Jump to content

post here and i'll embed you into some kinda literature, pt II.


Recommended Posts

  • Replies 265
  • Created
  • Last Reply

Top Posters In This Topic

vivi:

 

i texted him an hour ago, only an hour so i should calm down. finish the cookies, figure out why my cat keeps throwing up all over the place.  figure out why my boyfriend's back doesn't bend as easily as before. yesterday after work i saw him working with bread in his hands and thought only of how much of those hands were on my sides, covering my eyes, why doesn't he want to kiss me?  yesterday the door had someone knocking behind it but i couldn't get my clothes on in time.  there was a circular left on the knob advertising yoga.  i won't go to yoga because large intimate crowds make me feel like vomiting my pancakes.  the day before yesterday i wasn't thinking of him at all i wasn't i swear, i was laughing at the facial expressions my boss made while telling me to quit fucking up. i'm not really fucking up though.   i can steam milk better than jesse, better than carla.  my hair doesn't smell afterwards either.  he was nervous to ask me to hang out because i have a boyfriend.  he's in his mid-twenties, at what age do i become an individual? after work i think i'll go to the park.  take off my shoes and walk around the grass.   i want leaves to stick to my socks.  

Link to post
Share on other sites
zach:

he is a cup of black coffee that dissolves all your comforting words into the sugar that they are.  shrugging off chemical changes as easily as an overcoat.  he doesn't need them but he will accept them when his surroundings are a shade too acidic.  there was so much fluff behind your intentions he could see it coming out the seams of your expressions.  
let's say now he is sitting in an armless chair, a paper due, he is thinking of holding a beer with a label that is perhaps slipping off the glass.  everything is silk underneath a sweaty thumb.  he breaks off the thought - thinks of something cold, something other than a blue ballpoint pen without pulse or excretions.
a bitter taste on the roof of his mouth guides his tongue to rest there at the top.  the paper that is due doesn't go anywhere, can't write itself. he is strong in his indifference, a lovely lure hangs there in his eyes.  very often the neutrality of his actions drives others to bridge the gap.  it's a brilliant strategy.  it works best with those who are just a little unsure of their own performance.  still, elusiveness doesn't finish work.  only people.
there are several of them in the room with him.  the space between one particular man and woman is stuffed with indiscreet flirtatious gestures. he does not think the guy has a chance.     he's paying attention to too many undecided overtures and his brow furrows because he knows there's a foothold somewhere but it's not in this room.  it won't ever be in this room.  
Link to post
Share on other sites

 

zach:

 

he is a cup of black coffee that dissolves all your comforting words into the sugar that they are. shrugging off chemical changes as easily as an overcoat. he doesn't need them but he will accept them when his surroundings are a shade too acidic. there was so much fluff behind your intentions he could see it coming out the seams of your expressions.

let's say now he is sitting in an armless chair, a paper due, he is thinking of holding a beer with a label that is perhaps slipping off the glass. everything is silk underneath a sweaty thumb. he breaks off the thought - thinks of something cold, something other than a blue ballpoint pen without pulse or excretions.

a bitter taste on the roof of his mouth guides his tongue to rest there at the top. the paper that is due doesn't go anywhere, can't write itself. he is strong in his indifference, a lovely lure hangs there in his eyes. very often the neutrality of his actions drives others to bridge the gap. it's a brilliant strategy. it works best with those who are just a little unsure of their own performance. still, elusiveness doesn't finish work. only people.

there are several of them in the room with him. the space between one particular man and woman is stuffed with indiscreet flirtatious gestures. he does not think the guy has a chance. he's paying attention to too many undecided overtures and his brow furrows because he knows there's a foothold somewhere but it's not in this room. it won't ever be in this room.

atmosphere in this is so heavy it's amazing
Link to post
Share on other sites

i meant for this to be more lighthearted because we all know rose is not a dark heavy person but this is what happened idk sorry if it's weird

rose: 

 

"this song is good. it's not my shit, kinda lame, but i guess i get it.  it's chill."  
i'm cringing, what a terrible sentence. what the hell was he talking about? i guess it showed on my face.

 "you know, good.  cos it goes well with greens."

 why do i hang out with this guy?  oh, yeah.

"haha ha" his voice peters out because he is realizing he used to be smart.

"listen this song isn't fucking green," i say.  

he stops smiling.  i can't handle it, he's unhappy but i care less today than ever.

 "sorry i think you're just stoned - this song is about how it is impossible to love someone without hating them a little, just like they say that if you hate someone you must have loved them at some point."

"that's some emo shit hahah" his hand is propping up his stupid face and i'm rolling my eyes so hard. 
 "singer doesn't give a shit about weed (and here i feign a laugh instead of saying 'and you've lost your spark to talk music') thanks for stopping by, though. (i'm usually enjoying myself at this point but i am tired) i mean thanks for bringing me food and drugs obviously."

why isn't anyone else here with me? one good thing about roommates is they are always interrupting your conversations with the loud banging of pots and pans.  or they are making indecipherable awkward moans.  from sex? or crying? same thing. at least when you live alone nobody asks you questions about toiletries. 

he's got his sunglasses in his lap along with his keys and his cigarettes.  the keychain has a milwaukee's best emblem on it.  he's a drug dealer that lingers.
"cool man, whatever, it's whatever.  i didn't mean to diss your music."
"i'm not pissed."
"yeah okay.  we cool?"
"yeah."

he’s got those kind of pants that make whisper-y plastic noises when you move. combined with the thumb and forefinger he is drumming upon his abdomen and the long shadow he is casting as he leaves he creates his own kind of absurd music. there is a beat to leaving that i can understand. getting up to change the music i think better and repeat the song that we were just listening to.  it’s so much more beautiful without stipulations.   

