“Will says
*I SMITE THEE WITH UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
*CRITICAL HIT
*RACHAEL CANNOT CONTINUE
*WILL WINS”
“Will says
*I SMITE THEE WITH UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
*CRITICAL HIT
*RACHAEL CANNOT CONTINUE
*WILL WINS”
She woke up one morning in a rowboat off the coast. He sat in a pinstripe suit and a giant straw hat, rowing. “Women like wine too much. Don’t cry,” he said.
The first time he tried to propose she pushed him into the fountain.
He loved coconut pie. She made it every Sunday even though she swore coconuts were a devil’s concoction.
Weeks after he left for the war she found a rose in the back of the silverware drawer, behind a photo and threaded through the strings of the mop. They were wilted. She hung them in the window.
He chased her through the hospital the day her mother died.
She performed a dance; a semblance of a routine they’d seen on TV that one night years ago when he got her home way too late and the next day her father knocked on his door with a shotgun.
She had an obsession with describing the world to the blind or those with large glasses. He tolerated it at first, and then learned to love it.
He carried her out of the rain.
They laughed themselves to tears over mockery of a freshly ex-boss. She was at the wheel and crashed into a mailbox.
She saved him when he asked the lady from church when she was due.
“Childbirth is hard work,” he said at precisely the wrong time.
The day he died she made twelve coconut pies and left them in a rowboat.
Little light rolling on a vessel gently roving
Gold-purple glowing surfing over crystal billows glowing
On the right lusts a thirsty gloaming
And on the left is a penguin.
The sky of singing sparks shines now seeing
Upon vast tumbling voices madly rumbling
The Penguin looks frightened: “Good God,
What crazy poet has done this to me?”
From sifting grains of universe now greatly shifting
A poet’s peering face looms kindly peeking
“Thou art a noble beast, thy message spake
Through thy majestic birth and untimely death”
The Penguin ponders upon this wonder
To then discover a mind quite discolored
By sanity and mechanical thoughts
A very sad thing indeed
The Penguin devises various demises
For the crystal billows and ice-sculpted pillows
That such imprison the Poet’s mind
The Penguin sits back and clears its throat:
“Oh Poet so great, with your nuances grey,
Such magic could do with a little maniac
Do bring thyself to life in this realm”
He uses big words to impress
The Poet considers and presently concedes
And shapes a distinctly swampy shape
“Such dramatic rendering doth improve
The emotion of this poem”
The Penguin’s convinced the conveyance
Of the message has only gone messy
He takes her hand and flies to the sky
For in a Poem one can do anything
The Penguin then strings the stars to a strip
And terrorizes them into the form of a tree
A tree house is built; simply a matter of words
And he shows her how to laugh
They build a snowman out of cinnamon
And a cannon out of cocaine
The Penguin doesn’t let the Swampy
Know how it works
They sit on a bench for time a bunch
And watch passerbys pass by
And to the front of the ship they attach
An old Gandalf figurehead
The Swampy entirely forgets alliteration
And silly things like iambic perimeter or syllable count
Too busy playing jump rope
And playing with fortune
At the end of the night and the end of the gleam
Through blue bottles and pies and dew
The Swampy decides that the billowing crests
And four lines of verse and crystal words
Is so freakin’ pwned by love
I am currently coursing with energy due to excessive and idiotic exercise. Jumpstyle, that is, which is fun to do but looks ridiculous.
I have to go to sleep soon, and I am very aware that my immense energy is going to probably plummet very soon into exhaustion. So I’m hoping to narrate that whole mental degredation. Is that a word? If it is I didn’t spell it correctly, because it’s underlined in red. I’m having trouble typing because my hands are all shaky and hard to move how I want them too. Darn exercise. I also need a shower because I’m sweating in copious amounts. Is that grammar right? Probably not. I dun care, hah, TAKE THAT MY OWN ENGLISH OBSESSED BRAIN.
That’s right. What now? I’m challenging myself. Bwahahaha.
Sweat is turning to chills. Not because I’m sick, but because I am a perfectly healthy, rational human being who just made a fool of herself. I am aware those sentences are not relatedWILL.
