Fallen

No posts = busy quarter. Shrug. How it goes.

Fallen
by mikropikol

tul . tul . ardour . coolcapitals . prostitution

White Rabbits

So. Went for a nice bike ride over to the park, met up with a friend of mine, and then went from there to another park across the way... except, en route, I did a little bike stumble and managed to gash my finger really nicely (and skin my other knuckles as well).

Long story short, ended up having to get picked up by my dad, go home, and F***ING SCRUB AT MY GAPING WOUND with a BRISTLE BRUSH to get all the dirt and stuff out. (BTW yes, that REALLY HURTS. I don't recommend it.)

Even now we're not sure if it's really clean. Hopefully it doesn't get infected or anything.

And, because it was after 6 on a Sunday, naturally, there were no medical places open. So yeah. Fun stuff.

In other news, I love the White Rabbits.

SeeqPod - Playable Search

Bus Adventures

A woman sits there, not far from me
Her face blotched, her body bloated.
Her piglike eyes look at me, unseeing,
a permanent sneer twisting fat purple lips
in an impartial grimace.
Her hair sprouts from her head, dirty dishwater brown
with scattered bits of gravel grey.
Threads are strewn
about the frame of her expression, and,
at the back,
all individual strands are lost
in a thick, matted clump;
a gourd of hair, whose tip
falls just below her neck.
It seems a cancerous
untended growth,
bloated with years of neglect
textured by an eternity of dirt
and the grime that clings to her clothes
like moss to a dead tree.

Twinkle, Twinkle

Wrote this for my poetry class last quarter, back in October. Not sure why I didn't post it then... ah, well.

The assignment was to take a nursery rhyme and make a poem out of it. I rather like how it turned out, to be honest.

Twinkle, twinkle,
the tiny stars in your eyes!
A glint of light, captured
when you look at me...
How I wonder about the light!
What could you possibly see
in my face
that could make your eyes
twinkle so, like tiny stars
under your fair brow?
You, darling, are above the world –
born to privilege, to high places.
What am I to you,
that stars alight
within your gaze
when you consider me?
You are my life,
the finest jewel in my night.
And yet how your eyes sparkle!
Such stars... reserved, for me?
Twinkle, twinkle, little stars...
how I wonder that you are!

Admittedly Not Good

This has practically been my mantra lately. Hint: Not a good thing.

Anyone can do any amount of work provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at the moment.
-- Robert Benchley