Comments Posted By A mere cephalopod
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I had plans for my life, but I knew I would never achieve them. I set goals for myself just to give myself a false sense of direction, some sort of perception that I have a reason to exist, yet I know that in the end I’m not going to achieve anything because I’m watcher, not a doer. I had plans.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 01.24.2012 @ 9:54 pm
Odd how we house horses in an object whose name is supposed to denote tranquility. Perhaps that’s an attempt to control their behavior and thus our own.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 12.02.2011 @ 4:14 pm
Tall people have a tendency to slouch more than short people, I believe, because they’re always bending down to listen and to make eye contact with short people. They also may feel insecure about sticking out of the matrix and in order to compensate for their uniqueness, they slouch back into the foray.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 12.01.2011 @ 7:57 pm
He typed his number into my phone and handed it back to me.
“There,” he said. “Maybe later we can study or something?”
I wanted desperately to grab his shoulders and plant one on his waiting lips, but I took the phone and pocketed it.
“Yeah, sure, let’s study later.”
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 11.22.2011 @ 10:30 pm
We try to eliminate radicals from the denominator, but it’s absolutely acceptable to have radicals in our denominators. As long as the base is sane, we can sprinkle some excitement on top to give our lives meaning.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 10.21.2011 @ 12:52 pm
The beauty of a handshake lies in the harmony of movement, two arms conjoined as one, undulating in a synchronized dance.
» Posted By a mere cephalopod On 10.18.2011 @ 9:48 pm
Emily lit the candles with a flourish, flicking the lighter closed with the back of her thumb. She slid around the counter and leaned over the glossy sheen, the shine of the candles dancing around her eyes.
“Come here, big daddy,” she said.
The cake said nothing as she smashed her face into it.
» Posted By a mere cephalopod On 09.30.2011 @ 12:21 pm
Our common perceptions we believe to be truth, to be concrete evidence, and yet the light waves traveling to our eyes and the sound waves bumping through the air and the smells and tastes and touches that we feel are just perception and nothing more.
» Posted By a mere cephalopod On 09.26.2011 @ 8:31 pm
To incarcerate one’s own son, one must be able to separate emotion from duty. As a Union soldier would gut his Confederate brother with a bayonet, so too must Bartemius Crouch sentence his son to Azkaban.
» Posted By a mere cephalopod On 09.20.2011 @ 2:23 pm
And though he stood on the center of the vast, polished wooden stage with the ribbon on his chest, he felt as though he were an ant crawling upon the face of a meadow, carrying a breadcrumb on his back.
» Posted By a mere cephalopod On 09.10.2011 @ 10:00 pm
She crumbled onto her bed and screamed for hours on end when he left. The rafters rattled, the bed creaked, and the neighbors complained.
It seems that pepper is merely cantankerous in the absence of salt.
» Posted By a mere cephalopod On 09.03.2011 @ 7:54 pm
I came home crying about the speeding ticket that I got. She took one look at me and spat in my eye.
“Get out of my house,” she said. “You are a disgrace to me.”
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 09.02.2011 @ 7:59 pm
It’s not quite a puppet show in the way you would think that a puppet show would function. They’re much funnier and much cleverer than, say, a man sitting with a ventriloquist dummy or a giant yellow bird singing with a man who loves rubber duckies.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.31.2011 @ 6:56 pm
The shabby tan coat drooped off of her shoulders like a potato sack. The bags under her eyes had swollen to an enormous size, and her hair lay in a long, matted braid.
“I’ll only make this offer once, girl,” he growled. “And I don’t think you can afford to pass it up.” She saw a silver glint where the man slightly opened his jacket.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.30.2011 @ 2:42 pm
I leaped over the the precipice that had been holding me back with fear for so long into the great unknown and tumbled and twirled in the air.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.28.2011 @ 6:09 pm
“May the fourth be with you,” I whispered in countless ears in countless hallways on that lovely spring day, and yet there were no returns but a few odd facial expressions.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.25.2011 @ 5:16 pm
When I was 10 years old, I had a pair of pajama shorts that I would wear as often as possible. Whenever they showed up in the pile of freshly laundered clothes, I would wear them to bed. They were soft and smooth and incredibly comfortable. I felt like I was swimming in my bed. It was not until years later that I discovered that the shorts were not made out of silk but out of polyester.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.23.2011 @ 9:23 pm
The brambles snatched at her bare feet as she tumbled through the forest, running, dashing, grasping to reach the back of his shirt. He let out a hearty laugh, and she shrieked playfully, but a branch snagged on her tank top and she was jolted back into a plush pile of plant matter. Groaning and grasping the throbbing side of her head, she sat up and briefly chuckled before the pain took over. An itching sensation quickly erupted in her limbs, and she began rubbing her leg frantically. She gasped in realization. She was rolling around in poison ivy.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.21.2011 @ 11:05 pm
“One more time,” the director shouts to the groans of the band.
“That’s what you said last time!” a tuba calls.
“One more time.”
They play the song, knowing full well that they were going to have to repeat it again.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.17.2011 @ 10:16 am
I hate driving. I once dreamed up a system in which the cars drive themselves, and people can call up a car, and it would come and pick them up and take them where they need to go. Productivity would increase significantly because people wouldn’t waste time driving during their commute. Drunk people, children, old people, blind people, and the otherwise incapable could still be transported.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.09.2011 @ 11:28 pm
The burlap was rough against her skin, but she stayed still, contorted on the leather sofa against all instinct, listening to the scratching of the wet brush against the dry canvas.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.08.2011 @ 10:04 am
When I was 16, I got my first summer job working at a pool selling churros and funnel cakes. Every time I worked, I had a different manager because people were getting fired and promoted left and right, so it became quite a pain to, say, call up my manager about schedules or put down a reference on my job applications later in life.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.04.2011 @ 9:27 pm
He tumbled into the vat with a grisly shriek that was unexpectedly high, considering his size. As his globby girth bobbed and sank in the boiling goo, he let out a cry of despair and flailed his hands in attempt to grasp anything, anything at all.
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.02.2011 @ 12:40 pm
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“Julienne carrots and fold into casserole,” the recipe taunted. I thought this was supposed to be an easy recipe! Julienne? It’s just a carrot!
» Posted By A mere cephalopod On 08.01.2011 @ 7:43 pm