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devine Jul 2018
i am me
you are you
let me be
you have no clue

stop talking like you understand
i'm tired of swimming toward your dreams
i can hear my heart stop beating
drowning in my own feelings
a shattered mind lost in sand
catastrophe appears on my screens

but i'm no God
no one in particular
the most ordinary thing
full of aspirations
and colors

i'm not going back to the corner
i'm gonna run farther
i'm gonna make it better

the fire ignites
the ocean send its waves
raw emotion spilled into motion
it's not broken it's golden

why should i listen to others
when i own the colors
it's not only a caption
it's satisfaction

all the beautiful colors
took a long time to show
i do not fear it
i do not hate it

i'm proud
i'm shining colors
you can never see
Margar Nov 2014
Long shot. Background: School At night. Dim lights. After dance.

Angie, Yanni, and Maria walk home, laughing and being jocular.

Maria, right. Angie, Middle. Yanni, left.

(joyous): That was just a-maz-ing! Did you guys have fun?
Yanaiz *(Bored face)
: Eh.
Maria: Yeah. (bored sigh) I guess that was fun. I'm really tired though. (yawns)
Angie: (Wears a happy facade.) So you guys want to come to the dance next month?
Yanni, Maria (vexed): Sure?
Yanni (says it in a long sigh): I'm pretty bored, let's change the topic. (not bored anymore, she was bored with the party talk but is now gleeful that they will change the topic) Okay? Okay.

Camera shot: Close shot- enough for the three girls' faces to show.

Maria (looking forward to any topic that doesn't relate to the party): Okay, what do you guys want to talk about.
Angie (sarcastic): I dunno. I just want to talk about Nash.
Yanni (jokingly mad): No, no, no, no, no. You say that word one more time girl, and I'll slap you.
Maria (somewhat exited): Let's talk food. No, let's go eat food. (eh face)* I didn't like the cookies.  Any suggestions?
Angie (hungry face): Ooooo. Corvette Diner.
Yanni (ambiguous)  : I love all food. I can go anywhere. But, yeah, that's sounds delicious.
Maria and Yanni do a hi-five.
Angie (as if Nash were there): I heard Nash likes that restaurant.
Yanni (annoyed, consternated): Will you quit it with that Nash Grier already? Enough is enough.
Angie (happy, anxious/eager): But, Oh. My. G--
Yanni (jocular, but mad): Forget him chicken fingers.
Maria (anxious, eager): Do they sell chicken fingers there? Ah (gasps). They do!
Yanni(joking): No? I haven't gone to that place or even heard of it. I just called Angie chicken fingers because she looks like one. Am I right? Angie, do they sell chicken fingers at the Ferrari Diner?
Angie (exited): Corvette Diner? Yeah!
Maria (anxious): I told you so!

They all start laughing on their way to the Corvette diner. Cars pass through.

With this, the (two) murderers, were behind them. Hiding.

They come up behind them. They girls turn around.

Video in slow motion when they face the murderers.

Screen turns black and the audience hears ****** screams.

Screen goes on again and the three girls are on the floor.

Screen goes black again.

Screen reappears and it has captions saying, "13 year, 13 days later, at 13:12 PM." Showing the clock changes to 13:13. where Angie's tomb lies. Video in panorama.

Realstic: Right after it turns to 13:13, exactly 13 seconds after, it happens. Builds suspense.

Wide screen shot. A lightning hits the tomb in the 13th second on the time.

Make Angie look like a ghost, faded picture.

Next shot:
Angie watches over where her friends are, (university) but they can't see there because she is a ghost. She talks to them but no one listens. She looks over to the people who ever bullied her.

Angie:(walks over) (whispering in ear of one of the bullies) I bet you never were sorry. (snickers) So why should I?

Angie pokes the bully and walks away.

Angie: (Careless laugh.) You better start saying you goodbyes. You will be gone at 13:13:13. No more, no less.

Bully looks around and spots Angie, but doesn't do anything.

Next shot: Bully's house. Picture focused on clock on counter, bully on background collapses at 13:13:13.

Video is close to ending...

Captions go on (two slides) saying:
1st caption: Angie finds one of her murderers 13 years later on a Friday...

2nd caption: She found the second murderer 13 years later, on the thirteenth day of October...

Last caption indicating end to the film-
They both died on the thirteenth second of the thirteenth minute of the thirteenth hour. The day Angie found them.....

While the last caption is on, audio says again in Angie's voice,
"I bet you were never sorry (pause), so why should I?" (laughs lightly)

The End, or is it?
Photography class script for Halloween. I'll be adding to this. Horror story. I will add the horror as time passes by. It's a script.

You Won't Have Time to Blink. Once you see her, you you know your dead. Actually, you won't be able to think you are going to die. The one and only thing she seeks, is revenge over her murderers.
I caption this
'The Kiss'

A greeting
lips that meet
tongues that touch
arms around you holding tight
such is the kiss,
not a marble statue
not Rodin's
just a man's
Higgs Nov 2012
If you really are
The great celebrity
That you claim to be
Why do you need
A caption on the screen
To tell me who you are?

You're not.
So go away
And do something

Who knows,
The next time you're on the screen,
You won't need a caption
We'll all know who you are.

