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( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )
24 January 2020 @ 12:00 am

Suggestions for characterization and/or play? PM or comment here.

( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )
15 July 2011 @ 06:22 am

These days I just can't seem to say what I mean [...]. I just can't. Every time I try to say something, it misses the point. Either that or I end up saying the opposite of what I mean. The more I try to get it right the more mixed up it gets. Sometimes I can't even remember what I was trying to say in the first place. It's like my body's split in two and one of me is chasing the other me around a big pillar. We're running circles around it.
-Haruki Murakami

( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )
27 June 2011 @ 06:25 am

( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )

001. Leave me a comment saying, ❝ s p e c i f i c i t y ❞.
002. I will respond by asking you ANY five questions of a very intimate and creepily personal nature. Or not so creepy/personal [possibly]. → cue ominous music, etc.
003. You WILL update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
004. You will ALSO include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
005. When others comment with ❝ s p e c i f i c i t y ❞, you will ask them five questions.

f r o m: paisleythief
He would look out the window and stare at the trees that once had too many branches and now seemed to have too few.Collapse )

f r o m: dreamsofmazes
We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders...Collapse )

f r o m: mutedpoint
The sky was red and the sand was red and you were wearing a brown coat...Collapse )

Jesus christ you guys that was long. I'M SORRY?!?!?!?!!

( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )
07 March 2011 @ 04:17 am
Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close
to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me
with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending
to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine
my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots
in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair,
the ashtray that we bought together
. I'm thinking This is where
we live
. When we were little we made houses out of
cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because
our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we
struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring
your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making
those long noodles you love so much
. My dragonfly,
my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing
for blood, but we are at the crossroads, my little outlaw,
and this is the map of my heart, the landscape
after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is
a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me
tight, it's getting cold
. We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it. The lawn is drowned, the sky on fire,
the gold light falling backward through the glass
of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars
for you? That I would take you there? The splash
of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read
the back of the book, we know what's going to happen.
The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left
broken in the brown dirt. And then it's gone.
Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye
Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all
in Heaven. But there's a litany of dreams that happens
somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling
on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we
transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands
and record stores. Moonlight making crosses
on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
We have been very brave, we have wanted to know
the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes.
The dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in
the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms.
Our Father who art in Heaven. Our Father who art buried
in the yard
. Someone is digging your grave right now.
Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said,
so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It's a fairy tale,
the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished
halls, lightning here and gone. We make these
ridiculous idols so we can pray to what's behind them,
but what happens after we get up the ladder?
Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?
Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are
the monsters we put in the box to test our strength
against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's
the desire to put it inside us, and then the question
behind every question: What happens next?
The way you slam your body into mine reminds me
I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling,
and they're only a few steps behind you, finding
the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren't
stitched up quite right, the place they could almost
slip right through if the skin wasn't trying to
keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side
of the theater where the curtain keeps rising.
I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.
I had to make up all the words myself. The way
they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed
through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled
around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made
this place for you. A place for you to love me.
If this isn't the kingdom then I don't know what is.
So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields?
Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets?
I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters
kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter's heart,
the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees and the
spaces between the trees, swimming in gold. The words
frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce
leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere.
I was away, I don't know where, lying on the floor,
pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you
but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have
swallowed him up
, they said. It's beautiful, it really is.
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room
where everyone finally gets what they want.
You said Tell me about your books, your visions made
of flesh and light
and I said This is the Moon. This is
the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you
there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar
...We were in the gold room where everyone
finally gets what they want, so I said What do you
want, sweetheart?
and you said Kiss me. Here I am
leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome
burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,
my silent night, just mash your lips against me.
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.
( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )
25 February 2011 @ 06:31 pm

I Had a Dream About You

     All the cows were falling out of the sky and landing in the mud.
You were drinking sangria and I was throwing oranges at you,
                                                                                                   but it didn't matter.
                     I said my arms are very long and your head's on fire.
              I said kiss me here and here and here
                                                                   and you did.
                                                                                    Then you wanted pasta,
so we trampled out into the tomatoes and rolled around to make the sauce.
       You were very beautiful.

        We were in the Safeway parking lot. I couldn't find my cigarettes.
                       You said Hurry up! but I was worried there would be a holdup
and we would be stuck in a hostage situation, hiding behind
                                                   the frozen meats, with nothing to smoke for hours.
                     You said Don't be silly,
                                      so I followed you into the store.
We were thumping the melons when I heard somebody say Nobody move!
                                     I leaned over and whispered in your ear I told you so.

