pauvre lapinou
Horrorsome stories and things of mine will be found here.
yours,
fg
Newest
The BerlinerSick of writing about the pianist, she leaves for Berlin and makes her home next to the absence of a wall She contemplates the American Embassy and changes her cigarette brand She sets out walking and considers percentages of lives, eats alone, begins to consider meat as flesh, removes paintings from their frames and in their place hangs mirrors Calling home small voiced she asks after family and friends politely, washing dishes as she does so, the phone in the crook of her neck She makes no friends, does not make love, resents nothing and leaves no &nbsThe Berliner
by ~fauxgravity
Little TasksInstead of reading, she decided to clean the windows. They had never been cleaned in all the years that she had lived there. Streaks of old soap and dirt gauzed the morning sun as it entered the room. Pictures of faces and notes that she and her boyfriend had left each other were traced on the glass, ending with muddy fingerprints. It took a long time to clean them and she thought how pleasant a task it was. Naturally, when she was finished, she was overcome with a terrible sense of grief and she sat on the floor and wept.Little Tasks
by ~fauxgravity
Bell StreetWhen wrenching hearts isn’t the object; but stripping floors the object -- flinched wood and splintered gaze, to tell tale by my sigh, you loosen chippings and side speak, like listeningBell Street
Both eyes on the fisted wrench of half a day’s work and Your mouth hardly moving, I go to say what and stop.
Like what, like lying side to side I tell you nothing and you in turn keep silently my strictest confidence, as if somehow you could betray me now, as if somehow but no, I couldn’t, you can’t make me Take the last train home and never tell a soul.
In Se
by ~fauxgravity
CetusCetus
a seething crop of whales in the distance: our sirens and underneath it all the ebb and swell of a sick wind have you ever felt stranger than when you said that word; 'wound'?
the stars were our panic buttons. we fanned our fingers like that and morse-coded the bear, his daughter and the painter’s easel. “In ten years we will call our son Cetus” -- I can’t pretend to understand
how we could have been so stupid. how through chapped lips we forced our words to rhyme, as if somehow, that would save us. how we even first learned to use that language. &n
by ~fauxgravity
Favourites
askingby ~havesomehats
Paper Mache Chandeliersi make us dinner under paper-mache chandeliers; i made of clay, you of glitter-gold dress. beautiful how we end table occupy.Paper Mache Chandeliers
i drove by the masons | the illuminati in their 2 a.m, think nobody know, meeting. but I the buildings creator! with builder-knows-best eyes, whispered on the walls, that the
gentlemen with the solid red tie didn't tuck in
by ~thenakedlunch
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Devious Info
- Interests: excess
- Favourite genre of music: heavy
- Favourite poet or writer: don delillo, anais nin, vladimir nabokov
- Operating System: typewriter
- Skin of choice: mine
- Personal Quote: there is no good or bad, only charming and tedious. and if i have been the latter then i apologise.
- Tools of the Trade: reality, smoke, fingers
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--
"RELIGION, n. A daughter of Hope and Fear, explaining to Ignorance the nature of the Unknowable."
-The Devil's Dictionary
you make me wanna run into aluminum siding
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
--
Founder of =Inked-Page | Staff for *100ThemesChallenge, *ProsePlease | Lit Critic at *devCRIT
i hope things are good with you. take care,
-dae
--
The desire for solitude comes with a loneliness only an artist could understand. - Dae.
--
REDEFINE GOD
--
third world country music
It started out with something along the lines of "I'm sixteen, I'm an aquarius" I believe. And the DD description warned us readers not to be turned off by the simple first sentences, as the piece would surely deliver. And it surely did deliver.
Certain lines have been embedded in my mind after reading it once, only to crawl out of the depths when I don't need them.
The memory prompted me to look for the piece in your gallery. I've been doing just that about three times now, and as I suspected I never found it again. Something you wrote for some movie screenplay or something...
Did you indeed take it down?
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