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Literature Text
Fumbling for words:
It's a bit like one of those
Hazy dreams that starts
In medias res,
The scenes jumpy
Intentions unclear.
Nobody really knows
How to read a dream -
But we try, anyways,
Try to make sense of it
Like we look for meaning
In a book's pages
Or in what we say
To each other.
They say, "Stories
Are the stuff of dreams
And the truth is stranger than fiction."
But I'll know
The truth when I see it
And then I'll find
The right words
To wake you up.
It's a bit like one of those
Hazy dreams that starts
In medias res,
The scenes jumpy
Intentions unclear.
Nobody really knows
How to read a dream -
But we try, anyways,
Try to make sense of it
Like we look for meaning
In a book's pages
Or in what we say
To each other.
They say, "Stories
Are the stuff of dreams
And the truth is stranger than fiction."
But I'll know
The truth when I see it
And then I'll find
The right words
To wake you up.
Literature
gas[lit]
the first and last signs of succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning
are the yellow post-it notes on the walls reminding you of the upcoming eclipse
and the sheet of welding glass in your skull,
[if the bull with a man's head approaches you at the nexus of the road and tells
the same lie thrice does it become true?]
[if the siren never rises from her bed to make coffee is she anything
but a hag?]
[if the boy in the desert learns to wear the skin of a coyote is he your only
true brother?]
[and if the writer is present at all, has she been speaking to her reflection or just
staring into the toilet wondering about the fleshy pieces that keep
Literature
Death Mirror
How carefully we must breech that gentle subject
and aborne understanding on the things we fear.
Else we drown in our own darkness,
like a human voice attempting to call over the hoof beats,
asking a herd of buffalo to stop their stampede.
Death will always be a subject worth calling out to,
but some of us will fill it with things we believe
instead of the things we see.
The way a culture views death reflects a society's morals,
and the same fashion;
the way we tell ghost stories at a campfire
reveals
Literature
Balloons
Life got herself into a bit of trouble in the past couple of weeks. She ended up putting herself in the hospital. I couldn’t leave her alone for two seconds without her screwing up something.
I visited her in the hospital for a few days. Despite whatever she had, she still had the same glowing smile, her blonde hair still curled around her face. Even her lipstick look like it never had faded. She was the picture of well, Life, and she was still recovering, but she was going to be okay.
Life hated hospitals. She’d visited one too many, watched too many doctor shows; she knew Death hung around hospitals so often, and she didn̵
Suggested Collections
This was inspired by Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics and turned into a thesis of sorts about what stories mean to me. Morpheus is awesome.
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