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Martin Narrod Jun 2014
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.
J M Surgent May 2014
Sarah,
Sarah Sarah,
Sometimes I worry about you Sarah
That your heart’s too big, Sarah
That you’ve moved too fast, Sarah.
That you haven’t let your wounds heal, Sarah.
Do you remember, Sarah,
When your heart felt something for big for me, Sarah?
Then I broke your heart Sarah,
And you cried for weeks, Sarah.
For weeks and weeks, Sarah
Sarah, I hope you don’t forget it Sarah,
Because we don’t want you hurt again, Sarah.
Sarah, please don’t forget the past,
Sarah, please don’t fall in love
Too fast.
If you say a name enough, it sounds weird. Also an old poem I found in a portfolio from a few years ago.
MST May 2014
Looking at you as you lay asleep,
unsure of whether to smile or weep,
for my heart you will always keep,
for you are my shepherd and I am your sheep.
I will follow you until my feet run red,
and I will hold onto you until I am dead,
to leave you fills my heart with dread,
for you are the cure for the cancer in my head.
Your heart is like gold,
resistant to mold,
the cure that I need,
and am lucky enough to receive,
with all the love that you bleed,
to grant me my reprieve.
Words cannot fathom what you have done,
letting me live, as if I am someone.
Someone who deserves the love that you present,
when you are the one who deserves to be content.
So now that I am healed, alive and well,
I will cut out my heart and present it to you,
please do not mind the smell...
for it has been molded for as long as I can tell.
If you continue to scrub it clean,
for you and only you,
my heart will gleam.
Talarah Shepherd Apr 2014
Too much rain for a good day
She dreams the door won't open
There's the scrape of metal again
And the face of a stranger pokes at happiness
Enough to evoke a bright smile from the dead
She's a ***** just as all of us

Her familiar gesture calling in
Sober drones who use her and run
Sarah's familiar gesture calling
Friendly, friendly, always
Dreaming of closings

— The End —