More importantly
So will you.
yes you can mention how cold it is
Though you can't expressly show the cold.
literally breaching my innocence
To capture your heart.

we don't count memories of love
much as they greatly shine in our lives
only the wonders of how its started
reflects its stages in flow.

Time developes it and so does it fade with it
worse than a burial
laying ....the dangers of s waterfall
tameable on probability
a nightmare of a swim on land.
For stale appearance I don't give a fig
since I won't see my friend for quite some while
but wit and humour always are in style
and I have grown to like this sort of gig.
Put on some hair, the deal is not so big
as you imagine. I do not revile
the belly laugh, nor yet the honest smile
since I am me beneath the longest wig.
In prose or verse the sentiment is true
that we're the grace that we have got to lend
to each occasion where the good may meet
to speak a while and give good peace its due
in wintertime. Still all fine things must end
and happy moments pass with foot too fleet.
Lumi Nov 2018
She'll cry a little glitter,
Drips into her coffee.
Post it on Twitter,
Caption: "Do you really want me?"
A cry for help masked by pink lips and golden eyelids.
Tawanda Mulalu Sep 2014
She captioned his heart like she captioned
her own pictures of herself:

seemingly profound but obvious
and unrelated to whatever
touch-screen-camera-phone-app filter she used
to unshade her blackness,
his blackness,
their blackness; with digital
skin-lightening cream.

As if to be dark was a sin.

And so she edited herself
to forgive herself.
Because Jesus had eyes the colour of her contact lenses.

Because to be holy is to be arbitrary.
Because to caption his heart like she captioned herself
was easier than to just ask for his soul
through a no make-up selfie.

        Or whatever else she thinks is actually her,
        but still isn't.
Admittedly, a lot of cameras really don't do justice to us darker types... But still.

A friend of mine wrote a kind-of-response to this poem. It's really clever:
Pen Lux May 2011
you're the same as I remembered you:
                                                            ­ eyes like daggers
                                               swim towards my barefeet
it's almost summer again: it's too hot to hold you, or
                                                              ­         anyone.
sighs about tomorrow: "you're just going to fall asleep again."
I avoid the mess and go straight for the spill: lips. eyes. brain.
you're the lipstick on my coffee cup, the smell of smoke after a house burns down.
she screams about the horses, the costumes, the memories:
                                                       ­                                         I tell her to be quiet.
"just shut your mouth! just shut your god ****** mouth!" and again,
                                                                ­                              "you're hideous" in a different way.
the anger moistened breath (shouting)
released her from the frenzy of being herself.  
                                                      ­                   standing in front of you, arms shaved and knees lotioned:
"thank you", from the voice of insanity,
signed on the back of a handmade book
with your name on it.                                                          exit­: left ear right ear left ear right ear left here.
Words like ghosts      they go straight     through her.
lack of empathy lack of mourning lack of desire lack of satisfaction
it all goes down the drain: in this house
                                          (clogged with hair [it doesn't matter who's, so don't ask]).
the boredom cries out (again) with freedom
                                                         ­            and instead we call it "relaxation".
(things we think
but we never think)                                  
to say: I lost the meaning of vacation counting license plates on the way to Texas.
(would bring back more than just the dead)
it would bring us                     back to dead,
and death would say
(something ringing in our ears) that we understand.
              that we understand the things we want to,
whatever they may be,
and then maybe:                   in death
                               we can find peace.
ZWS Mar 2015
What do you feel when you jot down that stark syntax
Do you feel full in your stomach of pretentious factions
Building your philosophy with Lincoln logs and political tactics
What a young poet feels when he's unsure of what his feelings mean and what to write in between those brackets
Laying to rest past selves in a row of six feet deep holes lined with caskets

Sometimes the words we write have more meaning than we put to them
Funny how a letter or a word can make a difference in self
Life can be like reading a book and putting it back on the shelf
Or the shelf gnome right next to it that stares back but doesn't
You give false meaning when you don't know how to feel
That's why the best poems are rewritten and not written
That why I'm on top of this world,

and im flying, not sitting
B FUR Apr 2014
Take a look
At this decade's eternal light.
Youth, beauty, happiness.
In theory.
Is that how it was for our parents?

Top tags on this website
#depression #suicide #heartbreak
Are grandma's photo albums fairytales
Or has something changed

Without shame
Unmarked blame
Just a change

Perseverance died
At the doorstep of sarcastic self-deprecation,
Cool-to-be-lame facades,
Glorified depression, growing vines on glowing laptop walls
With a generation, fetal position, ripped jeans and eyeliner, inside

Self proclaimed ****
If you say it first
Those twisted lips of others
Won't press on such a fresh wound

And here we lose the metaphor

Cut yourself
So everyone else
Is picking at scabs

No one would hurt another
Who hurts themselves
Unless they're an ***
So the words are silenced
Are you stronger? Happier? Healthier?

And so we can always be safe
In our self loathing
Until puppy eyes and perfect pictures
Leave us hungry
Hurt by the people who don't mind being *****
Gaining assets, stealing rights from under
Our droopy dismal noses snapshot
Caption: **** up, let down, repeat. Hate me.
-politicians and companies will bash your head on rock bottom
Looking up in disbelief at chemical burns from Big Mac's
We'll look back down to pout about our pain.

