icucumber7's blog

Cats always seem to know when something big, something important is about to happen. Before the planes crashed, Talia's cat jumped into the bathtub and growled like a motorcycle at nothing in particular. Before Bryan and Miranda got a divorce, Talia's cat hid under the sink for a week. So when Silver crawled under the file cabinet and began mewling like it was the end of the world, Talia knew what to do. She closed the door (but not all the way, because Silver still needed to get out), made herself a swiss cheese and tomato sandwich (mayo, no mustard), and sat down in front of the TV. She kept her phone right next to her, just in case the news came that way. And after the Saturday noon news, Talia turned off the television. She called her mother and her elder brother Bryan on the phone, and then she just sat there. She sat there until the clock struck one, and then she got up.

Wipe off your makeup,
the lipgloss,
the eyeliner,
the mascara,
take out your earrings,
you don't want to look like you tried.
You heard that it was tonight-
started at five-
and you knew you'd get a call.
So you waited,
got ready,
got nervous,
got nervous,

and time passed
and time passed.

And now, it's half-past five.
And the phone hasn't rung,
And your mom is telling you it's time for dinner.

So wipe off your makeup.
Take out your earrings.
You don't want to look like
you tried.

She looks out the window at the sky
clouding over.
Her fingers twist around her arms,
all covered in goosebumps.
It's cold today, but not cold enough
that she's going to get up and get a blanket.
That would be just too much work for her to sustain today,
especially feeling how she is.
That dreadful sensation in the pit of her stomach
is just weighing her down.
It feels like snow, melting to slush,
cold and wet down the back of her legs.
It feels like brainfreeze,
but not in the good way, because you have ice cream,
but in the bad way, that your ice cream just hit the pavement.
She takes another deep breath and lets it out into the world
-there, a piece of her is out there.
And in that big moment, she knows how she feels.
It's lonely.
The sky lets loose
with the rain.

I'm
hungry.
I think.

But,
maybe it's
my imagination,
or the power of suggestion
or maybe my stomach
is lying to me.
It does
that.

Sometimes,
I think I might
crave lies.
Like my mind craves words
my tastebuds crave chocolate and peanut butter.
I want to taste the words
on my tongue.
I want to feel the words
on my mind.

And sometimes,
I think I'm
making that up.

But I lie to myself.
No, of course I don't like him
And sometimes to others
Really, it's not obvious at all

Sometimes I wonder
what's wrong with me.
And then I think
that nothing is
I'm just looking for
drama.

And then I think I'm
hungry
And then I wonder if that's
a
lie
again.

Whenever I try to post a comment, it won't let me. It just reloads the page, without my comment. Same with the story box...And I'm not even sure it will allow me to post this...I'm just trying to get help...
Thanks!
-icuc

Podcast to come. Hopefully soon. Yes, this is my first song, so...basic rhymes, basic melody and rhythm...=)
_______________________________________________________________

I can't play the piano
those eighty-eight keyes, black and white,
I couldn't dance if you showed me.
If you tried to teach me all night.

(Chorus)
So I guess I'll just keep trying to sing.
'Cause to sing you don't need to know anything
And I don't have much of anything
And I don't know about anything.

It's kinda hard to keep singing
When you don't know the chords to play along
But I guess I'll try to make music
And maybe I can prove myself wrong.

(Chorus)
But I guess I'll just keep trying to sing
'Cause to sing you don't need to know anything
And I don't have much of anything
And I don't know about anything.

It's kinda hard to make music
When you don't know the chords
To play along.

I'm plotting your lies
in straight lines
on graph paper.
The blue
of the lines
contrasts nicely
with every little false word
I wanted to believe.

It's like you planned it.

The lies fit so well,
they go right on the lines.
They match so
exactly.
So
perfectly.
It's like you planned it.
You lie just so
perfectly.

She sits outside on the pavillion (more of a patio, but pavillion sounds more...more...more something, and that's what she wants) sipping the red wine, and reading the novella in the setting sun.
She tries to drink the red wine elegantly, with a bent wrist and her fingers splayed across the crystal, but she's trying too hard. It isn't something that you can just pick up, it's something you're born with, raised with. She likes to pretend that she was, and it's true, her father and her mother drank their wine with the bent wrist and beautiful fingers, but they never taught her. Or maybe they did, but she didn't want them to teach her, she pushed them away.

i.
Stars spill
Out of my hand,
My fingers,
Looking suprisingly slender,
as they grip the pen.
It looks nice,
almost poetic,
my fingers rarely do.

ii.
The pen
picks the stars up, one by one,
carefully,
carefully
taking each one,
and letting it go.

iii.
I hate this
stupid puke orange
binder,
old and tattered,
all the wrong color.
When we were in the store,
I tried to get a pink one,
Or a red one,
But orange was cheaper.
Of course,
the puke-orange was cheaper.

iv.
Looking now
at this blue ink,
which I hate,
(my favorite pen
got taken
yesterday)
it seems to me
almost
purple.

v.
Tiny little stars,
Made of lines and space,
Fill enough
For a skyful of stars
If only...
If only...

