artem-vivendi

one second i’m there. the next i’m not. another guy is standing in the exact same spot where i just was moments ago. he’s funny, and kind, and caring, and he answers your texts, and he knows how to make you laugh, and he doesn’t trail off in the middle of a thought, and he listens, and he makes eye contact when he’s talking, and he understands you. you’re perfect for each other. my friend has chucked me off the bus and politely situated himself in the seat next to you. the fumes choke my throat with smog. where are they going? perhaps they’re driving more than we had drove, perhaps they’

Between the silence anything goes. Between the silence everything flows. Between the silence nobody knows but you from where the music grows. The time’s a mechanical tick tick tick. It never stops to let you finish your lick. Beat into the ground with a wooden stick. It’s a small flat slate, smooth but not slick. The tempo don’t stop, so neither do you. You’re bound to beat, can’t miss your cue. Listen to the drums, the horns, bass too, but first to the time you gotta stay true. If you’re to stumble or fumble at all, you can’t just stop, you can’t just fall. You gotta keep going, don’t

Nothing on Earth could be more cruel than having a runny nose in school. When snot’s drip-dripping onto your sleeve You clumsily rise and hastily leave. Running away, to the bathroom you go! To grab a tissue and finally blow. It doesn’t help long, five minutes tops like a hole in a dam, it just never stops! Itchy red skin beneath your schnoz Sticky wet snot all over your paws. What a terrible horrible burden to bear, it’s always me, it’s just not fair! ‘Cause nothing on Earth could be more cruel than having a runny nose in school.

Did she look at me? Did our eyes just meet? Is this a happenstance meeting, or did fate arrange our seats so we would sit so near and share a glance so dear? She is a thing of beauty, smooth and slender grace, with hair as dark as midnight, cute freckles smatter her face, her eyes lined black to match her hair so into your soul she can ruthlessly stare. If only I could be her man... I should approach her and speak before she leaves forever, but my ass is glued to the seat and my pounding heart is on fire, my hands starting to perspire. I gather up the courage I have and lug it across the aisle. I open my mouth, I ask the time and then she

I watch them close they dart and flit and if they land they do not sit. If yours and mine happened to meet, they’d soon repel like legos and feet. But when they stop, do take a peek. For there is what the owner seeks. The eyes are where outside can find what’s going on inside the mind.

The chalkboard looked like a Picasso. Intricate webs woven with implications, wavering lies scrawled haphazardly, and heavy knots filled with unfulfillment, formed an angry mob screaming for his attention. A cacophony of color turned the board into a newspaper: black neglect and white lies and bloody red all over. The things he didn’t do mocked him from their comfortable perches on the stone. But he laughed back. After all, they weren’t written in stone. Eraser in hand, he marched up to the mess. He was ready to be rid of his regrets, to be finished with his failures, to be done with his dark past. But when he touched bristle

“Explain yourself, Kovacs,” he snapped. His beady sweatface was inches from mine and his hairy knuckles grasped the edges of my desk. “Well, sir, I —” “Well sir? Just ‘sir’ will do.” “Yes, sir.” The pregnant silence sat in the air between us. An awkward eternity passed and I broke the invisible chain holding our gazes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Kovacs!” he barked. My eyes tentatively locked with his again. “Yes, sir.” “Well?” “Well what?” “I’m waiting for you to explain yourself, Kovacs.”

A bird can fly A bird can cry when baby birds fall from the sky A bird can’t feel or ever heal from emptiness that feels so real. The Momma Bird says not a word and sings a song a song unheard

He doesn’t belong here. Those four are tied together by bonds of friendship and brotherhood, but he’s an outsider. I think the younger Sampson brother brought him along. He’s never even met my oldest son, my firstborn child who is finally home from college, finally reuniting with his closest friends and brother… and that other kid. I see it when they cross the wood floor. His sock is wet. He attempts to cover up the soggy footprints and he limps like a wounded animal plodding through the snow trying not to leave any bloody tracks for its hunter. His efforts make it more obvious. That other kid is walking funny, an