The only way to save ourselves?
Though I conveyed none of those emotions in this poem.
**** me.
I'm a hypocrite. But my point still stands.
Perhaps even stronger.
This is extremely negative and scattered, but I spent so long writing it I'm going to post it anyway. I can't believe what a hypocrite I am. I hope I make sense to at least one person. This also seems so mean when reading it but wow it's not supposed to be. I need to shut up and stop being so insecure about my writing and terrified of offending people. PHEW. WHY AM I RANTING SO MUCH I MIGHT JUST WRITE A MINI NOVEL. HERE. IN THE NOTES SECTION. This poem made me see how extreme my hypocrisy is when it comes to self insulting and just generally bringing myself down. I'm going start improving as of NOW! So yes, this poem is negative and scattered, yes I fear I haven't gotten across my thoughts at all, but I worked on this poem for a good while. I've gotten a **** load out of writing it and look I'm in all this reflection and self improvement because of, perhaps, a sub par poem. And I feel ******* fantastic. I feel so fine about myself right now I'm on the verge of talking about my much deeper insecurities in this little ******* note that's now longer than the actual thing I'm posting. Hahahaa I have 4 followers (hi Daniel) this is essentially a diary entry, but I don't care if 10,000 people see this!
I'm scared of disgusting people. Of course in a physical way with my appearance, but I'm mostly scared of a disgust different from that. I'm afraid of disgusting people with my confidence. I fear that if I'm laughing loudly, speaking my mind, or doing weird **** in public then people will think I'm confident. And they'll look at me with disgust because they can clearly see there's nothing for me to be confident about. They'll see me as a freak saying stupid and embarrassing things but my confidence blinds me and so I make a fool of myself while being silently pitied. And so for a long time I put myself down, to assure others I KNOW, I'M NOT BLIND, I SEE I'M A ******* IDIOT and I tried to portray as little confidence as possible because it felt better to act knowledgable about my flaws than act confident about, well, just existing. So I suppose a lot of this poem is about my old attitude, but I see that attitude in so many people I know and in this trendy teenage "alternative" media crap. Perhaps I'm putting my own thoughts behind the stuff I see, I don't know. I FEEL CONFIDENT IN THE VIBE I'M GETTING SO YEAH MAYBE I THINK I DO KNOW. YEAH. I have 3% battery. It's 2 32 am. This was an absurd adventure into my stream of consciousness, if anyone took the ride with me, I hope this brings some reflection for you as well :)
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I got no more ***** on my arms, vaginal schemes and gospel psalms. Very private skinny tribes, lit up with oversized black lights. In the very end, everybody walks this way, they all move like idioms, they all wanna be lit up like stars. Some could be prevalent like cascading dreams, nauseous just like mesquite BBQ baby-back wings.

Fly away little bird, fly away. But don't try to leave
Or you won't get paid.

I know very well, just what kinda caption your capsaicin
Can be, lit up like honey blunts, golden stars on top of your christmas tree. Strawberry Swisher Sweets, Blueberry Dunhill flavors, poke your hand through the fence, make friendly on your neighbors. If you like Kimmel Live, Conan at Midnight too, recipes for the zombies, SS ****** Youth. Blow-up and be a party. Get off work and drink your check. Get down, get off- I'll show you. Just how Martin pays the rent.
Ocean Carter Jun 2015

Growing up I never liked the nights, As a child it signified the end of play with the rule that you had to be indoors at dawn.

I remember the evil  ticking sound of the tremulous hands of time as we were separated from our friends,
with the sun wrapping up in the fragrant petals of the freezing cold nights.

A spirit locked inside a world of silence and pure nothingness.
The hot fire sparks assaulting my fragile skin of the hands over the fire at the compulsory fireplace,It's  streaks of sorrow still trace their way into my soul.

Until the day [God knows when] I saw the beauty of colors blending together, forming a magical hue through (You guessed it.)
a cheap camera lens.

Sunset is twice as beautiful through a camera lens.

Now more than ever I go sit at my betch, snap the beautiful sunsets, and caption them with a nervous pulse knowing it’ll soon end. Only fair since nothing lasts forever.

Darkness closes in, the fun begins. I reach for your hand.
"Come with me into darkness."
Philipp K J Dec 2018
It was funny to see banners Wishing Happiness displayed with cinematic glamour, the pictures of liberty-Banner heroes.
But the one at Tannery Road junction was peculiar to mention

Here it was common
The captions Happy followed by names of sundry festivals
Local  and national.
But in bold print the name of a hero ARUMALAI outshined the caption and the hero's larger than life picture embellished with the photographer's digital brushing skills.

A passer by wondered who'd be this Arulumalai, Is he so great to be so advertised?
An ardent social worker working for social needs?

His deeds may be greater than these banners'd project.
But never ever heard of him anywhere than in these frequent banners at the Tannery road junction.

Each one passed by his casual glance attracted
provoking  protracted ruminance
What this expensive banners do?
In another occasion
the  glaring glorifying picture of ARUMALAI followed the tag Corporator
posing like a DICTATOR.

