Comments Posted By laurapacker

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He never considered the consequences, did he. On no, he’d just go right along, not looking, not thinking and then bam! something else would happen and he’d whine whine complain and deny his own responsibility. It was like that with the olive, not looking, one bite, one pit and a $785 trip to the dentist.

» Posted By laurapacker On 06.19.2012 @ 2:01 pm


The silence felt like a treaty in my house. When my mother and brother stopped fighting the rest of us just waited to see who would break it first, who would offer poisoned hope and help that the other was too addicted to the noise to avoid.

» Posted By laurapacker On 06.05.2012 @ 11:48 am


I always wanted to be a reporter, to wear a cool hat with a press pass that would get me in anywhere, to have ink stained fingers and an incisive eye. I think I was ruined by seeing all the presidents men too young, wanted to take down the bad guys with the power of words alone.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.30.2012 @ 1:01 pm


I love architecture, the way it tells me the story of a place, it’s ebb and flow. Can it afford design flourishes or is it all austerity and straight lines? Are we romanticizing poverty or wealth? Where we live and work, how we shape those spaces, shapes us. We are our own constructions.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.29.2012 @ 1:35 pm


I’d like to lodge a complaint.

His voice was thick and hairy, unused.

I’d like to lodge a complaint against this establishment and the poor service I’ve received.

He looked as neglected as he sounded, and I wondered what his complaint could possibly be, his odor and self out of place amongst the mirrors and glass.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.23.2012 @ 1:46 pm


I wish I had a backspace bar for my life. Just a moment or two, I could take back when I say something stupid or do something mindless. It would be so nice, wouldn’t it, if I could just tap a key and there! I’d get a do over.

I might abuse it thought, and backspace myself back to childhood. Then I would never know you.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.18.2012 @ 10:21 am


I don’t know what, but I have a fascination with the slow movement of insects. Their skittering rhythm, the beat of their antennae, the hopeful start and stop of their pace. Not the flying ones, they get too annoying, but the ones that scamper across the ground living in a world too large for their liking.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.14.2012 @ 12:59 pm


The recipe said to separate the white from the yolk but she wasn’t careful and the last one broke, shattered yellow into the clear albumin in the glass bowl. It wasn’t worth it. She poured the mess down the sink. Take out would have to do.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.02.2012 @ 1:04 pm


Oh, these hallowed grounds, these sacred steps these never to be repeated actions.
The myths we make of our ancestors, the boys in blue, our values and forefathers and those who were only human but now, oh now they stand taller than we ever can.
Let us not beat ourselves to death for the hallowed ground for the lost for the never real in the first place. Let us instead live now, in this moment, with kindness and hope and pray we can be better than we were.

» Posted By laurapacker On 05.01.2012 @ 8:39 am


I have no alibi nor do I want one. My confession must stand as an article of belief, of integrity, of action. You who strive to hide behind excuses, to live your lives through a lens and a mask, are not my kin.

My alibi, if there must be one, is this. I am as much animal as man. I am as much villain as hero. I will not apologize.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.30.2012 @ 9:55 am


She runs all over town for this job and it certainly doesn’t pay well.Putting up these stupid fliers on every door, wall, telephone pole and window she can, without getting arrested of course., The job call in craigslist read, “Poster. look as good as we do.” She thought it said “poser” and was for something else entirely.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.27.2012 @ 10:07 am


I don’t care for the movie at all, nor its blood soaked spawn, spartacus. The history is fascinating, but the bromance of violence overlooks the life of slavery, of infestation, of pain and fear. Being forced to fight and die, not even or, isn’t romance.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.25.2012 @ 1:36 pm


oh what a sweet little entree, my minuet my nibble my nosh. there you are abashed and shy, hiding behind leaves and silk. you think I don’t see you but oh, of course I do, and I shall court you accordingly, with a caress of the knife and a flutter of my linens.

Don’t run. I am here. I shall eat you alive.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.23.2012 @ 10:26 am


She stood on the edge and considered her option. To go back was to admit failure. To go forward was a different kind of defeat. Neither option was good. She closed her eyes.

The swan-dive was perfect and the water shockingly cold. At least it was over and she gasped for air with relief.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.20.2012 @ 12:06 pm


– I am rattled. I would be lying if I said otherwise. But mostly I am angry.

– I hear the rattle of stones under waves. All I can think of is voodoo bones.

– Oh, lovely snake, I’m sorry i disturbed you.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.13.2012 @ 12:16 pm


Once bitten twice shy. Once bitten twice shy. Fucking mosquitoes, I’ll show you shy. Slap!