 


 

Link to post
Share on other sites

vivi:

 

i texted him an hour ago, only an hour so i should calm down. finish the cookies, figure out why my cat keeps throwing up all over the place.  figure out why my boyfriend's back doesn't bend as easily as before. yesterday after work i saw him working with bread in his hands and thought only of how much of those hands were on my sides, covering my eyes, why doesn't he want to kiss me?  yesterday the door had someone knocking behind it but i couldn't get my clothes on in time.  there was a circular left on the knob advertising yoga.  i won't go to yoga because large intimate crowds make me feel like vomiting my pancakes.  the day before yesterday i wasn't thinking of him at all i wasn't i swear, i was laughing at the facial expressions my boss made while telling me to quit fucking up. i'm not really fucking up though.   i can steam milk better than jesse, better than carla.  my hair doesn't smell afterwards either.  he was nervous to ask me to hang out because i have a boyfriend.  he's in his mid-twenties, at what age do i become an individual? after work i think i'll go to the park.  take off my shoes and walk around the grass.   i want leaves to stick to my socks.  

ugh this is fucked up every sentence happened yesterday, it wasnt yoga but the ad gave me the same thought. every single sentence besides wow

when that shadow that goes down the steps to the door showed up i got really still and it just went away, and it was funny cause instead of ad my first thought was something dangerous and for a few seconds i thought about bombs, how long would you have before it killed you if you realised there was one near, and then i put on clothes and opened the door slowly and yea it was on the knob. that so strange i havent been cookiing or baking at all but i did suddenly yesterday

Link to post
Share on other sites

ugh this is fucked up every sentence happened yesterday, it wasnt yoga but the ad gave me the same thought. every single sentence besides wow

when that shadow that goes down the steps to the door showed up i got really still and it just went away, and it was funny cause instead of ad my first thought was something dangerous and for a few seconds i thought about bombs, how long would you have before it killed you if you realised there was one near, and then i put on clothes and opened the door slowly and yea it was on the knob. that so strange i havent been cookiing or baking at all but i did suddenly yesterday

 

 

O___o

 

i knew we were ~connected~ but dis creepy lol

Link to post
Share on other sites

hi i dont think u know much about me tho but yeah great thread

 

i can do it again if you want ^.^  but this was your old one:

even though most everyone sits in front of me i feel i understand just as much. i take the stairwell instead of the elevator because it's more pleasing to hear my feet tapping off the floor and onto every hallway than it is to push a button. then somebody somewhere sighed and walked up next to me, started speaking in tumbling frost filled words that fly out and encrust themselves onto the handrail. that's alright because i don't even have to walk with my hands on it. i hear the click clack of heels times two. i see my breath curling out of my mouth and nose. i feel the moisture on my eyelashes when i blink and they brush against my cheek. i hear the click clack of heels and the droning voice of my company until the stairs crack under us and suddenly i am alone, standing in the middle of a landing wondering what happened.

Link to post
Share on other sites

i meant for this to be more lighthearted because we all know rose is not a dark heavy person but this is what happened idk sorry if it's weird

 

rose:

 

 

 

 

"this song is good. it's not my shit, kinda lame, but i guess i get it. it's chill."

i'm cringing, what a terrible sentence. what the hell was he talking about? i guess it showed on my face.

"you know, good. cos it goes well with greens."

why do i hang out with this guy? oh, yeah.

"haha ha" his voice peters out because he is realizing he used to be smart.

"listen this song isn't fucking green," i say.

he stops smiling. i can't handle it, he's unhappy but i care less today than ever.

"sorry i think you're just stoned - this song is about how it is impossible to love someone without hating them a little, just like they say that if you hate someone you must have loved them at some point."

"that's some emo shit hahah" his hand is propping up his stupid face and i'm rolling my eyes so hard.

"singer doesn't give a shit about weed (and here i feign a laugh instead of saying 'and you've lost your spark to talk music') thanks for stopping by, though. (i'm usually enjoying myself at this point but i am tired) i mean thanks for bringing me food and drugs obviously."

why isn't anyone else here with me? one good thing about roommates is they are always interrupting your conversations with the loud banging of pots and pans. or they are making indecipherable awkward moans. from sex? or crying? same thing. at least when you live alone nobody asks you questions about toiletries.

he's got his sunglasses in his lap along with his keys and his cigarettes. the keychain has a milwaukee's best emblem on it. he's a drug dealer that lingers.

"cool man, whatever, it's whatever. i didn't mean to diss your music."

"i'm not pissed."

"yeah okay. we cool?"

"yeah."

he’s got those kind of pants that make whisper-y plastic noises when you move. combined with the thumb and forefinger he is drumming upon his abdomen and the long shadow he is casting as he leaves he creates his own kind of absurd music. there is a beat to leaving that i can understand. getting up to change the music i think better and repeat the song that we were just listening to. it’s so much more beautiful without stipulations.

whoa man interesting. It's like it doesn't all that much resemble my life in the details but something about it gave me asmr chills in my head hardcore. Like you nailed the essence or something. It's cool I like it. And really not weird I'm not that lighthearted anyway haha.
Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now



×
×
  • Create New...