I watch them spin
In those freaking
Perfect circles.
So freaking perfect.
I can't even believe it.

I can't even contain it,
How much I want it,
How much I want to be
good
At something.
Not just okay,
or mediocre,
or pretty good,
but
good.
excellent.
brilliant.

Those freaking circles
Those freaking circles!
I can't even go on.
I just want to be good.
________________________________
Ehh....

Shiney and icuc write from THE SAME PROMPT RIGHT NEXT TO EACHOTHER IN STUDY HALL!

icuc portion
_______________________________________________________________
You keep yelling,
You yell so loud.
I can’t really think,
Really,
Could you quiet down?
You keep yelling.
Telling me how selfish I am.
Telling me how I should care-
How I should care-
About every single
Stupid detail
In your little
Life.

But it’s true, my dear.
I don’t give a damn.

You’re getting angry.
Really, it’s quite droll.
Rather boring in fact.
I don’t need to know
What you had for breakfast.

So it’s true, my dear
I don’t give a damn.

You’re threatening to leave,
Fine, go ahead.
The door's wide open.
I think I’ll be quite glad-
You’ve been getting on my nerves
With your insistent complaining-
always complaining!-
I’ll be glad you leave.
Because I don’t really care what you do-

It’s true, my dear.
I don’t give a damn.

This one isn't as good, but it was a lot harder...
______________________________________________
Word Games
Fear

(Fear
Dear
Dead
Mead
Meld
Mild
Mile
File
Fire)

Fire

(Fire
Fare
Bare
Barn
Burn)

Burn

(Burn
Barn
Darn
Dart
Hart
Hurt)

Hurt

(Hurt
Hart
Dart
Darn
Barn
Burn,
Barn,
Bare,
Fare,
Fire
File,
Mile,
Mild,
Meld,
Mead,
Dead,
Dear,
Fear)

I'm sitting here.
In front of the computer.
The blank box is taunting me.
Go ahead. Write something. I dare you.
I want to scream at that blank box.
I bet you can't write anything.
I want to yell at that blank box
Come on, don't pretend you can't

I will.
I will find the words!
I will
I
will
I?
won't
you?

The blank box laughs.
As I scratch my brains
for any little
tiny
thought.

You'd think
that an hour-long lockdown
and a threatening note
would bring inspiration.
You'd think
that lotion
smeared in patterns
across a basketball uniform
would bring something
(anything?)
but
no.
of course not

Of course not.
Of course I can't
write.

the blank box
grins

As happy as I am that the shout box is back, apparently, I don't have permission to post shouts...so I was just wondering whether that was accidental, and if it was on purpose, why?
Thanks!
-icuc

Word Games

tears
to fears
fears
to fires
fires
to liars
liars
to their lairs
lairs
to bears
to burns
to learns
learns
to lips
lips
to slips

slips
to falls
and falls
and falls
and falls
I slip
I fall
to fall
to the floor
please to stop.
please
no more.

I flopped on the couch again, a little out of breath. Then I glanced up at the clock, and realized that my "lie" to the balcony boy about having to go was not, in fact, a lie.
The matinee showing of "Sleeping Beauty" started in about an hour. I had ten minutes to get to the theater.
I quickly dashed to the bathroom and wiped my messy makeup off, and changed into a pair of denim shorts and a tee shirt, stuffing the dress into a bag. I ran down the six flights of stairs to the bottom level (the elevator was still broken) and sprinted through the doors and down the street, not even pausing at the crosswalks. By the time I reached the stage door, I was coated in sweat, but at least I was on time.

I was walking down the old dirt road, bucket in my arms, when I heard the boom. At first instinct, I dropped the bucket, and sprinted into the nearest building, which happened to be the chicken coop.
Another life lost, to the guns, to the war.
The silence was the worst. The silence that always followed the crack, or the boom. The silence in which you knew they were taking account for who was left.
The war had been stretching for weeks and months and years and maybe even decades. But it still brought pain to my mind whenever I heard the noises that meant death. Living right on the border, right on the edge of war, and some sort of peace, wasn’t easy. It was hard, hard, hard, like the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs. But somebody had to do it, so the border wouldn’t move, because once the border moved, it would keep moving and moving and run into farms, then villages, until the border came back and wrapped itself around the world.