WILL JUST INVADED MY BRAIN. HI WILL. I LOVE YOU WILL. WHERE ARE YOU WILL?
Oh, eating, are you? I called you and you said hold on, did you? So now I went on here to rant because I need to direct this ridiculousness somewhere, did I? Well here you go world, THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE WHEN I TALK TO MY BOYFRIEND BUT NOT REALLY BECAUSE HE’S NOT HERE.
Inhale. Exhale.
…I told him I’d call him back, but when was that? Ten minutes ago? Fifteen? I need to be getting to sleep anyway. Oh yeah, that was my other train of thought. Sleep. I need that. Cuz I have to get up early. To work. For eight hours. Which isn’t bad. It used to be bad, when I started and worked forty hours a week. I almost died (coworkers, now you know). But now it’s okay; it passes like nothing and now if I only work a few days a week it seems like all eternity has become my playground.
I like playgrounds. Especially the swings and the twirly things that are dangerous to ones’ health.
I used to make sandcastles in the playground, back when playgrounds had sand and not those crappy splintery bark chip crap things that are no fun to play in at all. I made a sandcastle once and some other toddler came over and smashed it. I just looked at him. And then his mom yelled at him. I was kind of sad.
You know when you say a word over and over and over and over again it sort of blends in? Or when you think about the spelling of a word excessively, you no longer are entirely sure how it’s spelled? When you concentrate extremely one one particular detail of a whole, somehow you usually screw things up. Once on the beach I was at some church function, years back, and I dug little trenches in the sand forming the word “Jesus.” Except the J was backwards because of that whole detail issue I conveniently mentioned a few seconds ago. And then one of the people in charge and her daughter walked by and nodded politely at me. I’m sure they thought I was special in the brain. I think lots of people do. Particularly because when I open my mouth to people I’m not comfortable with (and also comfortable with, but especially the former), I get really nervous and my thoughts come out like you’re squeezing toothpaste, except not nearly so smooth, and then I sound like an idiot. I’m really not, I promise. …Well maybe a little bit. Sometimes.
Phew. Mah boyfriend just came online because he’s epic. But now I’m engrossed in writing this, so where should my attention lie?
WITH THIS NO DUH BECAUSE GRRRR TO THAT WINDOW IM BOX OVER THERE »
Not really. He’s telling me about code. Which is so attractively geeky. Or geekily attractive. Mahaha. I love that kid. And miss him. Two more weeks. Bluuuh. BLUH I SAY.
Alright. Something that doesn’t involve obsessing over that human being I’m head over heels for. Hmm.
And now we’re making innuendos. We’re getting really good at that. I’m glad I feel open and free enough to be able to say such things without getting criticized or mocked or looked at strangely. Heart. <3
I’m wearing green. I dun like green.
I’m asking him general random questions now. Hah. Take that sucker. >PPP
Had to close library tonight. I like techno. Have to do holds tomorrow. IF I END UP WITH 400 AGAIN I SHALL WRITE A STERN LETTER TO SOMEONE. GRR. GROWL.
I want a friend. A female friend. And all female friends who read this, dun get me wrong, you’re epic, but I need the type who has similar interests to me. And can get along with me. And who doesn’t scare me. Because if you’re a female friend of mine, you probably scare me. But maybe not. You don’t really know now, do you?
I probably need to sleep. The whole outer chill thing is starting to creep under my skin, which shall need to be solved in the future by huddling under my blankets and wriggling about madly until all the cold is gone. Yes. When I get into bed I like, practically thrash in a horizontal manner until my body’s all warmed up. I also sleep on my back and sides. I used to sleep on my belly, but I don’t anymore cuz I’m cool like that.
I ordered caffine drinks that should supposedly help me more than regular caffine. It’s blue. So that’ll be interesting. Blue caffine. Muwahahaha.
meh. My stomach is roiling in a non-painful way now. And my head is settling in, like an egg cracking evenly on all sides and gently compressing. The whole vision thing is a little funny too.
I should probably get going to bed now. …Sigh. Alright.
…Ima call that handsome devil up there in Moscow. Au revoir.
