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Zero Nine Jul 2017
Just as a heads up to any of you readers it may concern, I'm abandoning both projects in the header. The Drama of Miriam Marcus is something you may see pop up again, either in its original form, or perhaps as an entirely different project.

Dark Spells was a project born out of the recurrence of a common, deep depressive state that finds me time and time again, one you may notice without my saying. While I often romanticize themes of depression, anxiety, paranoia, self-loathing, and self-destruction, I must point out that I do so because I'm bound to these feelings regardless of stagnation, regardless of agitation. I romanticize my illness simply as a means to survive, as a means to still feel fulfilled as a human despite the haunting emptiness.

That said, recent developments in my personal life have unchained me suddenly, and I'm overwhelmed with the need to embrace the misplaced. Concepts like happiness, curiosity, and wonder are once again nearly tangible. As such, a project as thematically troubling as Dark Spells is not currently a possibility.



TL;DR:
Yo thx for reading. ****'s about to get a little lighter, a little softer, a little warmer. I succcc.
https://giphy.com/gifs/comedy-central-broad-city-xT9DPISFFqVSLRacfe
Zero Nine Jul 2017
She'd gone from discharge straight back to the office, dressed in her sweats and intake band. She got into the elevator, fingered lucky seven, and rode the way up stuck in molasses thoughts, in anger and shame.

She was no one's property, The Agency's least of all.

The neon lights over River City's southeast side popped and sparked, dancing gracefully in the array of dull grey derelicts. She watched them exploding through the safety of the glass.

She'd tell Asgar exactly what she thought.


"I don't give a **** about the why, I give a **** about the how. How could you do that to me, man?"

I was doing you a favor.

"No, don't even -- you were doing your ******* self a favor. "

Oh, of course. We all thought you might like to have some teeth, Miriam.

"Don't say my name like that! I'm not your ******* daughter."

Calm down, okay? Please?

"You made a decision about my body that was not yours to make. If I want to be a toothless crone, that's my business. If I want to have one *** and a ****, that's my ******* business, Asgar. "


And when it was over, as most do, she rode the way home with her head hung below her shoulders, wondering if the words she'd found to say were too true. She wondered, what some wonder, if her truths were better used when they were cut from the script to defuse inconvenient situations.

When she went inside, Miriam threw her keys and her clothes into a pile by the bedroom door, pulled the band from her wrist and then stepped into the shower. She'd go out. If she truly weren't worth her weight, then she'd throw herself to the city, hoping to trade what was left for ***.

And drugs. Drugs, too.
Zero Nine Apr 2017
Miriam Marcus struggles up out of bed. She's caught up in blankets and clothing, stuck with a foot in the sheets. Coffee smell. Pungent, slightly sweet, it pulls her by her shoulders, with its body to the door. Then, sharp and deep, scents of a trashcan floating chicken in its own juice punch her in the nose. In the hall, lights flicker. In front, on the couches, bodies pile up, pile over the room. Get caffeine. Dodge the food spoiling happy on tables, counters, and do what you do as you do. Every day.

What's wrong?
Short. Succinct. Acute.
I never even wanted
this picture.
(You did!)
First smell is a fragrance
soft to my nose.
(Sour cream.)
Will I be number 6 in
this two bedroom
forever? Will I
lose my job?
(Probably.)
What's wrong?
Short. Succinct. Acute.
I never even wanted
this picture.
(You did!)

You wanted this medication,
baby. You can't tell me different,
though you could try. *****,
why you gonna waste my time?
I'm waiting for you, waiting
for you to catch up. While you
play twenties in your thirties
I urge your image using only
raw throated screams, always
unseen behind your head in
floating, incorporeal code!
And it kills that I can't know
(Pour coffee.)
if she'll catch up!
(Ignore it.)
I'll chew her heart into chunks,
(Work day.)
just let me!
I'll eviscerate her, devour her
and **** her out
into a self made five mile hole
in the lonely woods!
Just let me.
....
Take a whiff of your death
As you spritz the liquid over your skin
The liquid that seeps in
You're not going to win

It intoxicates your idle mind
You'll do things you've never done
As it slowly eats into your bloodstream
You should never cross me

This little present will help me presently
Bringing your death to the present
As you collapse on the floor
Dead and reeking of regret
Calhoun Poetry Apr 2015
One day, I saw her with that man and I chose to look away.
She came home and asked me how was my day.
I said very nice thank you.
I asked her what she did today, nothing she said.
Lies.
I saw you with that guy I said,
I know you were in his bed.
I know you think of him when I'm in you,
I swear to god I wish you knew.
That I, I get hurt with these actions that you do.
Is it because I'm a man you thought that I wouldn't care that you cheat,
Did you think since I'm the man I wouldn't care if the kitchen wasn't neat.
But I do,
One day, one day I won't need you.
But I just nod my head and say nothing and walk to the room.
Just thinking about that one day, that one day I won't need you.
Calhoun Poetry Apr 2015
Her
Long hair down to her waist,
Small hips beautiful face.
I love her smile and her smell,
Introduced to her family and I just knew,
That girls like her come far and few.
I need this girl like how in winter I need fur,
And I just know that this is the girl for me and I'm the girl for her.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
I'm not going to tell you something that you haven't heard a million times before,
It's not going to be anything new or inspirational, you won't jump out of your seat but I just want to ask you this one question: Where are you right now... And where do you wish you were?
Now a lot of people complain about where they are in life,
Oh I'm too fat, oh no body likes me, I'm too slow, I'm not strong enough, I'm not smart enough.
But when you ask them how they spend their time it's funny how they never spend time doing the things they say they want to be good at.
A person who hates to be fat spends most of their time eating food, and a person who hates being called dumb only watched tv.
So I say to you,
If you change the way you look at things,
The things you look at change.
Do what you want to do, stop making excuses
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
This little mouse in this house that nobody cares about,
He eats his cheese and cleans his hole and never throws a pout.
This little mouse in this house that always makes a mess,
My mother screams, my brother runs, he's our family's least liked pet.
This little mouse in this house that can barley get a meal,
He has to run and hide from everything and can only eat if he steals.
This little mouse in this house that's just trying to get food for his kids,
I wonder if I traded places with him would I notice how hard his life is.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
The day my heart stops beating will be a mystery,
They'll see me laying there in my bed just smiling.
They'll wonder if I was smiling because of all the rules I've bended,
Or they'll be wondering if I'm smiling because my life had ended.
I'm curious for when I go to sleep - for my very last time,
Will people see me as a blessing or as a freak just like Frankenstein.
Will they rejoice and tell tales of how I lived and drink a big glass of wine,
Or will they dig me in a ditch so deep where no body can find.
I'll never know that's the truth, but that won't stop me from thinking,
What people would think of - of my life - the day my heart stops beating.

Once my time has come, and Marcus has left this Earth,
I'd travel back in time, to see my own birth.
How young so sweet, and innocent,
Before I learned how to talk and be so belligerent.
I learned quickly how to fail and even quicker how to succeed,
I had some cuts, some bruises, and everyone now and again I'd bleed,
But a tear would come to my eye to see how beautiful of a life I'd lead.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
Deep at night in my slumber, I often dream and wonder.
Of a girl so beautiful and sweet she can only exist in my dreams, so pretty and nice she's like your favorite bowl of ice cream.
No one really sees her or notices her like I do, but without her I feel useless, like laces with no shoe.
Her eyes; her hair; I just want to sweep her off her feet, but I must wait a whole day until I go to sleep.
Her beauty cuts through my heart like a silent room with a scream, she's the one for me, this girl of my dreams.
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