holloweyed's other items

• chinese cinema classics provide the narrative in full technicolor at storywrite
  
• You dream of things that could never be real, but you hope for them to be. And that is enough. at storywrite
  
• Like Inviting Lions to the Buffet at storywrite
  
• It was like pornography, pt. 4 at storywrite
  
• a place without horizon, lost in the fog at storywrite
  There is a pit in your heart. Small, like an almond, but dense, like iridium. It floats in the center of the fleshy fruit, pulsing as the tree shivers and wavers in the cold
• Kafka's Sweetheart at storywrite
  I often dream of a girl I knew in my childhood. She was a strange and mysterious girl who seemed to have neither name nor origin--a severed head floating in dense fog. The fi
• God is Dead at storywrite
  It is one o’clock in the afternoon.  I am trying to convert an old woman to AT&T over a ham and cheese sandwich.  I hear the background music of Bob’s lesbian por
• He was not balding at storywrite
  Mr. Watanabe liked to collect perishable goods.  He has collected them for as long as I could remember.  I saw him every week in the grocery stores when I was little,
• like massacred halos two days before Easter Sunday at storywrite
  He figures that it'll be alright as he sits on the shingled roof of the toolshed, which is perched precariously on the roof of the school building. The day is dreary and wet an
• There's no reason why but you think you ought to try anyway at storywrite
  You think no one notices when you look at him beneath your half lidded eyes, or when you look as you straighten your uniform, unconsciously pulling at your sleeves like you do
• your fortune cookies tell the truth, sir. at storywrite
  There are lots of things I don't know about that hang over my head like empty fortune cookies sitting over the remains of my Americanized lo mein noodles.  You're on the o
• lover's suicide with only one lover, pt. 2 at storywrite
  he is gaining on them, and itachi knows it.  he knows that this is their last stand--their last sprint down the stretch of tragedy littered with blood and lust that they h
• lover's suicide with only one lover, pt. 1 at storywrite
  they are moving now.  the sun rises sullenly over the horizon, showering the ashen world with piercing arrows of light.  it makes the world lighten, yes, but only by
• Blame it on the Mattress to Break Your Fall at storywrite
  You're driving down the freeway with me, all limbs and organs and skin and bones, some missing and some not, stuffed in the space between your parking brake and old-fashioned w
• Polonaises are Three Step Dances at storywrite
  The first time Othello fucks Mitsume, its on his four poster bed spread with satin and silk and wrapped with roses and devil's thorns.
  And it was a clumsy affair, with glari
• Were you at the funeral? at storywrite
  I swear that I saw you at the funeral that day, all veils and umbrellas and ghostflowers.
  Just as I swear you were standing behind me the night before as I brushed my teeth
• Loop Your Strings Around Your Darling and Tumble Him Down at storywrite
  X.
  
• I thought you quit smoking? at storywrite
  You used to be.
  That.
• Wish We Were Coin-Operated at storywrite
  I used to have a love affair with your answering machine.
  It wasn't because I didn't like you, or because he was prettier.  It was just because.
• And My Heart Turns Off at storywrite
  X.
  We decided unanimously that sex smelled bad.
• The Anti-Genius Threads a Donkey Head Through the Eye of a Needle at storywrite
  The problem with kindergarden these days is that everyone is taught to be special, to find that within themselves that is special, to never rest until they can grasp something
• Pessimistic Opinion #00123 at storywrite
  The eighth night I saw you, I realized what love was.
  Because there was no eighth night.
• Optimistic Sensation #0028 at storywrite
  I’m not good at this.
  I say as I follow you, half a street away, through the heavy canopy of urban umbrellas. I say as I stare, eyes avoidant beneath spiked lashes, at your
• And Most of All, Little Timothy Was Afraid of Pedophiles at storywrite
  I am afraid of adults.
  Yes, that I am.
• Hair Dryers at storywrite
  The hair dryer was too close to the edge.
  He decided as he felt fingers, thin and sticky like spider webs crawl up his skin, nail-first and then soft, apologetic pads. They
• We Were Going to be Gods at storywrite
  We were going to be gods.
  We thought as we laid under the scorching heat of summer, wheezing in exhaustion as we reveled in the blur of green and sunshine that was our visio
• d'Urberville, pt. 1 at storywrite
  (empty)
  It had been a rum and whiskey sort of day.
• I Broke Up. at storywrite
  It's a funny phrase--we broke up.
  It's funny, because it implies that someone, somewhere just broke. And that's silly, because people don't just break. Jars break. Cars brea
• Baby Jesus can have my last pint at storywrite
  You were going for Christmas.
  Family gatherings, promotions, some shit like that.
• And Katrina Slaughtered Behind Our Backs at storywrite
  Let's pretend.
  Let's pretend that we are small and tiny and insecure.  And let's pretend that we are young and filthy and eight.  And let's pretend that our eyes a
• It was like pornography, pt. 3 at storywrite
  I'm not a hero, Lij.
  I tell you as I fit my fingers, all long and slightly crooked, against the hollows of your ribcage, closing my fingers around the spaces between the bar
• It was like pornography, pt. 2 at storywrite
  There were flowers in the attic.
  Like large, white ghosts that hovered mournfully over shrouded memories, almost wilting, but in many ways, still very much vibrant in their
• It was like pornography, pt. 1 at storywrite
  He was pretty.
  And I told him so.