I stumble into the side of my car. The cigar lodged in my teeth threatens to fall out as my head swings as though dislodged. “Phuck,” I say. So many pockets. I can’t find my keys. I have room keys, car keys, old car keys, and old house keys, wallet, cell phone, and matches that get mixed up with car keys. Each one is pulled out of my pockets and put on the roof of my car. Trying to tell myself not to forget them is futile as I know I will and likely drive off. I find my car keys and my other keys fall out of my pocket onto the road. Getting the key into the lock isn’t as difficult as I’d expected in my current state. I’m almost impressed. The car’s so low to the ground that I have to fall into my seat. Now comes the process of lighting my cigar, the end of which broke off into my jacket pocket and scattered bits of tobacco into the tiny corners. The brightness of the interior car light forces me to look around in my car through narrowed eyes. It’s a mess. Receipts, sweaters that I took off when I realized it was warmer than I’d expected, plastic cases to electronics that I’d expected to return but forgot, and a condom - the origin of which I haven’t a clue. Probably from the previous owner of this car. “Where the phuck is my,” my elbow rebounds off the roof, “phucking lighter?” Matches. I check the pockets in the chest of my jacket, then the pockets inside my jacket, and then my pants pockets. They’re all empty. I make a sound like my father makes when he works on vehicles and something isn’t going right. When the window’s down enough, I reach out and onto the roof, grabbing all the stuff I knew I’d forget. I open the door and reach down, my face pushing into the part of the window that was still up. When I’m sure - or at least quite sure - I’ve got everything, I light my cigar; bits of burning tobacco falling onto my shirt that I smack away, grunting as they burn my hand. These cigars have become a clever ruse to anyone who wonders if I still smoke. I can tell them no, I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore. That first drag is never as good as I expect it to be. I turn on the car and drive down the street. Everything’s a little faster than it should be; all the lights a little brighter. * My first cat was named Sasha. My mother named her, and she was the runt of the litter. When she fed from her
"Oh you tak' the high road,
and I'll tak' the low road,
and I'll be in Scotland a'fore you.
For me and my true love will never meet again,
on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond"
I strolled down the street that lead to the pier with all my equipment strapped on again, humming the tune and tapping the beat on my drum with my fingertips. The boys had slept in later than me and so I headed out alone, leaving them stumbling out of bed and wiping the tiredness from their eyes. I was anxious to get going and get everything over with.
I started humming the first verse of the song, singing the words in my head. It was a tune written during the rebellion by a Scottish prisoner, to his sweetheart, as most songs are, and although it has a sad tune usually, I gave it a bit of a happier bounce this morning. I took a breath and went into the chorus again. "Oh you tak' the high road..." When I came to the last two lines I started with a little counter-melody "...for me and my true love will never meet again-"
"On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond!" sang out a voice behind me. At first I took it to be Chris, following me down the street, but then I turned around and was surprised to find a boy maybe fifteen years old, with straight, reddish-brown hair, and light, blue-grey eyes. A lopsided smile brightened his entire face. I looked him over and found him wearing the exact same uniform as me, minus the drum. His bearskin hat was tucked under one arm and a fife poked from under his coat.
I raised an eyebrow. "Only an incredibly stupid Englishman, or a very brave Scotsman, would sing that aroond here, ya ken?"
The smile widened. "Weel, ah've heard stupidity and bravery can go hand in hand." He stepped up beside me and we walked together. "But then, I cannae think of anyone else that's braver than me." He thrust a thumb at his own chest and my eyebrow went up again.
"so, you cannae think very hard, and that proves your stupidity." The grin switched from his face to mine momentarily, and then it was back. So this was our missing fifer, and now the Scotsmen in the company's musicians outnumbered the rest.
"You're a quick one, nae doubt. Must be a man of the highlands for that sort of wit." said the boy.
"Aye, and tae know that song, sae must you." I threw back at him. I knew what he was trying to do, it was a game all highlanders played, get the other man to say his name first, so you could determine if your family ever feuded with them or not. I had played it with Campbell, though he never knew it.
This boy gave in easily as well, for he sighed and nodded. "aye, a man of the Cameron clan am I. Alexander Cameron, at your service."
I smiled. that clan was well known for giving the bonnie Prince seven hundred men at the beginning of the 45'. "Well, Alex, if I may call you that, Ah'm pleased tae meet you. MacPherson am I. Daniel, but you can call me Danny."
This time, his eyebrows went up. "MacPherson? You wouldnae be related to the famous C
There's a MAJOR difference between someone being remorseful for what they've done and someone being sorry for getting caught. The easiest way to tell the difference is this: When someone has remorse, they will do whatever they can to avoid that behavior again and make an effort to make up for what they have done. They truly did not mean to cause harm, so they turn away from whatever they've done wrong with a decision to never do it again no matter the temptation. They confront the issue directly because they don't want unresolved issues and they move forward with a clear conscience and a pure heart. When someone is simply sorry, they will do whatever they can to avoid getting caught again.They aren't sorry that you are hurt or for what they've done They don't really care if it causes you harm or not because they are only consumed with getting what THEY want. They develop lies to cover their tracks just in case and get angry or shut down whenever you try to discuss it because it's difficult to work through an something you don't really want to stop doing. There is no major effort to set things right because the more you discuss it the more they might get caught up. So, they ignore the issue, act like nothing ever happened, and work overtime to cover their tracks so this time, they won't get caught - until they get caught again. "Sorry" people are selfish people. Now, we should treat these two people the same when it comes to forgiveness - never hold a grudge over anyone, it serves you no good no matter how much you are entitled to your feelings. However, once you realize that your mercy has b een given to the one who is sorry for getting caught... allow them to keep the mercy but create a situation between the two of you that prevents them from ever having to be "sorry" around you again...Remorse brings change, if there's no change...there's no remorse. Protection.
