Go Back   Let's Roll Forums > Blogs > livelywoodsprite
Connect with Facebook

Rate this Entry

I wrote this the other day, and it seemed to be well recieved there . . .

Posted 5 Dec 2009 at 17:44 PM by livelywoodsprite

[B] [/B]

[LIST][*] [B][URL="http://livelywoodsprite.xanga.com/717568119/a-hundred-times-i-tried---/"]A hundred times I tried . . .[/URL][/B]


The sweet smell of death in a dumpster, rank with the pungency of rotting, elicited no response: I was immune. The buzzing of green bottle flies reverberated against the steel light-woven screen, creating a moray of sound filtering through the 65-watt flicker of the fluorescent lights. The heat of the day crept slowly along, pacing itself to peak in time for the walk home from school. Time slithered to a tepid heartbeat, the minute hand weakly rising to crow the hour while I imagined the dislocated air dribbling soft plastic entrails as it became displaced, almost like water, because the air was so thick with the stink of tense bodies.


Hair falling in my eyes was held in place by the dewy sweat lacing my forehead and cheeks. My breath felt hot and fetid against cracked lips. Every freckle was held tense against the skin as the twin jellied jaywalkers on either side of my nose fought valiantly to remain open and focused. A cicada lodged in the outer wall overpowered the cricket and the disturbed bird twirping below. Even the clouds seemed to have lost all hope of movement for the duration of the sticky exam which could only be termed complete with every row of five green rimmed circles appropriately encoded for assumption into the great computer by the graphite carefully slathered within the boundary. The great computer would determine the next 5 years of my life based on the content of the 2-column patterned lines of wiggling green ink. I struggled to remain engaged, my hands smelling of Number 2 pine pencil shavings, slippery gray graphite, and salt.


The inside of my skull ached with the previous night's anxiety, and the after-effects of an unsuccessful chemistry experiment of aspirin and vodka tincture laced with belladonna berries. My blood vessels felt like they had been charged with sandpaper. My 90lb frame hunched over the desk now, echoing the morning's emetic stance while having bathed porcelain with another foul attempt at distilling the essence of life into blissful absence. Again, failure permeated my waking drive, screaming my imperfection with every sluggish thump rebounding against its cage of bone. Dissonance rattled behind my eyes and I struggled to hold the black printed characters in a string that made sense long enough to evaluate the relevance and plug the ring with my pencil slick of graphite resistance.


God laughed at me in my mind, taunting me with my own intensity by stabbing my head with another rocket of anxiety and pain. I felt coarse with frayed tension, and wickedly ethereal -- too large for my body -- too small to see -- almost undone by this last wish to welcome worms. The depth of my sadness welled within as I disconnected mind from soul in order to perform brilliant miracles on the paper form mocking me, crinkling under the anchor of my arm pressed against the graffiti-worn desktop. There were no green circles for my soul to dissolve into, no abdication allowed for this exhausted pathetic waif, unwilling and isolated, terribly faint with anger - no circles to save my soul from another day. And yet the green circles had the power to shave the course of my life and I dedicated myself to their disposal, gritting my teeth as the gray pencil slaked the emptiness of one more green-line hole with the pith of my educational endurance.


What was it all for?

My life had been sanitized for my protection but I felt encrypted within this strange bony enclosure, as my failure to thrive in the most essential ways was quietly overlooked in favor of polite acquiescence to the greater good, and I was prodded ever-onward by the monotonous, rude clash of morning seeping past my eyelids with the dawn. And here I baked under the glass like an ant, shaping my days with graphite imbroglio fed to the idiot-god machine for a nonsensical score of musically indifferent markings in an artless shape with just as much anonymity.

I wanted more.

I wanted less.

It didn't matter what I wanted.
I was livid that I had survived.

Thanks for listening.[/LIST]
Posted in Uncategorized
Views 4104 Comments 0
« Prev     Main     Next »
Total Comments 0



All times are GMT -5. The time now is 19:09 PM.

Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.9
Copyright ©2000 - 2020, vBulletin Solutions, Inc.
Ad Management by RedTyger