[a boy and a girl, both mid-teens. each rather drab-looking; not Hollywood ordinary, just ordinary. sitting with their legs between the iron slats of a balcony. crows and city noise in the background. a cornflower blue sky, some clouds] the girl: I can't even talk to him, not anymore. It's driving me crazy. the boy:… Continue reading writing: screenplay, #1
Tag: orginal writing
poem: picture of someone else, told like this
did you look in the portrait today? she shudders and pulls away she said (bitterly/violently/desperately) NO she said i am damned to hell and back she said it comes out in the books like blood from a knife; disconnected, but members of the same party, all the same. did you go out tonight or… Continue reading poem: picture of someone else, told like this
poem: stock character, female
she turned very slightly; smiled. she said I know you know we know we all know That we are just matter. she bit her lip, she brushed her hair behind the pixeled part of her ear coming sharply in and out of focus. A bad movie; the director is inebriated. reset the lenses and and… Continue reading poem: stock character, female
poem: the third boy is just myth
along the lighted corridors he turned and smiled slightly: that odd thing girls do when they manufacture a crush for a boy that they don't really like, or care about. along the pagan corridors of the forest, and among the thyme and sticky ryegrass he takes her hand he presses her fingers carefully to his… Continue reading poem: the third boy is just myth
writing: untitled november 2018
him: so. her: hi. him: do you want to marry me? her: her: i barely know you. him: so? her: when you come over and say hi to me when i'm working part of me wants to ask you to go buy me a coffee because i'm always tired and i'm dying for a coffee.… Continue reading writing: untitled november 2018
poem: light snow
in her head he brings her coffee and a small smile, which he places just before her as something young and fragile and maybe delicate. she bites her lips when she smiles back, the cold november in the crinkly spaces of her mittens that scrunch into his black gloves when he takes her hand and… Continue reading poem: light snow
writing: in her head
In her head, there were wild bright things. She sat in her van with her hand dangling over the wheel and her pale blue eyes raw from crying. She sat there for a long time, Mr. Brightside flickering against the radio static. It was indie alt-rock station; listening to music that wasn't strictly mainstream made… Continue reading writing: in her head
writing: i don’t want to see you ever again
I don't want to see you ever again, he said. She paused; nodded bravely. She was crying. Her hair was hanging in her face and his fingers twitched looking at it, some involuntary memory coming from earlier palm-scented mornings when he would lean over the sheets and brush it behind her ears and kiss her… Continue reading writing: i don’t want to see you ever again
writing: there is only so much a person can take
There is only so much a person can take before they lose themselves. It's a sort of cracking, with the pieces falling away like blood-music, like the skinny feathers you can't hold in your hands with the memories coming like fire and water; it's your mother looking at you in the kitchen and shaking her… Continue reading writing: there is only so much a person can take
writing: are you okay
Are you okay, she said to him. He was crouched in the bathroom with his fingers clamped over his wrist and his wrists pulled into his chest. She was next to him; she was so close to him that her hair kept brushing against his lips and his nose, but it was not romantic. He… Continue reading writing: are you okay
the last pavilion 