Jealousy don’t look good on you,In fact, it makes you look fat.And old.And lame.And Stupid.And did I mention old?And that’s why you jealous, cause you spend too much time hatin and mad to actually do something with yaself.Lemme help you,I’m not the reason you stuck where you areAnd I damn sure a’int the reason you a’int get too farSo please don’t be upset that I have happy things to say,The hell I look like…Miserable?If that were the case, you wouldn’t have anything to be jealous of…And I’d be just like youSitting,Hating,Jealous.Tell me, if you’re the one that’s hating….Who’s the loser in this situation?Jealous?
My Dearest: It has been so long since we've talked; since we've touched; since I've felt the tenderness of your soft lips caressing my own. Your voice was once so euphonious to me. You had always found a way to bring my mind to joy, even during my times of greatest need. I had nothing when you found me. I had not even the clothing on my back, but only a thin gown. My thoughts were then in deep distress; my life was but only a mess. You, my dear; you were the only who could bring a smile to my face, a laughter in my voice, and the love from my heart. You were my everything! You were my everyone... my only one. When I was trash to the rest of the world, you saw something in me. You saw things that I would have never realized on my own. You were my anchor, my crutch; you were the rope that I held on to which pulled my from my gloom, my hole... my grave. Oh how I miss you so, my dear. I miss your tender touch, as when we would kiss your hand would graze my chin, my cheek, the back of my neck. I miss parking the car in an empty lot in the middle of the night just to dance to the song that played in our hearts. I miss holding you closely in my arms, as the night would grow dim you would fall asleep beside me; while i could not sleep because I was so captivated by you. You would wake up and smile just because I had not let you go through the night. I miss gazing into your eyes. I remember telling you on multiple occasions that your eyes were just so beautiful to me, but you would never believe me. Then you would ask with a smile on your face, "How many girls have you used that line on before?" rolling your eyes. I would smile back and tell you that your eyes are the most beautiful eyes I think that I have ever seen in my life. And, darling, that is not a lie. Your eyes are so perfect! They are bright light blue with delicately detailed patterns that make them look like timeless winter crystals. Do you remember? Do you remember how you felt with me? Do you remember the way our kiss would make you feel? Do you remember joyous feeling of being in love? Do you remember the first time we said, "I love you." to each other? Do you remember how I stuck by you no matter how badly things had gotten, within our complicated situation? Do you remember talking to me in the middle of the night and no matter what it was, I was there to help, to listen, to give feedback? I do. I remember all of it. From the night that we met, to the last second I saw you... I remember. And because I remember, I wish I could forget. I wish I could forget how happy I was then so that I can stop mourning how depressed I feel right now. I wish I could forget what it felt like to be loved so that I do not realize my feelings of being unloved; of being trash; of being worthless to the one I once called my lover, my friend, my Aubrey Reed. Signed with all of my love,Me
Whether you use the XRIVO.com workshop function to revise and get feedback privately or share with the entire community, you’re taking a very necessary, though terrifying step in the creative process. The XRIVO feedback process is modeled off those workshop courses to give you the ability to thoroughly respond to work. Now, through XRIVO, you can get and give line-by-line feedback on any piece. All you have to do is highlight what you’d like to comment on and type away in the “Comment” box. As the author, you can filter what feedback shows up by user to make the comments easier to peruse. All you have to do is run your mouse over the comment to see what they’re commenting on.
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Some minimalist poems that I have been writing lately. I'm trying to better at concision.
this piece is a week-long collaboration between katie & I. there had been virtually no prior planning, save for an agreement to compose a fictional piece and to write from separate character perspectives. I portrayed liam, whereas she portrayed ethan.
I figured I would just get some ideas / a map of some of the things we mentioned including in this. We can add to it and then on Sunday make it look pretty once we have content taken care of? If there is anything that I add that you don't like or think could be improved upon, please feel free. I felt our guy needed a name, but even that can be changed.
Name: Karsten Schwartz
II. Work Experience
III. Volunteer Experience
1. Civvies - necessary Civil Service in home of aged persons at request of government. Unmatched tasks, assist in day-to-day objectives.
IV. Hobbies / Achievements
1. Bike riding, football playing, family and friends to visit, meeting new people, writing of poetry and narration.
Circular rugs fraying
at the edges, underfoot and
disappearing, ground into smaller and
smaller fibers, the unwashed
flags of exasperated sighs and
prayers gone unanswered tucked underneath the corners
of aging sofas, turned to hide the stains under lounges and dark
bare witness to endless soles and the dry
dust of experience fall off our heels.
Our keepers, timely graces,
last line before the ground we fall to,
rug then wood then dead and dirt
and the strands intertwining in August
and wilting apart by December,
and the place you laid down at midnight
and told her all about freedom
and said something quoted from Tolstoy
and broke yourself and your misery
and your worn, microbial being,
You who forgot what it was to be everywhere,
you who wove away from teh middle in fine, concentric
circling 'round everything,
everything under your feet.