The rain slipped over the skylight slowly, projecting shadows on our bare bodies. we lay like that, companionable, sunning under the shadows of raindrops, until a jealous cat came and complained that she had had no breakfast. i rolled my head toward you to see if you'd do anything. you were transfixed by the greyscale kaleidascope above, and in the not quite dark, not quite day light your skin was pearlescent. your face luminous with how lost you were in some other place. I wrapped myself in a kimono by the bed and padded carefully down the stairs.

we hadn't really met. you were in line behind me when i was buying paper towels. you caught my hand in a wonderful way and said, "Let's go home." it was a kind of abduction, but I knew you. Something had come into me, a password, a forgotten flower smell, an old musty secret i didn't know I knew and you had the other half of the story. with a slight push, i knew everything would settle perfect and chaotic on the bottom of my heart.

so you carried my paper towels and we went to your loft. we undressed and laid down, and looked up.

I'm going to tell you about this idea for an island nation. I had a plan when I was a kid, to make a place, landlocked at the time but I like the ocean more now, where we would all live to love each other. The vegetables would explode in their patches at our riotous joy, as we would dance to keep the ground fertile and happy. to plow with art.

and everywhere we would go in whimsical gokarts, left all over the place like in Amsterdam. No one would own anything but we'd all belong to each other. and that's how I imagined I would spend my time when I was seven, before Communism and Jonesboro and any other disproval.

and the sun would always shine, I know. the sun would never hide from the place I want to be.

I tell people about this island nation and they look at me like I'm a little crazy. Then I always look at them like they're a little unhappy.

I still owe ashendi a Christmas story.

I fully intend to write more here in the future.

It's on it's way. Promise.

a holy anonymous closet, 4 am

In pieces the demon reforms in my mind.
the erratic pallor of insomnia
his edges glow with vibration
the sweat suspended on his stubble.
his easy vulpine grin.

the gold light makes us flat martyrs in this holy anonymous space
fenced in by the tealight prayers of followers
who pray desperately for satisfaction.
our eyes are glazed and might be sad.

in confessional his sharp sugar drowns the echoes of our words.

locked away we can consume eden's heavy fruit
to put us on our cloven feet
for one lonely silent night.

19.8:self-love

I refuse to regret
the first chaste, frightened kiss

or burning up in my bed
or sleepy half-french whispers
or taking you
or giving up my shame
or accepting your respect
or making my moves too fast
or diving in the shallow end of your heart
even when i could see the bottom

I can't be bitter
I want to remember

I refuse to regret trusting you
however much you didn't want it

7.7:4:47 pm

our tinny sobs carry over the miles.
i add stones to your chest with each word,
pebble by pebble;
i can hear your ribs cracking
and
and oh you coward i wish i wanted to say
but i can't even hate you.

5.6:understand

in the space between air & vacuum
I looked at you and said
i understand.

but there was more:
if you held a flame to my skin you could not burn me more
it's your gentleness that kills me
your concern that keeps me from sleep

screaming:
who are you to guard me
to be so careful to
sink into my lips, pull away with a gasp
and flee
stumbling down the hall to judgement

pleading:
who the fuck are you to respect me
and when will you leave me lonlier than I was before

--it's a comfort to convince myself that nothing is fated--

but for now
looking at you with pain dragging your face off its hinges
i stop myself from claiming your tears with my lips;
I just say I understand
and wonder later

This LJ's fanfiction is temporarily on hold. I'm on sabbatical doing... field work.

Oh yeah, and I'm legal now.

100 poems for 100 days. Posted over at 100poems. First 5.

1.1:stranger than you dreamt it
december 2004
( x )

1.2:dialation
july 2005
( x )

1.3:my boy
september 2004
( x )

1.4:all man
july 2005
( x )

1.5:allowance
july 2005
( x )

Everyone who reads this rag probably already knows, and I'm not going to post it in communities, but, to certain people in any fandom:

1. You are reading and writing glorified pornography.
2. When you play a baseball game or put on a play, you practice first.
3. You seem to all be fairly healthy.

POINT:
HAVE SOME SEX BEFORE YOU TRY TO WRITE ABOUT IT. ACTUAL PORNOGRAPHY (LET ALONE HENTAI) IS NOT AN ACCURATE DEPICTION OF SEX.

This is kind of a pointless flail in the direction of bad, yet horny writers, and I know it won't fix anything, but it's nice to at least announce the abomination.

kthnx.

I know this is a bit off topic, but...

I need beta readers.

If anyone feels like helping out, that'd be fantastic, because I just don't have the time to edit as obsessively as I used to. I've got a couple new projects going on, and I know people are asking me for more fic, but it just won't happen what with Hell Week (theater people, you know what I'm talking about), unless I have some people to help me edit and improve my writing.

Thanks!

uhm, cross-posted a bunch of places.

if anyone makes me a riza icon that says "wham bam thank you ma'am" i will write them whatever they want.

Come To Think Of It
Roy/Ed, indirectly. R. over 1000 words.
warnings: roy two tacos short of the combo platter. angst. musical theater lyrics. that is all.
for: devils_devotion. The ending is hand-made for you, sugar.
notes: I wrote this in bits and pieces at work while this song was stuck in my head. This story probably saved me from going batshit insane in cubicle 59b, but I wound up writing something really sad. I don’t have a lot of time, so I didn’t edit this as much as I wanted to, but here it is. Think of it as a rough draft. hint: if you crit my stuff often enough, I’ll wind up writing something for you, like I do for devils_devotion. Or rather, I will promise to write you stuff and then never actually type it up. This is getting too long. I will regret all of this in the morning, I promise you. I give you the music and

( the fic. )

HI GUYZ. I officially have a 9-5 job in the IT department of a hospital with a really creepy contractor company (but we'll get to that later). You know what that means? I am literally knee deep in paperwork, because my job is to eliminate it by scanning it onto a database. Unfortunately, I am one of three people doing the actual work, and we are going through 5 file cabinets with 6 drawers, each of which could easily hide up to three bodies. The result is that I feel like Roy, except I want to set things on fire and I can't. Oh, woe is me.

In the evenings, I am in rehearsal for a musical. The rest of the time I am trying to learn my way around my new area, 50 miles from my home/birthplace, learning how my new car works, and OH YES I've had my license for a little more than a month.

Oh yeah, and I don't have a computer. Which means I have about 10 projects (half of them drabbles) in the works, and no time to type them up. I want the stuff up here to be quality. SO.

1. chikotli, I would love to continue debating, but writing actually takes more precendence for me. It's much more relaxing and creative than pulling "evidence" out of my ass to support PoN.

2. devils_devotion, your FST has turned into complete and utter crack. I'm sorry. I'll probably put it out anyway. <3

To everyone else, I will have some drabbles up for you soon. I promise.

Really.

I can't even begin to catch you fools up. I am responding to this, which in turn is responding to this, which was a response to the original post.
( outofithiiii )

Gimme a break, folks, I'm tired.