Banners changed with seasons with the wishes for Religious festivals
For reasons

But one day a strange banner took the place at Tannery junction
Not wishing a festival of any kind
But a notice stating the sad demise of ARUMALAI the BBMP corporator.

"He was sick and the local dispesery advised a minor operation.
He was administered
The necessary treatments. But referred to a super-speciality centre and his sad demise was advertised, he was forty.
His chummies complained of medical negligence", was the only news summery in major news papers...

What was the reason for the minor surgery
What're the preparations for the corporator's  operation
All are mystery for a  causal itinerary passer by
at the Tannery road  junction who wonder at the type of banners that come and go to brood for a while, the stopping time over red signal, till the green comes for him to keep passing by....
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
You rocking with killers
Rocking with the realist
Rolling around gorillas
So how you going to get us
Yeah they call me greek
Yeah they call me greek
Riding around with hottest
I don't own no jeeps
Catch me up in that c05
Catch me up in that ride
Bad ***** on my side
Yall ****** wonder why
Man i rolling, man im rolling
Money man, im throwing
Dont catch me up in that stop
Yall ****** better know im on it
It don't need no intro
Make shawty go get low
Been real since 89
That shawty already know so
Started from the bottom
Now catch me up on that spot
Riding around with drizzy
We buying out those lots

[Hook: Drake]
Got everything, I got everything
I cannot complain, I cannot
I don't even know how much I really made, I forgot, it's a lot
**** that, never mind what I got, ***** don't watch that cause I
Came up, that's all me, stay true, that's all me
No help, that's all me, all me for real
Came up, that's all me, stay true, that's all me
No help, that's all me, all me for real

[Verse 1: 2 Chainz]
Money on my mind, you should think the same
J's on, pinky ring
******* these hoes, I need quarantine
In the same league, but we don't ball the same
(Ah) She want all the fame, I hear that **** all the time
She said she love me, I said, "Baby girl, fall in line"
Okay, made a million, off of denim, ****, watch me switch it up
Walked in, "Ill ***** alert! Ill ***** alert!"
You need that work, I got that work, got ******* in my condo
Just bought a shirt that cost a Mercedes-Benz car note
From the A to Toronto, we let the metal go off
And my **** so hard it make the metal detector go off
This that sauce, this that dressing, Givenchy, ***** God bless you
If having a bad ***** was a crime, I'd be arrested (True)


[Verse 2: Drake]
I touched down in '86
Knew I was a man by the age of 6
I even ****** the girl that used to babysit
But that was years later on some crazy ****
I heard your new ****, ***** hated it
Damon Wayans, homie don't play that ****
I get paid a lot, you get paid a bit
And my latest **** is like a greatest hits
*******, ain't no wishing over on this side
Y'all don't **** with us, then we don't **** with y'all
It's no different over on this side
*******, should I listen to everybody or myself?
Cause myself just told myself
"You're the ******* man, you don't need no help"
Cashing checks and I’m bigging up my chest
Y'all keep talking ‘bout who next
But I’m about as big as it gets
I swear y'all just wasting y'all breath
I’m the light skinned Keith Sweat
I'mma make it last forever
It’s not your turn ‘cause I ain't done yet
Look, just understand that I’m on a roll like Cottonelle
I was made for all of this ****
And I’m on the road box office sales
I’m getting paid for all of this ****
Ask you to please excuse my table manners
I was making room for the table dancers
‘Cause if we judging off your advances
I just got paid like eight advances


[Verse 3: Big Sean]
**, shut the **** up!
I got way too much on my mental, I learn from what I've been through
I'm finna do what I didn't do and still waking up like the rent's due
Not complicated, it's simple, I got **** ladies, a whole Benz-full
And to them hoes I'm everything -- everything but gentle
But I still take my time, man, I guess I'm just old fashioned
Wearing retro ****, that's old fashioned
*****, see what I'm saying, no closed caption
I paint pics, see the ****, good ***, need to hit
Keep a broad on the floor year 'round like season tickets
I plead the fifth, drink a fifth
Load the nine, leave you split, in the half, smoke a half, need a zip
My new girl is on Glee and ****, probably making more money than me and ****
I swear to God I got 99 problems but a ***** ain't one
I got 99 problems, getting rich ain't one
Like I got trust issues, I'm sorry for the people I've pushed out
I'm the type to have a bullet-proof ****** and still gotta pull out
But that's just me, and I ain't perfect, I ain't a saint but I am worth it
If it's one thing, I am worth it, ****** still hating but it ain't working
Lil' *****...

[Verse 4: Drake]
Oh me, oh me, oh my
I think I done ****** too many women from the 305
Before the end of this year, I'll do King of Diamonds three more times
Smoking on that kush all in our section like it's legalized
Girl, you can't always have your way, sometimes it be like that
They dont really **** with you like that, they ain't never did me like that
I just took my time, you got your shine, I let you eat like that
I've been taught to never loan somebody what you need right back
And I need that **** right back? (no more free Randy)
I’m blessed than a *******
****** been stressed than a *******
****** getting nervous, clutching they chests like a *******
**** that’s a *******
Tell the truth, I don’t listen to you
‘Cause I don’t like being lied to
And that ship won’t sail
And that wind won’t guide you
Daddy was in jail we was talking through the window like a ******* drive-thru
That was back then man, now my ****** rich enough to do whatever I do
I love this song..."All Me" by Drake ft. 2 Chainz ft. Big Sean ft., i love Big Sean's part! :D
Jenni Jun 2014
A picture of your dog
With the caption
"Are you doing anything this weekend?"

