“And when the day is done and I look back and the fact is I had fun fumbling around. All the advice I shunned and I ran where they told me not to run, but I sure had fun. So I’m gonna fuck it up again. I’m gonna do another detour.”—Fiona Apple
“I think the biggest problem working with me would be that I’m an only child, and so I have an internal dialogue that goes on that I just assume you can hear. Because as an only child, you have your own little world. Then you go into a situation where you’re working with other people, and unless you actually vocalize what you’re thinking, the other people will go through hell trying to figure out what’s going on.”—Maynard Kennan
The Horse by Jacquelyn White (This poem is shit, but I would like to improve it, feedback appreciated)
all those times i took your money, all those times i broke my promises, all those times i made you cry, and still, like a kicked puppy, you make me breakfast.
nothing can ever fill that hollow, that sad and forgotten space, that the Horse once filled.
on the table sits a glass of juice, like the euphoric cascade that knocked me to the ground as body and mind orgasmed over and over and over again. a plate of sausage, eggs, and dead animal flesh, like my own muscles that unfurled themselves, allowing the world to slip away from me. kind of the way you’re doing now.
nothing will ever fill that hollow, that sad and forgotten space, that the Horse once filled.
this feast you’ve put before me this cornucopia of your love, your blood, your sweat, your tears, i can’t make myself want it.
i swear this is not me. i know you’ve been waiting for the addict to bring your joseph home.
but nothing will ever fill that hollow, that sad and forgotten space, that my soul once filled.
Novella (Working on Title): Chapter Four by Jacquelyn White
“Father are you alright?” inquired Malcolm. Daniel looked up at his junior clergymen, pulling himself out of a haze to recall Malcolm. As soon as the memory reoccurred to him, his expression hardened. Reality emerged, making the room come into focus. He was sitting at the table as he had that morning. The plate before him held a humble amount of meat and potatoes, the recorded voice of a radio sermon droning on in the background. Everyone had peered up from their meal to observe his reaction, though the ones who had been there longer knew what to expect. Daniel put down his utensils, making the plate clatter from the impact.
“I am fine. But now is not the time for talk. It is time for prayer and meditation,” Daniel answered. Malcolm, unlike the rest of the clergymen, did not recoil at the definiteness of Daniel’s tone. He had received a worse verbal thrashing that morning.
“Yes Father,” he said with a nod. Daniel took up his fork and knife once more, carving his helping of meat without any regard to the exchange that had just taken place.
Malcolm followed suit, though he stole the occasional glance at his superior every now and then. This did not go unnoticed by Daniel, who could not decide if Malcolm was watching him out of malice or true concern. Either way it did not matter, there were much more pressing matters at hand.
The presence of the table and all his colleagues seem to fade away once more, the recorded sermon becoming nothing but a quiet, fluctuating hum in the background. There was no doubt in his mind now that the silhouette that had disturbed his slumber the previous night was connected to the hair-clad woman he had seen in the courtyard that afternoon. Though he had at first dismissed the shifting shadow as a vivid dream, it became quite obvious that this was some sort of paranormal occurrence, a demon haunting the Abbey.
Yet he seemed to be the only one who knew of the phantom’s existence. He had heard no news of an upcoming exorcism or cleansing of the Abbey. No one had mentioned seeing such an apparition wandering the corridors of St. Magdalene. He had questioned some of the nuns when they departed the church, asking them if anyone had been late for morning prayer. Though he had felt that he already knew the answer to his own question, all of them had said no, that everyone had been quite prompt. The puzzled looks behind their responses had also brought to mind yet another troubling thought for Daniel.
Daniel had not spoken of his vision directly, for fear of the reaction he might receive. Though all of the Catholics in attendance at St. Magdalene believed in demons, seeing one on Abbey grounds, especially something as improper as a nude woman dressed in a nun robe of hair, would have invoked quite a few strange looks and subtle whispers. Being a Priest, one with more experience and time served than the Abbot himself, had its downfalls. Daniel felt as though he were always being watched through the squinting, suspicious eyes of inquisitors attempting to delve into his life, uncover his secrets. This suspicion was always lingering about, it never slumbered. Yet he failed to realize that he was simply viewing the world through his own eyes, that his own veil of judgmental behavior caused him to believe everyone else was as such.
If he were to go to the Abbot and tell him what had occurred the night before and this morning, Dominic would win. What would he tell him? That he had seen the shadow of a woman dancing on his wall in the middle of the night, then naked and covered in hair impersonating a nun while he stood alone in his cell? Dominic would certainly not keep his confession quiet. Whispers, rumors would begin about Father Daniel, the fallen man of God who had gone mad from lust and filthy thoughts.
Dominic would have a reason to make him retire. He could already hear the Abbot’s voice echoing within his head, what Dominic would say in his very diplomatic way: “You have been of great service to us Daniel, but we cannot hold the Abbey‘s reputation at stake.”
The shrill sound of silverware grinding against china wrenched him out of his thoughts. Again he looked up, to see who had made such a racket. The men sitting about the table all stared in his direction. He glanced down at his plate. The meat and potatoes had all been eaten, yet he still positioned his knife for cutting. Beneath the dull blade he spotted deep grooves in the new plate. By the look on everyone’s face, it appeared he had been slicing at his plate for some time.
“Are you sure everything is alright Daniel?” one of the other clergymen asked. Malcolm looked in Daniel’s direction, but was silent. He saw it in all their eyes. Already they had begun to question. It seemed that, without a doubt, he would have to handle this situation alone.
“Yes, everything is fine.”
He rose from his seat and switched off the radio. No one spoke. Turning around, he saw them all following him with their eyes.
“Everyone is finished I presume? Shall we retire?” he asked. Some of them nodded, while others mumbled answers. Everyone then exited the room, heading to their respective cells. Some traveled in small groups, murmuring to one another as they turned a corner. Daniel could not hear what many of them were discussing, but it was obviously about the spectacle he had created at the table. With a sigh he journeyed down the corridor, headed towards his cell. He would camp there for the better part of the night, until he knew everyone was asleep. His mind was made up. He would take care of matters himself. These embers had to be stifled before they could grow into an inferno.
“Wendy? Darling? Light of my life. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You didn’t let me finish my sentence. I said, I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m just going to bash your brains in. Gonna bash ‘em right the fuck in! Ha ha ha.”—Jack Torrance, The Shining (via useyourillusion) (via everythingwehad)
The drug is credited with relieving many problems of aging: aches and pains, glaucoma, macular degeneration, and so on. Patients in 14 states enjoy medical marijuana laws, but those elsewhere buy or grow the drug illegally to ease their conditions.
With one light on in one room, I know you’re up when I get home. With one small step upon the stair, I know your look when I get there. If you were a king up there on your throne, would you be wise enough to let me go? For this queen you think you own Wants to be a hunter again, wants to see the world alone again, To take a chance on life again, so let me go. The unread book and painful look, the tv’s on, the sound is down. One long pause then you begin, oh look what the cat’s brought in. If you were a king up on your throne, would you be wise enough to let me go? For this queen you think you own Wants to be a hunter again, wants to see the world alone again. To take a chance on life again, so let me go, let me leave. For the crown you’ve placed upon my head feels too heavy now. And I don’t know what to say but I’ll smile anyhow. And all the time I’m thinking, thinking I want to be a hunter again, want to see the world again, to take a chance on life again, so let me go.
“But there you were, standing in your own corner. Your eyes were wide, tired, fading just like mine. We could be the best of friends I’m sure of it, but I’m too shy to cross this crowded room besides.”—Priscilla Ahn