In a world torn asunder,
I'm simply here to pillage and plunder.
I sail the blue and ride the high seas,
And move along on an ocean breeze.
Salt may move through my veins,
As women try to tie me down to these shipping lanes.
But my heart is meant to go far,
And my mouth is meant to find the next bar.
For in a world of insanity,
Little does the man good who is consumed with vanity.
So, I'll toil, and boil, and make myself trouble,
As I sit here on the edge of this bubble.
I'll watch...
I have anxiety issues okay? I swear every time I come here its the same goddamn thing. All I need is to walk, so I approach the edge and give myself a minuscule pep-talk. "You can do it George, just a couple of steps", every day its the same thing and everyday.. I chicken out. I know, I know, ha.ha. very funny but this is a serious problem! How am I supposed to go anywhere in my short life when I literally can't go anywhere. Every time I approach that curb, the cars seeming to fly by, horns honking and...
What can you do in ten seconds? Where is the world going to? How quickly can you build a wall to Mexico and who will be the last to place a stone? Questions like these will not get us anywhere said the policeman but if we stand together then no mouse can slip inbetween our shoulders and we can finally eat all the pancakes we ever wanted to, with or without maple syrup. I thought he is really going insane, because we were in Alaska and since the sun never sets it is very bright and how can you make...
I was all wrong. This wasn't the spot I thought we buried her. Jason was in front of me pointing left, and the sky was darkening. My mind was all over the fucking place. He's pointing left, when I swear we buried her right by this patch of weird leaves that looked like lettuce. Still, Jason swore that we needed to head left more. Really, when you commit such a crime, and forget where you buried the body, needing to go back to get it because you "accidentally" left the weapon right by the body, possibly with your prints... going...
Once in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She hugged her hat to her chest, and lightly tapped on the door, and prepared herself for the worst. Her lips were chapped and as cold as icicles, because of the cold winter air. When there was no answer. A tear drop slid down her grimy, and filthy face. She knocked a little louder this time, and when now one replied. She slid down the wall, sitting on the pavement. A man walked by, and spit on to the step in front of her feet. She...
While Bach and Bethoven echoed in my ears, I slowly, stared at the monarch butterflies soaring in the fresh, thin air that surrounded me. I bit my lip, and then grabbed at them, but an unsuccessful attempt. I laughed and laughed. I doubled over, when I saw a man in a kyak capsize, and fall deep into the depths of the water. It felt calm and natural, sitting here, looking at the trees, the water and the sunset. A white butterfly, out lined with black-blue colors, flew in, beautifully flapping it's wings, and landed on my shoulder. I glanced at...
The old man walked through a park. His suit was great, with a white shirt underneath and a grey tie. Meandering, he strolled along the walk way, no intention to end up anywhere.
He appeared to be in his 70s, although, the hazards of age seemed unnoticeable in his demeanor. He didn't shuffle, he wasn't hunched over and his head did not hang.
He glanced at his watch.
"Dear me, I am going to be late."
His meandering stopped and his direction became purposeful. His gait was long and graceful. Men his age should not cover this much distance.
Rounding...
Gradually. That's what the doctor tells me. Gradually I will get worse. My liver will gradually fail; my arthritis will gradually turn my hands crooked.
So gradually, you mean, I'm dying? Isn't that bullshit? Could there be something worse for me to hear? So gradually since the age of 13, I've been killing myself. That first drink, to the last, I "gradually" ruined my insides? All because my parents failed to tell me what drinking really does to you? So it's my fault that during summers, parties, college, and beyond, that I "enjoyed" my life while ruining it at the...
In these parts, they could not afford trains. Instead, they strapped the Jews and leftists and gypsies and cripples and social undesirables onto sleds on the back of a Volkswagen and hauled them to the camp, which was really a slapdash cardboard affair. The guards were lazy and disinterested. They really didn't see a point in the whole thing, but they did their jobs nevertheless, smoking cigarettes with the more gregarious prisoners. They resented the prisoners and beat them - After all, they thought, why should I have to waste my life standing around guarding these people that the Reich...
Public Service Announcement (this has no relation to the prompt): When Hemingway (I think, but it doesn't really matter) said, "Write what you know," it was a critique of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who had said, "Write what you don't know." In other words, it would be like me saying, "You are therefore you think." It may or may not be true, but it was a critique of an idea that had been set in stone and codified. Codifying that idea, in turn, defeats the purpose.
To be more succinct, When I hear, "Write what you know," I reach for my...