As trivial as it seems
No message has ever given me
More hope
I have to work this weekend. But I wish I didn't.
In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist's waiting room.
It was winter.  It got dark
early. The waiting room
was full of grown-up people,
arctics and overcoats,
lamps and magazines.
My aunt was inside
what seemed like a long time
and while I waited and read
the National Geographic
(I could read) and carefully
studied the photographs:
the inside of a volcano,
black, and full of ashes;
then it was spilling over
in rivulets of fire.
Osa and Martin Johnson
dressed in riding breeches,
laced boots, and pith helmets.
A dead man slung on a pole
"Long Pig," the caption said.
Babies with pointed heads
wound round and round with string;
black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light bulbs.
Their ******* were horrifying.
I read it right straight through.
I was too shy to stop.
And then I looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date.
Suddenly, from inside,
came an oh! of pain
--Aunt Consuelo's voice--
not very loud or long.
I wasn't at all surprised;
even then I knew she was
a foolish, timid woman.
I might have been embarrassed,
but wasn't.  What took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth.
Without thinking at all
I was my foolish aunt,
I--we--were falling, falling,
our eyes glued to the cover
of the National Geographic,
February, 1918.

I said to myself: three days
and you'll be seven years old.
I was saying it to stop
the sensation of falling off
the round, turning world.
into cold, blue-black space.
But I felt: you are an I,
you are an Elizabeth,
you are one of them.
Why should you be one, too?
I scarcely dared to look
to see what it was I was.
I gave a sidelong glance
--I couldn't look any higher--
at shadowy gray knees,
trousers and skirts and boots
and different pairs of hands
lying under the lamps.
I knew that nothing stranger
had ever happened, that nothing
stranger could ever happen.

Why should I be my aunt,
or me, or anyone?
What similarities
boots, hands, the family voice
I felt in my throat, or even
the National Geographic
and those awful hanging *******
held us all together
or made us all just one?
How I didn't know any
word for it how "unlikely". . .
How had I come to be here,
like them, and overhear
a cry of pain that could have
got loud and worse but hadn't?

The waiting room was bright
and too hot.  It was sliding
beneath a ******* wave,
another, and another.

Then I was back in it.
The War was on.  Outside,
in Worcester, Massachusetts,
were night and slush and cold,
and it was still the fifth
of February, 1918.
Jack May 2014
A skeleton in a fingerprint
A dancing bag of bones
A cantilever shade of gray
A prisoner all alone
A silent pulsing partner
A drift this blot of ink
A catch phrase in the darkness
A caption on the brink
A blistered swirl of images
A channeled mystery
A skeleton in a fingerprint
A different piece of me
he held up a dead coyote
like he had just won first prize
smiling from ear to ear
a look of pride in his eyes

the caption said "predator control"
which brought a question to my mind
if we call survival being a predator
then what do we call our kind?
posted this a year ago, but it hardly got any attention...posting again to remind myself of why i write
P-Røšę Pøę Jul 2019
is a caption

It's not
where you
have been;
it's where
that you
are going

Change course
if the
road ahead
is cloaked
in despair

But just remember;

every road
that you
is in need
of repair
Flawed are we in totality
judy smith Jul 2016
The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at: |
Amelia Crake Jul 2014
"No caption <3"
gives the picture
a caption.
You're so
My god.
George Anthony Apr 2016
00:31 and it's been about an hour since i saw you'd removed the word "happiness" from your caption
and ever since then it's been all i can do to
overthink; it's all i can ever do
wondering if, maybe, just maybe, you'd finally seen what i see
how i am not good enough for you

i lose myself inside these thoughts at night when loneliness is my only company
and darkness is my only right hand man, doing me no wrong
i think about the times i've held your hand and then suddenly
he hugs me tighter than anybody ever has, darkness, that old friend of
mine - something which you are yet to be... hopefully
i'd be yours, too, if you'd have me

but i'm overthinking again, just always overthinking
you said you needed time before we could begin now i'm starting to think we never will
i get the need for space, i really do
i'm just so insecure i feel like i'll be replaced by you


you give me panic attacks

and i think about you, your smile, your laugh
how you removed "happiness" from your caption on that photo of us
and now i'm wondering if i was the one that did it somehow, thinking maybe i ****** up already
how is it that we're not even together and i can already feel myself rattling
my nerves responding to a break-up that hasn't even happened
i guess that's just part of how broken i really am

i closed my eyes and let my head hit the pillow three hours ago
how is it that i'm more wide awake now than i was then?
all i want to do is sleep yet here i am
my mind a merciless prison - i tell you: thinking murders me
i'm begging you to figure yourself out before my paranoid anxiety does it for you

i'm such an impatient man
patience is a virtue, they say, and i guess i have neither
patience nor virtue
just another of the many ways that
i'm not good enough
for you.
Hal Loyd Denton Sep 2012
I forgot to send your card