The power is out. I close my eyes. I open them. It’s all black, open or closed. I could be sleeping, but I wouldn’t know it because my living room looks just like the backs of my eyelids: black. At first it’s a flat black, hard and smooth like obsidian, but then reds and blues and purples erupt and the black crumbles apart. All of the sudden, the black turns to white and the thunder cracks its ear splitting whip. Rain splatters sloppily on the roof while I sit in stunned silence. Now what? My iPhone presses itself against my thigh, reminding me of its presence. I whip it out, swipe up, and tap the flashlight icon. The roo

They are the Saints They are the ones who Impose They impose their Beliefs They claim to be Better Better than Us The Condemned We are Condemned The ones who suffer under Them The Saints They see themselves as the Light They see us as the Dark They see us as the ultimate Evil Do they See Do they see that they the saints are not the Light We are not the Dark The saints act Benevolent They are Not They are just as bad as Us They are Hypocrites They are hypocrites who see their Hypocrisy They place it upon Us They place it upon us so they can feel Benevolent We take on the Pain It Hurts It hurts so Bad They think not of us for we Corrupt We are

unpardonable sins thoughts of hate dark discriminations the human debate who is righteous who takes blame who deserves worship who gets the flame judges scorn curtain torn ways without means lifeless routines we scourge ourselves to better be deny our hearts then call it free brother against brother beliefs bloody fights what faith divides death unites

The world has ended.  Maybe it was an alien invasion, an astronomical catastrophe, the ever-popular zombie apocalypse, or some ironic twist involving irresponsible science and man's own hubris.  It doesn't really matter.  Perhaps it was a grinding decline like a torch starving in the night, or a fleeting blaze of cinematic glory.  That doesn't matter either.  All that matters is that somehow, I ended up being the last person on Earth. I learned a lot – mostly about survival, but I'll leave that for a later monologue.  I found that in a strange way, I had never really existed.&#

The need for us to immediately capture and upload our lives is fundamentally a constant need for validation, not only from others but from ourselves. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen if it’s not readily available for viewing, and judging. We want to be judged, we want to know how others feel about how they think, we felt, during an event. Although, we only seem to share the things we’re proud of, or things that we can upgrade to a brand of a life ––  using filters, known locations, capturing only 1 millisecond of an entire day/trip/relationship/moment and documenting it any which way we please. We are in

Hey man, you look a little sad And sorta down to boot Let me tell you 'bout a place that's pretty rad Where you can swing and jive and scoot It's neither really here nor there But always when you need It's just before the line ends where The fun's at, guaranteed Shuck your coat and boring slacks And follow me right down the tracks I want to take you to Celebration Station Get in conga line formation All party hats and fancy spats Take a freakin' sick vacation I want to take you to Celebration Station Disco bash across the nation It's alright to dance all night You're my funky fresh salvation So lighten up and just let loose To your worries

Kalyn was in their bedroom, exploring her porky, obese body. Her pants clung tight to her meaty rump, stress visible in the seams, covering her fleshy behind, but not quite coming together in the front. She gave a half-hearted try to zip them up, sucked her gut in, for what little good it did, but she knew too well it was useless. Her plump tummy stuck out between the flaps, soft and overfed, jelly rolls bulged at her sides. She loosed her grip on the jeans, sinking her swollen fingers into the droop of her belly and squeezing. Looking down at the roll of pork where her waist used to be, she grimaced. She tried to guess what she'd been eatin

Push out I feel So trap On my own Felt so lost Tear up As the stars Fall like Rain Fallen hard Down there Keep falling As if I was push Off a cliff or Push down Not being Important I'm always here Through darkness to light shall be Right here Instead of Being Push out Away I've fallen Broken bonds Water tears Thrown away As trash A useless thing Not needed Anymore If I were A toy Or A doll Not played No more Just left there For good Without care It'll become Useless and old Waste of trash Left forgotten Rather not Be Unforgotten Unfortunately Is it Too late? For hope? It's never too late to cha