                  There was a show on the television about buried treasure.
You were trying to convince me that we should buy shovels,
                                                                                         and go out into the yard
                        and I was trying to convince you that I was a vampire.
on the way to the hardware store I kept biting your arm
      and you said  if I really was a vampire I would be biting your neck,
                                                            so I started biting your neck
                                                                                         and you said Cut it out!
       and you bought me an ice cream, and then we saw the UFO.

These are the dreams we should be having. I shouldn't have to
                                                                                  clean them up like this.

               You were lying in the middle of the empty highway.
The sky was red and the sand was red and you were wearing a brown coat.
                        There were flecks of foam in the corners of your mouth,
                                                                           The birds were watching you.
Your eyes were closed and you were listening to the road and I could
        hear you breathing, I could hear your heart beating.
                               I carried you to the car and drove you home but you
weren't making any sense.
                 I took a shower and tried to catch my breath.
                                                You were lying on top of the bedspread
in boxer shorts, watching cartoons and laughing but not making any sound.
          Your skin looked blue in the television light.
                                                                           Your teeth looked yellow.
Still wet, I lay down next to you. Your arms, your legs, your naked chest,

                                              your ribs delineated like a junkyard dog's.
        There's nowhere to go, I thought. There's nowhere to go.

        You were sitting in a bathtub at the hospital and you were crying.
                                                                                                You said it hurt.
I mean in the buildings that were not the hospital.
                                                            I shouldn't have mentioned the hospital.
                            I don't think I can take this much longer.

                    In the dream, I don't tell anyone, you put your head in my lap.
Let's say you're driving down the road with your eyes closed
                                                                      but my eyes are also closed.
          You're by the side of the road.
You're by the side of the road and you're doing all the talking
                                                                                    while I stare at my shoes.
They're nice shoes, brown and comfortable, and I like your voice.
               In the dream I don't tell anyone, I'm afraid to wake you up.

In these dreams, it's always you:
                                               the boy in the sweatshirt,
      the boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me
                                                                             from jumping off the bridge.
                  Oh, the things we invent when we are scared
and want to be rescued.

                          Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee you bought me.
                                                          The sandwich cut in half on the plate.
        I woke up and ate ice cream in the dark,
                                  hunched over on the wooden chair in the kitchen,
listening to the rain.
                                                  I borrowed your shoes and didn't put them away.

         You were crying and eating rice.
                          The surface of the water was still and bright.
Your feet were burning so I put my hands on them, but my hands
                                                                                                   were burning too.
        You had a bottle of pills but I wouldn't let you swallow them.

                        You said Will you love me even more when I'm dead?
and I said No, and I threw the pills on the sand.
                                                   Look at them, you said. They look like emeralds. 

I put you in a cage with the ocelots. I was trying to fatten you up 
                                                                                     with sausages and bacon.
       Somehow you escaped and climbed up the branches of a pear tree.
I chopped it down but there was nobody in it.
                                 I went to the riverbed to wait for you to show up.
                                                               You didn't show up. 
                                                                                                              I kept waiting.
( ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ )
25 February 2011 @ 06:09 pm
It starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same
                                           running from something larger than yourself story,
shoving money into the jaws of a suitcase, cutting your hair
       with a steak knife at a rest stop,
and you're off, you're on the run, a fugitive driving away from
                                                   something shameful and half-remembered.
They're hurling their bodies down the freeway
                                                                to the smell of gasoline,
        which is the sound of a voice saying I told you so.
                                                                                                 Yes, you did dear.
Every story has its chapter in the desert, the long slide from kingdom
     to kingdom through the wilderness,
                           where you learn things, where you're left to your own devices.
Henry's driving,
        and Theodore's bleeding shotgun into the upholstery.
It's a road movie,
             a double-feature, two boys striking out across America, while desire,
                     like a monster, crawls up out of the lake
with all of us watching, with all of us wondering if these two boys will
         find a way to figure it out.
                                                       Here is the black box, the shut eye,
the bullet pearling in his living skin. This boy, half-destroyed,
     screaming Drive into that tree, drive off the embankment.
                                                                                    Henry, make something happen. 
But angels are pouring out of the farmland, angels are swarming
                    over the grassland,
Angels rising from their little dens, arms swinging, wings aflutter,
      dropping their white-hot bombs of love.
                                          We are not dirty, he keeps saying. We are not dirty.
                          They want you to love the whole damn world, but you won't,
you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in the bath,
                                          who knows what to do with his body, with his hands.
It should follow,
         you know this, like the panels of a comic strip,
                             we should be belted in, but you still can't get beyond your skin,
and they're trying to drive you into the ground, to see if anything
                                                                                                     walks away.