The impetus for writing this piece beside the natural reason as the title describes and that entails a
Deeper look at the flowers that I wrote about and then this natural connection occurred a photographer
Placed a rose in a pose lying in water and at the front the water added the magic at the tip the rose
Became liquid it seemed to be dissolving it was fluid and melting she wrote this caption for the picture
Liquid rose pouring out my heart that was my feeling about those I wrote about in sorry your flowers are
Late and then the dreaded phone call my wife’s brother was given two weeks more to live after his
Leukemia was holding a steady pattern so now I write this with the specter of death standing over me
Possibly it will make what I say more rich and true maybe more aware than even before in this life it is
Always the surface that gets the first and most attention objects and things that we move through daily
But I want to go deeper into that which is in flux and that which is fluid emotion and feeling the first one
Stood by me in the alley I thought we were observing great heavy snow flakes fall but I was in a place of
Kindred knowing truth I knew little and she was my teacher I stood by a mere girl some will say but truly
I was standing in the presence and promised kisses of future women I learned gentleness and respect for
The opposite gender how to possess your mind it’s not always a free for all keep something in reserve
It creates interest that will pay rich dividends I learned kindness and the sweet ripples it sends into a
World of discord I found out how to be amazing with just small gestures I could go on and on but she
Taught me about that to and I shouldn’t give away women’s greatest secret I will say just this and no
More to love a women gives wealth and wisdom of the ages the second flower leave it to God’s knowing
Of what you need our fathers were not related but they were twins in many ways you can look at their
Failings and lambast them but you can’t look on them and not love them I don’t care what they failed to
Do it was the inviting of their presence it was just to the bone honesty my friend had that common bond
Of having openly imperfect fathers we still defended and loved them this made our friendship stronger
We played off of one another for this essential need to look and find the good that was weighted by
Alcoholic debris I’m proud of my friend’s accomplishments in life and his rich and strong family I still
Need to feed on those helps to center my own life he says his name is a dog’s name don’t think so you
Old dog the next you learn about love personally and then from myriad sources but I got to learn it at its
Tiniest fount small bicycles and the very young are messengers oh God why are you so good to me
Without inhibitions they see truth mind you they don’t get the swagger what’s that all about anyway
She through clear eyed innocence sees a hero in one who projects a commanded aura if you really look  
Believe me the looking is at and end it’s the heart of knowing that has kicked in they brag of their ability
To weigh matter of different kinds can you do it with a heart that loves nothing is missed all tells its
Secrets on this scale the heaviest weight is to love and then not be taken serious because you are to
Young one day when heavens books are opened it will have something to say quiet rich and wonderful
About young love though now she is older of course but the tenderness produced way back then is so
Obvious today what glory hides in the loveliness of friends now the birthday girl herself I hope this will
Square me for the late card to write of her is to speak of stillness that radiates peace a trusting that
Spreads like the quiet of a winter’s morn with new falling snow to speak loudly in her presence what
Harsh disregard you would show you would bear the mark of one who is brutish when in a garden of
Flowers does one raise his voice no you speak in hushed tones that revere elegance and beauty you
Show the quality that has affected you and your admiration the mountain meadow contributes to
Nature's wonder as she spills into the enthralling waiting world she attests to its goodness she cultivates
Possibilities she holds court on lands not recognized as walked on by kings and queens I have found this
To be contradictive if you walked in my shoes and see with my eyes you might tempted to bow in the
Presence of such charm and grace isn’t that what royalty is any way they do a lot of talking about
Streaming she is a precious dream and dreamer that is still there when you awaken God bless you
Precious one do I pine in shadows no I cry in the sun light for these blessings that are mine
I drown out your voice by not caring about you anymore.
Keith J Collard Jul 2012
In flight, cloud pours winged ink,
feathered in atmospheric caption,
in and out, as a cursor blinks,
gliding portal-- ground casting.

a falling feather stroking air,
day's mind--now nigrescence,
torch waving in drip drop lair,
corvid "kaaw"--all sides pressing.

blackness: it is infinite cursive,
folded 'round a writer's eyes.
A hearse' undulating curtain,
the wings-- as the crow flies.
sound of the internal chasm,
shamen of post-mortem height,
feathered pen will spasm,
with morsel--writhing in and out of light.
SE Reimer Feb 2015

he sings to her
in floral bloom,
melodic language
all his own;
his magnolia
blossoms heralding
the rays of warmth,
his utterance to come.
its shyly spreading pink,
and softly budding green,
proof enough
to her aching heart
that winter's cold
cannot for long contain,
within its icy grip
any life that
from their union came.
for deep within
these roots,
yet he lives again
in breathing form;
that every year
til him she holds,
winter's loss
must yield to spring.

she beholds
this heralding;
as with slowly,
warming heart
she tilts her ear,
waiting for
this dearest voice.
for to her ears alone
and to her heart only
a rising medley,
tender melody,
a lullaby returned,
to her...
for her...
he begins
to sweetly sing,
his magnolia lullaby.



post script.

