Another unfinished thought.

It troubles me that I feel you are my youth.
That what I was had always been you, and
when we met, it was like losing my first tooth.
A light-footed fairy stole it away to a faraway land.

While my brain was a mess,
a new confidence was born.
It was not well worn.
In fact it became stress.

My words were so hollow.
I wish that I could follow
all the places they go,
where I want to be, and to sew.

What you knit me was a warm wrap,
with a ball that drew me a new life.
In the Winter I might use it as a map
to find what we were and what felt so safe.

Maybelene [Oct. 5th, 2007 | 09:16 pm]

(Originally written for LiveJournal by a much more stream of consciousness me.)

Harriet forged a factory on her fingertips. She had sparks dancing from hand to hand. Her eyes filled with delight, surprise, and the need to sufficiently expand her production rates in order to fulfill this quarter’s shipment. She saw the small hairs on her hand handle welding and cutting. Those hairs had formed a union in order to escape Harriet’s demanding production schedule. Harriet was an industrialist when her fingers began their industry. She demanded profit out of profit. Money was everywhere to be had and Harriet knew how to squeeze and wring it out with her hands. Harriet bought the condominium on her thumb and opened it up as a retirement home for the hairs on her fingers. They spent their last terrifying days on Harriet’s hands in relative posable comfort.

More from the Math Department… [Nov. 29th, 2007|02:50 am]

(Originally written for LiveJournal by a much more stream of consciousness me.)

Harriet sewed all her socks closed to keep the change out. She sewed her pockets together to keep her hands out. She sewed her belt loops to her pants to keep the belt away. Harriet sewed the rugs together to keep the hard wood floor from getting jealous. Harriet sewed her cat’s tail to the dog’s. Harriet sewed her scarf together to make a nice noose. Harriet weaved herself a nice wedding dress to hang in. Harriet bought herself an apartment to hang herself in. Harriet got herself a job to get bosses to die in spite of. Harriet made friends to write a note for. Harriet married a husband so someone she knew would discover her body and cut her down. Harriet gave birth to children so they could remember her sad story as a house wife. Harriet grew old in order to make her children feel guilty for her death when they abandon her for their own lives. Harriet was the longest suicide.

Birthday Story, 2013

A short story I wrote for my friends with a line for every wish.

In a town not too far away lived a ghost staring across a highway.

This ghost filled its days guessing the speed and temperament of those unsteady and unruly riders, whom always seemed easily befuddled by the ghost’s presence and longing gaze.

That ghost lurked and loomed as the cars swept past like rhinos hurtling their massive bulk across a scarecrow’s path.

When it finally came to stop staring, the ghost put one ethereal foot in front of the other and strode as if on a cloud across the highway.

As the ghost came up on the center of this raging torrent, one driver decided that ghosts don’t exist and twisted their wheel to such an extent that their bulk reeled over end on end.

Once the car stopped turning, the ghost stood still for a moment, dumbfounded by what it had caused.

Cars piled up on the highway converging upon that point with tires spinning and pulling on the ground.

With a great ruckus the ghost pulled at its petty coat and twiddled its buttons, the screams that erupted around it made things awkward. So awkward in fact that the ghost decided to recede to its former post at the side of the highway. 

It leaned its weightless mass against a traffic sign, shrugging and sliding down to its destination, a soft, peat-covered bump in the ground. But when it hit that an unearthly momentum carried him on.

So long, rUWW

by Michael Davidson

As the sweet-looking nectar filled the cabin, we were generally aware that something had gone wrong. Some might say the captain got a little “hoppy”, they might have said that correctly, but they might have also forgotten to add “mad” on the end there.

He got so “hoppy” (mad) that he also got a little pully, maybe silly, and finally dead, as he’d sillily pulled the lever that ejected his person out of our tin tubey. This wouldn’t have been so bad, but he’d also fought his way to it, smashing a pin prick holey in the pod’s window in the attempt…    -y.

Introducing, the Pixel Map, used to plan out weeks and stuff for class or projects.

spookychan:

teratocybernetics:

acrylicemulator:

is this from a game or something?  If so, shit, sauce please.

….yeah, what she said.

answer: http://superbrothers.ca/

Canada, you sweet sweet machine.

cybot-galactica:

Splinter of the Mind’s Eye (Dark Horse)

"Does anybody else think it’s weird that I’m pointing my blaster at your crotch provocatively from right where my naughty bits are?" -Luke

(via spookychan)

Design Class Experiments!

I <3 Al Madrigal. Best fake correspondent ever.

areasofmyexpertise:

@almadrigal spotting the bargains at MSP, en route to DesMoines (at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport (MSP))