1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

Someone has cut the flowers, trimmed the stems, slashed the bushes upon which they grew and still though I try- I cannot seem to forget you the bright creature so nymph-like and tall. My very own Sappho has bloomed before me stuck in betwixt and between youth and age with your long black hair and liquid pools of the darkest ermine as eyes. Summer is coming and the ripe autumn leaves and fruits are bursting with indecent passion, We used to roll around the fallen flowers and then a kiss from me to you. Neruda is romantic, but he forgot to describe  the unknowing beauty of those he cannot possible ascribe to, cannot see, hold or touch. My darling, he hath nothing to compare you to, Not star not moon not sun nor sky you surpass all in your Beauty it is like singing to a bard your conquests How pointless, how pitiful no words can describe my Sappho in bloom like verdant green in an abundance of brown You alone are there. When you smile it as if there ha...

Fintan Whelan sat at the table, nursing a beer in his smooth Irish grip, looking down at his empty plate, his long thin fingers silently tapping as if searching for something to do. I watched him intently, memorising how unlined his face remained despite his approaching the threshold of middle-age, that forty marker, stealer of youth. His hair had remained a medium brown free from any trace of grey, almost black but not quite, and his skin was clear, his mouth sufficiently pink and eyes still blue though they were no longer piercing in gaze. 'Mr Whelan,' a voice volunteered, a thin, reedy voice, my own, 'what about one last story?' He looked up from his plate, glad to be rescued from his condemnation of silence. His voice is soft and smooth, like good wine, yet still masculine. It was once seductive to me, though the words he speak seem jarring to me now. 'Alright, one last one. The strangest thing Ms. Reddy did,' he begins, animatedly now. The tensi...

Dear Me, Understand that you will be fine. Absolutely fine. I promise. Plus if it all doesn't work out, there's always a book to be written. God has a plan for you and you just have to have the faith to see it. Dear Lord, please show the way. Amen / Waheguru / Amin / hallelujah / gambateh / kumbayah / Sincerely, Me. :) Whatfore is faith but a blind spark in the dark wanting and waiting to be lit and thrown about  in the universe looking for a response what is love but the trust in faith itself to sustain you and carry you through the art of the artist himself herself themselves yes a duality in a microcosm

1) Family 2) Friends 3) Books 4) Religion- just not sure which one 5) Baskin Robbins 6) Boys who like feminism & are feminists 7) South african accents 8) Eggettes 9) 70s music 10) pretending to be a hippy

So basically my post on the fb group got rEally few likes :( idk why?? I'm so fahny rite? RITE??!! Also I'm gonna get married to a South African and live in Capetown. Also Jhumpa Lahiri sucks. Sorry. Not sorry. OK she doesn't suck she's amazing but I suck at analysing the Namesake so IDK.

Okay so basically I have so much to tell you!! I found out that Ling Ling is a jealous and super-fake girl, and her best friend Ursula is also pretty fake. Ling Ling is so extra but she calls me extra? Like waddafk? It's really weird because whenever someone gives me compliments she's always like, "What? It's just(insert denigrating statement here)." Like today during colour run everyone was complimenting my eyes and Ling Friggin Ling was like, "Oh it's just the sun." Like, BEYOTCH, the sun don't shine on you coz you repel light. Coz you evil!? And apparently, Jane told me that Ursula said that I repel dick?? Well, she's super fake and guess who's not going to help her barely pass her homework anymore? Me. That's who. On the plus side, which was a lot, roomie is back and it is lovely as always to see her and found out that R. the gappie might potentially be Jewish. According to Ursula, I repel dick so she thinks I have terribl...

Erasmus knocks on the door, three knocks, each loud and resonant. The insistence is clear- he is here for business. Inside the darkened room, she is waiting nervously chewing her pale, off-purple blanched nails. "I want you to tell me what's going on," he states in a calm voice, the tenors in his throat quivering only slightly. "I don't know, E. I don't understand why the program doesn't work." The ends of her sentences lift up as if in a question, even though it is not. She is telling him clearly, succinctly, confusedly. But honestly. "Come outside please," he says, patiently. She has a feeling that he's checking his watch, or tapping his foot. She imagines that it is the left one, going up down up down tap tap tap on the shiny waxed floor.  She opens the door, and discovers she's wrong. "Oh, I thought you. You brought the-" He raises a sparse eyebrow. She shakes her head, never mind. He's thumbing throu...