By the sea shoreThere's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell. Or it's supposed to be the ocean. Lynn's always thought otherwise.By the sea shore by anapests-and-ink
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell. Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen. They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore. Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes. Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls. Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool. Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack. The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed. She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
Ezra and the ImagistesImagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington 135).Ezra and the Imagistes by anapests-and-ink
What exactly is an Imagist? Harold Monro, in his article "The Imagists Discussed," wrote
They have not at any time taken much trouble to
Perfect Strangers Club"Step One: Try everything else before you come crying to us."Perfect Strangers Club by Gryphyn-Bloodheart
The Perfect Strangers Club is a dating service for people who hate themselves. Of course, it doesn't promote itself like that. It's supposed to be a "transformational dating experience" and that sounds peachy at first, but everyone knows it as the dating service of last resort.
The system is pretty extreme. It works like a twelve-step program. Except when you're done with it, you should be a completely different person, or at least have a soul mate. And it's not that the program actually believes in soul mates. It just assumes that if you change with someone enough, you'll inevitably have an intimate connection, like two pieces of candy that melted into each other in a hot car.
Does it work? I've heard a lot of different things. Some people find they get matched with people they really like. At some point, they just start ignoring the program, date like normal, and have relatively successful relationships that
11. MemoryThis is a tribute to the fickleness of memory.11. Memory by Bellairs
This sentence is for all the times you had a great idea, then forgot it as soon as you had the time to write it down.
This sentence is for the dream so profound you woke up screaming, but forgot in another five seconds.
This sentence is for the nostalgia that glosses over all the unpleasant parts of the past.
This sentence is for the song that never goes away.
This sentence is for the fright you get as memories slowly fade away to nothingness, visited only in your dreams (refer back to sentence 2).
This sentence is for the warmth of that time you were all snuggled up in just the right chair reading a book or watching a movie while eating comfort food.
This sentence is for that embarrassing thing you did once which you tried to forget but now you remember again (hint, school, youth, family, other people laughing, awkward silence, disappointment, and probably alcohol).
This sentence is for the memory of a sad time which has lost its bite ove
True StoryThis is my story. I wrote it. With my own two hands I have crafted this tale, right from my own imagination. I created it from nothing, or rather, from scraps left over from a dictionary. It starts with a guy whose name escapes me. He does something that you wouldn't believe, (or maybe you would. You can be kind of like that sometimes.) Bad things happen, and he loses faith a few times, and just when you think life could never be good again, it is. He doesn't live happily ever after, but the problem he was facing is resolved to your satisfaction. I just wish I could remember the details.True Story by JohnAndreButler
You'd love it; it was just your kind of story. It had all the elements that I knew you'd enjoy, so I couldn't help but think of you the whole time I wrote it. In fact, I may have accidently slipped you in there somewhere. It was tasteful though. You would have liked it.
I won an award for the story. Everyone dusted off their old typewriters for some reason, and sent me a letter of congratulations. It w
Shy1 New Friend RequestShy by Rieal-Dragonsbane
1 New Message
Hey Dan! I can't believe it's you! You've really changed since school! Don't we all? Hehe!
Hey, are you still playing the guitar? You were so great at that. Little musical prodigy! So talented, I remember.
Aww, remember those times in maths when we'd have those deep philosophical talks about computer games? Life-changing stuff, that.
So what's been happening in your life? How's uni? Catch me up!
Sophianna! Yes, I still remember that nickname after all these years. But I don't know why I used to call you that.... How are you doing, Sophie? It's so good to hear from you. Did you just join FB? You'll find a lot of people from school here to add (if you want to that is, lol).
Actually, I haven't been playing the guitar that much. I've been meaning to pick it up again [. . .] See More
They used to be good friends before she moved. And after sending over sixty messages in online correspondence there was no need to be nervou
The Epic Author-OffTWO AUTHORS ENTER...ONE AUTHOR LEAVESThe Epic Author-Off by neurotype
Ladies, gents, and unclassy bitches, welcome to the Bibliodome! Here in each corner we've got our opponents, getting ready to face off in an epic battle of words, the likes of which have never been seen before and will never be seen again.
Well, unless you've been watching epic rap battles on YouTube.
thank you SilverInkblot for linking me this!
Anyway, the plan is a bracket-style showdown in which you pick an author and use mad skills (all kinds of literature welcome! Prose, poetry, song, etc!) to get to the top, while of course doing your best to represent that author's life and, more than anything else, literary style.
There must be at least 16 people for this to happen. Brackets look silly if there aren't at least four rounds, so tell your friends. And then blackmail them until they promise to submit an entry. You keep a dossier on th
The Drop Slot Mr. Johnson had many cars, but he loved one car in particular.The Drop Slot by xlntwtch
He drove his wonderful, carefully waxed antique Volvo daily, and today was no exception. He loved to drive.
If one were to describe Mr. Johnson, it could take three initials: CEO.
If one were to describe his personality, it could take a story--a short one.
Two letters to mail this morning, Johnson thought. I can do this by myself.
It would take three days for the letters to arrive via the postal system, but they were the type that began: "Dear (Mr./Ms.). I know you've done your best for the company, but I must inform you that your job is no longer feasible...."
In other words, Mr. Johnson was sending letters by post to fire two employees he knew personally.
Both had served him well, but now they'd be replaced by a machine.
Johnson gave his employees notice no matter what. For Ms. Marcia, he'd let her benefits continue an extra month.
She had a medical condition that tugg
i will miss your garden sunrisei will missi will miss your garden sunrise by cristinewakesuphappy
your garden sunrise,
caviar and potpourri;
this old money
of tasting wine.
and i shall in this lifetime
for not traveling with you.
i hear the forest
calls out my name;
i must go to it.
you insist i take
a plant with me
and love her
like she was mine.
© august 21, 2013
la bataille des femmesI'm not entirely sure how I got here. I'm looking at the door to one of those tucked-away meeting rooms in the student union building. When I met Terri on the bus last week, something told me not to take the violently pink flyer she produced from her bag, yet here I am.la bataille des femmes by shebledgreenink
I pull open one of the big doors and Terri and a couple other intimidating-looking girls are in there. I'm five minutes early. Surprisingly, none of the girls are wearing flannel shirts or combat boots or men's jeans, but they all made up for it with dramatic fashion sense, and only one of them lacks some kind of facial piercing. I've been in college for a while since my humble high school graduating class of 100, but these girls are still somewhat shocking to look at.
Terri greets me enthusiastically. She looks the way she did on the bus, wild short hair, nose stud, ripped t-shirt, not fat or disproportionate but considerably thicker than me. She smells ripe. She introduces me to the other girls present, whose na
Imagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (Life 134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington Life 135).
a Deconstructionist. It's my religion.
a writer and a reader. Both are equally important.
always willing to leave a comment. Just ask.