*inspired by a dear friend's photo and accompanying caption...
"Logan's magnolia showing her first winter bloom."
a remembrance of her title bequeathed at his birth;
a reminder of his legacy that has not, will not ever end.
Will Mercier Aug 2012
Hers was the first face I found
freshman year at FSU.
I'll always remember that garish orange and green gator shirt,
and pin with the picture of a bulldog,
hanging from a noose.
I thought, oh Jeez, she's got school spirit,
and I shuddered at the image,
of cheerleaders, and sports stars, recieving preferential treatment,
but my first impression was far from the mark.

She had a smile for miles and eyes to match.
And a laugh that could shatter a frown.
And she laughed any chance she got.
The few pictures I have left of her,
she is laughing and smiling in each...
That big toothy smile,
and that magical laugh...

I remember the first time she kissed me.
I was playing my guitar on campus,
back when everybody did it,
not just pretentious *******
trying to show off.
She came up behind me,
and did the old hands over the eyes routine,
and of course I knew her voice immediately.
She turned my head and kissed me,
for the first time,
and I could hear the whispering,
and feel everyone's eyes on me,
and it felt pretty **** good.
How I wished someone had snapped a picture,
for the FSView, with the caption
" Future valedictorian kisses scruffy hippy freshman.
Entire student body baffled."

I was baffled.

She was the talk of the campus,
she spoke her mind always,
and she was active all over the campus,
doing this and that.
I asked her one day,
"Why do you make your life so complex,
when do you rest?"
and she said
"My life used to be complex, because I made it that way.
But believe it or not, with all I do around campus,
really my life is simple and fun. If I didn't love what I am doing
I would stop Will. Life is too short for complexity."

I laughed, and I thought to myself,
this woman is more complex than she lets on.

We went out for my entire freshman year,
but she graduated my sophmore year,
and she got a job in London, and she moved away that summer.
I said I would visit...I never did..
She said she would write...she did, once,
to tell me she was getting married,
she even invited me, but of course I didn't go..
She enclosed a photo of her and her fiance,
and it was clear what she saw in him..
he had a smile almost as big as hers,
and of course she was smiling too..
Of all the images burned into my memory
that picture is the one that hurts me most.

I wrote back, wishing her luck, and I told her I couldn't come,
I never heard from her again, but I prayed that night,
that he would treat her right, and if he took away her smile,
I prayed he would suffer, until he put it back.

Every time I close my eyes, I see that picture...
that smile...
I hope she's smiling, even as I write these words.
Caption this,
loving touch and
how to caption
missing you so very much.
dean Aug 2018
I am sick.

My nose is stuffy
My throat is sore
Headaches & fever
Loss of hearing in my right ear

But there's more than that.

My stomach begs for food when I do not feel hungry.
I shiver and curl in on myself and say that it's alright.
Lies spill from my mouth like a waterfall.
This body is home to more darkness than this world has ever seen.
I am unsure how to ask my doctor why this is happening.
When asked before why my dress size went from an 18 to a 14 so quickly, I could not give an answer.

This is my last year of high school and I know what is safe to have.
How much orange juice to have without going over 100.
Where I can sit without my friends finding me.
Who to give my food to that won't ask questions.
Classes to miss because sometimes, it's too much.
I know who keeps an extra jacket all year round.
Which bathrooms are okay for shoving my fingers down my throat.

But I still don't know how to type a report on this illness and explain why I did not have any sources cited.
How to tell a teacher that the quotes are from me and other people that I had gotten tips from.
A group chat full of screaming teenagers who are all just dying to be thinner, to go down just one-two-seven more sizes.
Instagram accounts full of inspirational pictures and advice for the caption, occasionally posting a check of themselves.
Websites that have been deleted by now that I had spent hours looking at and writing rules from.

How am I supposed to tell a teacher that....
My report was so well written because I was my main source of information?
I can't look at foods and drinks without seeing numbers?
I can't look in a mirror without wanting to cry?
I view food as poison to my body?
I sleep in class so often because my body is lacking the nutrients it needs to keep going?
I have been like those screaming teenagers for years and as much as I say that I'm better, I will always be like them?

How do I explain to my teacher I'm slowly killing myself and I can't stop it?

At least my report was turned in on time. That's all that matters to them.
I had to study eating disorders and mental health issues for school and it didn't go so well and I ended up writing this...
preservationman Mar 2014
Up in the air the parachute went
Droplet in gold and came in a box being sent
The Gold parachute shined from above
There were many ideas one could think of
As the parachute dropped down
The parachute sparkled all around
Two couples kissing in the parachute in descend
A romance being started from a different kind of blend
A parachute reading, “SPREAD LOVE TO ALL”
The parachute descended safely down to land
It became its own fanfare.

One Day is there of the Series
Termed Thanksgiving Day.
Celebrated part at Table
Part in Memory.

Neither Patriarch nor *****
I dissect the Play
Seems it to my Hooded thinking
Reflex Holiday.

