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Current Music:Dire Straits - Telegraph Road - Live (Remix)
Time:04:40 pm
Talk about why this community is dying an inglorious death.
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Subject:Random snippet that's been stuck in my head
Time:12:02 pm
Jamison had his arms crossed and was slapping his sides and stomping his feet. His breath was a white cloud of dragon-smoke every time he breathed. The straps of his backpack bit into his shoulders but kept his back warm.

"When's the bus get here again?" he asked Kaleb. The sky was heavy and grey above them.

"Who fucking cares," he replied, throwing Jamison a sideways glance and digging a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"I care. It's cold." He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Yeah, yeah," said Kaleb, lighting a cigarette. He checked his wristwatch. "Soon."

Jamison saw Richard walking towards them, the ever-present notebook tucked under his arm. He gave a little half-wave as he walked up. "What's up?"

"Hey," Jamison said. Kaleb took a drag on his cigarette and didn't respond.

They stood in silence for minute, each looking a different way. Jamison started kicking rocks onto the street. "How do you smoke so early in the morning?" he asked. "Jesus, I just want to go back to sleep."

Kaleb let out a locomotive's worth of smoke and rolled his eyes. "Do you ever not ask stupid questions?"

"Hey, Kaleb," Richard cut in, "can I bum one from you?"

"Eh...," he said, turning to face him. "I dunno man, it's my last one."

"You only bring one smoke to school?" He was incredulous. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Well, it's not like I can smoke there, you know? What's the point?"

"Fine," breathed Richard. "I'll give you a buck for the one you're smoking now."

Jamison laughed and Kaleb cocked an eyebrow at Richard, thinking. "Sure," he said. "Gimme that dollar."

Richard pulled a bill out of his wallet and handed it to Kaleb, who pocketed it. Then he took another long drag, pulling almost the entire filter into his mouth, sucking on it. When he pulled it out and handed it over to Richard, the butt was glistening in the greyish-yellow morning light.

"Dammit," Richard sighed as he took the cigarette. He held it up and looked at it. The cigarette was more than half-smoked already. He took a drag. "Asshole."

Kaleb laughed and pulled the pack out of his pocket and lit another cigarette. "You're such a dumbass, Dickie. Christ."

"Bus is coming," Jamison said, adjusting his backpack. "Finally. Hope the heat's on."

"Ah well," Kaleb said, throwing down the newly-lit cigarette and crushing it with his foot. "Wish I could smoke on the bus."

Richard took his last drag and threw the butt in the street. "Worst fucking dollar I've ever spent," he said.

"Next time," Kaleb said to him, as the bus stopped in front of them and the door pulled open, "buy your own fucking smokes."
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Time:11:20 pm
I recently found this poem, written by a classmate of mine in college. I thought I had lost it forever and I was so happy when I found it that I had to share. I don't know where the author is, but all copyrights and whatnot belong to him. Enjoy.

Woman Misses Migrant Worker Boyfriend by Jon Mackey

I have had to learn to live with these corn husks and fig leaves
In your stead. I have studed them, and scattered them as reminders
Through the trafficked avenues of our home to be stepped on, sat on,
Seen. I roll them in bunches to give as gifts.

I take one of your dried vines to give to my mother. She takes it
And goes in search of her bag of lawn clippings. I am angry, I look
At a picture of a black truck above me on the wall, I say, "Where's father?"
She is silent and lays the dried vine on a table in the hall.

"It bothers me, I can never tell which way he is looking," my mother says.
"He fingers his wounds at the breakfast table." I am angry again,
I squint my eyes, I say, "Yes, but while he fingers his wounds he does not wince,
That is the part you have missed."

My mother's boyfriend tells me: "It's not made if it's in Honduras.
Nothing good ever came out of San Salvador." But you
Continue to send me letters and I continue to staple palm fronds
To the walls in our kitchen.

In bed, a cold night, I touch one of your plums with the cold
Part of my foot and pretend it is your knee. Tell me, do you
And your bunkmate ever move the bed at night and wish yourselves
At home? I remain unplowed this long year.

The lines at the supermarket make me sad. I bought thirteen heads
Of lettuce last week because I kept seeing your face in the leaves.
I inspect tomatoes for your fingerprints; I rummage in the fruit
Aisle for the pears you say you carved my initials in.

It is raining outside. In this storm the wind shakes the trees to their very roots;
It steals the seeds from our shed and scatters them carelessly
Across the yard. I dare not go into our garden, for fear
I will find a flower growing in one of your boots.

The blackbirds have pecked away your paper-mache scarecrow.
I hung a picture of Joan Miro on a pole in its place and by the next day
The cats had knocked it down and defecated all over it.
Your tools have begun to rust. The lawn is in disarray. I am in drought.

Oklahoma sounds like a horrible place. The fields, they swallow
Men like pesticides and leave them as corn husks for the wind.
I worry that I will never again feel your face. Will you mail me your
Moustache in the summer?
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Subject:For Your Consideration: An Exercise
Time:11:33 am
Write a about a person (real or imaginary) who goes into a job interview. This job is the job this person has always dreamed of having, but there are several other candidates who are highly qualified, and they have already interviewed for the position.
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Subject:somewhere i have never travelled... (LVII) - e.e. cummings
Time:11:23 pm
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, misteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Thanks to peroxidestings for pointing this in my direction.
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Subject:I find your lack of faith disturbing.
Time:08:09 pm
Ok, enough with the formalities. If you're still interested in participating in this community, post a comment and let us know. We've gotten zero participation and almost no input as to how to make things better to invoke more participation. This helps neither the moderators nor the participants.

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Subject:Sometimes I just want to cry
Time:02:03 pm
Write anything. Prove that you're still interested.
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Subject:Weekly Exercise
Time:10:02 pm
Despite the fact that the last two exercises got no responses aside from my own, I'm going to post another one. m0n and I would appreciate feedback on these exercises. The lack of responses would lead one to believe that people have become disinterested in doing them. We'd like to know why, so that if we can correct it, we will.

Exercise: Write a short story about a person who encounters a situation where they have the chance to save the life of someone they hate.
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Subject:Now resuming normal programming...
Time:04:23 pm
Ok, last week was a bye week, because...well, because it was.

I'd like responses this time, though. Hypocritical, I know.

So, in honor of it being Mardi Gras and all of you probably never having been there, this week's assignment is:

Write a short description of someone who is at a festival/celebration to which they have never been. They have been there for two hours and are neither drunk nor high. Yet.
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Time:12:49 am
Just to remind those who are interested: we have an exercise this week that only has one response... namely, mine. If you thought this exercise wasn't good, and would like to critique it to help us create better ones in the future, let us know in the forum.
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[icon] Life is source material...
View:Recent Entries.
View:Website (Demiurgic_Forum@OnyxCorp).
You're looking at the latest 10 entries, after skipping 10 newer ones.
Missed some entries? Then simply jump back 10 entries or forward 10 entries