

“Hurry up with my damned mirage!”

Glancing at the bookshelf, his eye was drawn to a quartz trophy: a VIP award for going above and beyond a desk job’s call of duty.

When Linkin Park was writing Minutes to Midnight, Rick Rubin reviewed the demos; if the demo was rapped, he had them sing instead, and vice versa

I started buying vinyl records when I realized that I’d never wear t-shirts again.

“Socrates, for the third time, please lay off -- I’m not going to let you draw me into your stupid game through meta-discourse.”

Honestly, Hell is only as unhealthy as helium.

“That man there, in the video: he wore my medal once.”

The whole city was gridlocked for miles in every direction.

He crumples another note, and lobs it into the fireplace.

450 #54, submitted 4/13/15

[a-ame]

Sometimes I like to contradict myself(not meaning I like it), and when I say that, I'm talking about love.

[therearenodonutsindeath]

I come from one of the richest counties in America 84% of our graduates go on to college We pride ourselves on those things Our graduates are so impressive that colleges in our state set maximums each year They can't accept too many of us We invade the big cities, the more exciting cities, the less conservative cities We tell ourselves In high school we were split into "Basic" and "Advanced" I was "basic" -- I failed chemistry and had to take basic physics I took Algebra 1 three times But my teachers knew They looked at my writing, which was above my grade level In English I asked questions about characters that no one else thought of History classes became discussions between the teacher and myself I sat in ninth-grade English and listened to rules on comma placement The walls were covered with essays about the significance of the pig in The Lord of the Flies Which I have never read One day my eleventh-grade English teacher caught me reading a book in class She took it and gave it back to me a week later There was a post-it note on top "A great read -- I know you can write this well too" She fought for me to enter Advanced English for my last year of school For the first time I read modern works For the first time I met vocabulary I didn't understand We were the future leaders of the world These students would go on to be government employees and marketing executives The teacher thought we were pretentious Except for that one asian girl And that one who had lived in another country for a while She threw candy to us whenever we answered her questions correctly We future non-profit CEOs and software start-up managers and financial chiefs A girl received candy for saying a story read like the push and pull of ironing I received frowns for guessing a story was wish fulfillment when it was actually magical realism After six weeks I was sent back to Basic English I was 45 minutes late for class I had to read the prologue of Canterbury Tales alone Our assignment was to draw a character They gave us crayons and construction paper and left us alone I drew a blond man with a red sore on his knee It was the first A I received all year

[entwinedinit]

5.

What if, the people we desired Knew, we desired them?

What if, we knew Knew, the people that wanted us?

Who then would we be? 

[yourlocalcrone]

When I was a kid, I regularly had night terrors. I would put off going to sleep as long as I could because I was afraid of the horrible things I saw in my unconscious mind.

I don't have night terrors anymore. Now I'm too afraid to go to sleep because in my dreams I can be happy and all my desires can be fulfilled. And when I wake, it's all gone - you are gone - and I have nothing.