Had there been no sharp Subtraction
From the early Sum—
Not an Acre or a Caption
Where was once a Room—

Not a Mention, whose small Pebble
Wrinkled any Sea,
Unto Such, were such Assembly
’Twere Thanksgiving Day.
Joel Johnson Feb 2016
When the world ends
and we all stand
sayeth "dost thou"
for dost thou say
we shall

In the end
we seek to exist
to begin again
and then we pray
hoping it will all end

Then again
dare I say
to seek
to hear
to wonder
dare I long for the word
to dream

What sayest thou, almighty?
Shall it be
or will it set me free

Free of the world
free to be
free, just as me
and you
seeking for ways
never to see it through

To the bitter end
it has already begun

But at the end
it only serves to begin again

When will it send
I seek as thou knowest
and when you try to say
all I see again
is the bitterness of the end

Does it all mean
to be
or to be as it was

Where again will I find
the thrills that were once on my mind
these days they do nothing,
not even dream

And in dreams they say
it's more of the same
as they seek change
to have it all remain again

I should keep going
for no one knows
and if I look back
I'll fear hitting send

Who cares
or do they even mean
to mean what they mean

Do they even see
that in between there is
and always will be
stillness therein

On days I wonder
I bother to say all these nothings
and would have it no other way

What will they read now
into the nothing that was said
should it be written
words spoken
to have it all said again

Would they even wonder?
Do they even know?
Can they even fathom?
Can they ever know?

What does it all mean
all this that's said to be
I dare not think again
for nothing there will let me do
as I please
but oh please
it still means nothing to me

When the cold of a winter's storm
when all that passes begins to fade
when solemn hands do cry
oh what a winter's night
but never will they delight
in pleasures left behind

Does it mean what I say
do I even say it to mean
that some have wondered
and oh what a dream

I should keep going
this is the end
never again do I want it to send
to have it all begin again

it's logic
what then?

Epic the epics
for one said as such
and though it's the same
ne'er the twain shall meet.

You're that piece of meat
I heard, so I say again
I wish I'll never eat
and as the stars have fallen
it's granted as a promise still
for it never was
to be again.
emily Sep 2018
mantra and insolence hand in hand
intercepting the idea of the baby boy crush applying to me like kinetic sand
barbie dolls at the marriott
saccharine jewels in the sewers rot
the old girlie i had a tap on
lipstick peeling away like a deteriorated vinyl record's song
let the angels waver, barter, become sicker
and quote 'say anything' as if it's a 90s sticker
have *****-stained carpet posted
uploaded to the black market webs
caption it "****** me"
and let the media do the rest
tired of these wicked games
isaac position me with rachel some day
at the mosque, eve and ann is scratched out into the old testament books
pack the bags
let's go
the hilton's booked
etch and sketch situated on the train tracks
along with two birds together
feet lazily dangling
bargaining with god to finish them over
****** denial, toothbrush stuffed in the dog's mouth
ran down the line, kissing him to the south
lost the baby girl along the way
let the dirt do the talking
gargled some milk and jack daniels honey
in large arms, lucid dreaming never seemed so calming
boy crush :/
Sam Po Jul 2014
If, one day,  a fairy went to my room and grant me a wish, I would ask her to give a one day tour at fairy tale land.

First, I will seek Cinderella and introduce her the new released washing machine.  I will give her an elegant Primadonna shoes and create an escalator in Prince Charming's castle for her convenience.

Next, I will wake up Aurora from her nightmare with my full blast metallic rock music. I will give her the gift of gorgeousness and she will be called "The Sleeping Gorgeous".

I  will look for Rapunzel's hidden castle and give her a new pixie cut hair. I will suggest her to have an elevator in her elevated castle. I can endorse her Prince the microphone, so it would be effortless for him to shout  "Rapunzel! Let down your hair".

I will also go to Snow White and add bananas, mangoes and cream to her apple and give her the recipe of fruit salad. To maintain her white skin, I will give her BB cream and cherry red lipstick from Mac, for her kissable lips.

Lastly, I will take a photo with the fairy tale characters and post it on Instagram, with a caption "TOUCH DOWN! FAIRY TALE LAND"
My wild fantasy :p
Jeannette Chin Jul 2011
Gauge Symmetry

It was an eminent arrival: to awake in a definite
location in time and space, involving the single
***** with more zeal than the rest. But where
am I really? Staring at these thorny lines engraved
in my palm during an hour I should be asleep.
I can’t help but think that the love of a life
should have spared me.

A caption below the photograph in the times reads
It’s an illustration of a tactic employed by Hezbollah
and Hamas to use their own civilians as human shields.
And somewhere else laying on rubble, once road, a blood
smeared newspaper ruffles in the breeze, then violently
unfolds from a burst of wind, never to be read, a stray dog
licking a wound pauses and perks it’s ear.

Earlier, in the library I walked the spiral staircase
and traced my fingers down a dusty spine:

It must have been an artificial insemination.

My skull throbs from an inoperable legion
of fractal thoughts which I developed upon listening
to the sounding tremble in Pathetique, too immature
to know the power of what it heard like that time
I foolishly laid my eyes on a carnivorous
tulip, it spat me out alive.

Moon is no comfort, only an aperture. The day
is overexposed and my eyelids clasp
down like a shutter, I try to fall asleep
to remember where I really am and where
I've always been.

— The End —