We can speak too, you know.
We can give advice, give warnings.
We can tell stories,
We can tell lies.

We can be loved too, you know.
We can be cherished, desired.
We can be mourned.
We can be missed.

We can speak too, you know.
But why should we?
It's already so loud in the world now.
But maybe it will quiet down.
Sometime in the deep and distant future.
Then, we might speak.
And if you listen, maybe you'll hear us.
Maybe you'll hear our stories, our advice, our wisdom.
Because we can speak too, you know.

And there is nothing here
But the sand we feel
And the rocks we touch.
(Rocks are hard to touch)

And there is nothing here
But the wind I feel
And the waves I hear
(Waves crashing, I hear)

And there is nothing here.
(Nothing here!)
There is nothing here.
(Absolutely nothing?)
And there is nothing here.
(Nothing?)
Nothing here
But
Nothing.

(Nothing?)
(Nothing.)

Baseball playing grandfather
(Not my own)
Has a heart attack at 75.
Two hip replacements later,
He falls down the stairs,
Breaks both legs,
He'll never play again.

I don't know him.
But I'm going to cry now.
Wait for it,
Watch for the tears,
As they fall,
Fall down.

Broadway-obsessed college student
(Who isn't me)
Saves up all her money
To buy a ticket
Off the internet.
When she gets there,
It's a fake.
She misses the train home.

I don't know her.
But I'm going to cry now.
Wait for it,
Watch for the tears,
As they fall,
Fall down.

Two teenage kids
(Shall remain nameless)
Meet and
Think it's love.
Six months later,
They're in turmoil.
He breaks her heart,
She breaks them up.

Yes, I know them.
And I'm going to cry now.
Wait for it,
Watch for the tears,
As the tears fall,
As the tears fall,
Down.

You
just
love
being
short
and
sweet.

Fireflies glint,
looking like stars.
Catch them quickly,
put them in jars.

Stars sparkle
in the skies.
But which are stars?
And which are flies?

Look at me.

Why won't you
Look at me?
Please, I'm begging you
Look at me!
Does it hurt?
Do I hurt that much?
I want to know.
Look at me.

Why won't you
Look at me?
Please, I'm begging you,
Look at me.
Your eyes seem to slide over the place
That I'm here to fill.
So, why not?
Look at me.

Why won't you
Look at me?
Please, I'm begging you.
Look at me.
Maybe I could sense something, in your eyes,
To tell me what's wrong.
If only you would
Look at me.

Why won't you
Look at me?

Why do you keep saying that?
Do you really, truly, want to know?
I don't know how I
Feel, honestly. But, tell me, doesn't it look like the stars are
Crying?

Why
do
I
feel
like
crying?

I think it's rather
funny,
rather ironic,
about tears.

Tears,
which stand for the
pain,
suffering,
and sadness,
in the world,
are
made
of
water.

Salt water.

Something that I
need to
survive,
(like love)
tainted,
broken
(like a heart).

Your strings.
They're

Unraveling.

I think
It's hard
To make
Such
Sweet
Music
When your strings
Are

Unraveling.

Yet you keep trying.
It almost makes me cry.
The music keeps faltering,
But you keep playing,
Though your strings,
They're

Unraveling.

Can't you see it?
Can't you see that
I, too,
Am

Unraveling?

Unraveling

As I sit,
Listening to your music
Falling
Apart.

I run until I can't stand not breathing anymore, an impressive two and a half blocks away from the cafe. It's unusually quiet on the streets for a Saturday in December, even though it's snowing. But I'm glad, because that means less people staring at me choking on my own breath.
Once I can take in air at a more normal rate, I realize that I am shivering. Damn. My coat is back in the cafe. Sasha should be coming soon, but she's not a very fast walker, and she has to deal with all of those panicking people. So I guess I'm suffering in the snow until then, because there is no way on earth I'm going back there.
I sense someone behind me, but I ignore them, thinking they're just another holiday shopper, until they talk.
"Dropped something?" I turn around. Oh, great. It's the boy from the cafe, the one who somehow knows...what I can do. He's holding up a thin silver chain that I have never seen before in my life, and smirking like the Chesire Cat.

And
yet
life
goes
on,
even
though
sometimes
it
hurts.

The words
whirl faster
and faster
until the
whirlwind of
words twists and spins
away.
Just like that
it's gone.