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Ashley IM'd me yesterday and said, "I hate walking by you. I hate that look on your face".
"What look?" I asked.
"No look. Blank face."
I considered that there wasn't a "look" for how I felt when I walked by her and if there was, she wouldn't like that look any better.
As I was on the C train home that night, I remembered this Emily Dickinson poem I read in 10th grade:
After great pain a formal feeling comes-- The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore? And yesterday--or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round A wooden way Of ground, or air, or ought, Regardless grown, A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead Remembered if outlived, As freezing persons recollect the snow-- First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
I haven't quite achieved quartz contentment yet, but I'm looking forward to it.
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...well, I don't know if I actually invented it, but I know I've never played it before. Here's how it goes: I post a short paragraph (story), that serves as the middle of a very short story. Your job is to write 2 short paragraphs, 1 before the paragraph, and one after... telling a completely, but very short story. Then, it would be really cool if someone else would post 2 more, again at the beginning and end, which CONTAINS each of the very very short stories, but creating another, slightly longer third story. and so on. So by the end you have all these little symetrical stories w/in stories, like those little russian doll thingamabobs. One thing: you CAN change the style/grammer/etc. of the other stories to keep with your style, but WHAT HAPPENS in each of those stays the same. So, all you writers with a few minutes on ya (and maybe a little weed in ya), here's the first paragraph. PS: I'm fully expecting no one to do this, so don't feel obligated 1 The first time I met him, he was guzzling budweiser from a tall-boy like the college punk, I would find out later, he actually was. I pretended to not watch him, and did my best to rise above my amusement. He nailed my gaze from between the off-clear plastic rings that waved like a flag while he drank. Even though his mouth was covered, I could see the edges of smirk rising from one side of the bud can. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and smiled. "Hey!" he shouted though the crowd to nobody but me, "the dolphins can't get stuck when there's still a can in the hole, can they?!?" Thinking this statement was semi-retarded, and definitely beneath me, I looked away and walked off to the tail end of the 20-something-deep line for the ladies' room.
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I can't find my best friend And my life's just not the same I knew I'd feel close to her Before I ever knew her name I feel lost A little lost And the world keeps spinning 'round But I can't find my best friend And the world spins upside down Oh dark night I want you to see That I've actually been doing alright I've been doing alright It's just that warm feels cold to me I can't find my best friend To help me in this hour Now I've learned how to love But it's demanding all my power It's hard for me to know the end I suppose I'll find my way But I can't find my best friend the little guy is: sad
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