I wish I wasn’t out here tonight, didn’t have to hide in this god forsaken bush while I listen to everything that’s happening inside the house but I don’t dare go back in cause if I do I know what will happen and I don’t want that again.

Once bitten twice shy. Once bitten twice shy.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.11.2012 @ 11:42 am


I was a willful child. I twisted against my parent’s demands like a kite tethered to a tree, striving and struggling, pulling and dancing, but always held to earth by the strings of their need.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.05.2012 @ 11:20 am


“I’ll take a little look under the hood,” he said. As he was bent over I could see his ass and thought, this is the last time, the last time he talks down to me, the last time he hits me, shames me. I slammed down the hood so he couldn’t quite move, turned on the key and the wipers as they smeared red over everything.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.04.2012 @ 11:20 am


All of my attendant fears swarm in and I think, “I cannot write.” My old voices and sorrows try to smother my blossoming self, they of the needle nails and poison teeth. I will not let them accompany me on this journey, I’d rather brave these woods alone.

» Posted By laurapacker On 04.02.2012 @ 1:30 pm


damn it! I just did this one and forgot to log in, so my rant on Catcher in the Rye disappeared… oh well. Just like Holden, I find myself believing I am different when I am not, the same hopes and fears, the same longings. Our own minds play such games on us, when all we need to to catch ourselves and believe difference is not the key.

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.28.2012 @ 6:58 am


It was barely noticeable on my fingertips, that soft oiliness left over from a gently touched plant or a swipe across the lips. A residue I could barely detect but knew was there, reminding me of what had happened, what was to come and how little time there really was left for me.

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.23.2012 @ 11:34 am


wasn’t this yesterday’s word? If so, I give this word poor ratings, I don’t find it inspiring. It makes me think of tests and judgement, not topics likely to make phrases flow trippingly from my fingertips.

Everything is rated these days. bananas. bow ties. tub stoppers. a or b or c, we can’t help but grade and be graded.

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.21.2012 @ 9:50 am

I can’t stand the reviews. Looking at my ratings makes me ill – even one poor notice and my heart cracks, regardless of all the good ones. Why is it that it’s so much easier to believe negative comments than positive ones?

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.20.2012 @ 12:59 pm


Oh, will this ever end! I know my work matters, I know it does, but I just don’t care any more. How much I endure seems like some kind of cruel mathematical formula. Duration over exhaustion equals pay. It’s just not worth it any more.

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.15.2012 @ 8:17 am


What a tricky thing. It starts wars, breaks hearts, ruins lives, when it’s supposed to offer solace and community. I think I’ll stick with my belief in santa, my belief in the possibility of goodness, my belief in the power of kindness, my belief in myself. So go ahead, tell me I’m a pinko-liberal-commie. I believe you feel that way.

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.13.2012 @ 7:42 am


oh my god, will this meeting never end? Do we have to sweat every single little detail? Let us each do our jobs, trust us to work, or not, but please, this endless quibbling is killing me. I am tired of the bickering, tired of the talk, just tired. I want to go to the gym and engage in honest sweat, not this minutae that makes us all queasy.

» Posted By laurapacker On 03.03.2012 @ 12:03 pm


Christ, I didn’t want that blast from the past. Seeing him standing on my doorstep sent me reeling and I didn’t know if I should call the cops, or invite him in.

He and I had some cataclysmic moments before, but nothing like this one. It felt like there was a ticking time bomb in my kitchen, just waiting to explode.

» Posted By laurapacker On 02.24.2012 @ 12:30 pm


wasn’t this yesterday’s word? I thought oneword was supposed to give me a gallery of words. I find myself perplexed by the familiarity. I’m looking for words framed on the wall like pictures…

» Posted By laurapacker On 02.22.2012 @ 8:05 am

I hang in the gallery and wait. I wait for you, for your observation, for your adoration, for your need.

I hang in the gallery at night and watch the travelling lights illuminate my fellows, each in their own little world, each hungry for your gaze.

I hang in the gallery and know that you wish you were beside me, that you were worthy of wood and wire, frame and glaze.

» Posted By laurapacker On 02.21.2012 @ 11:54 am


I haven’t a clue where I left my purse. I always put it on the same place, on the table by the door, but today I set it down and I’ll be damned but a hole opened up and it was just gone. Gone. Really. Maybe the hole had teeth, I’m not sure. Anyway, I don’t know what happened to it, I don’t know what I’ll do without it and I certainly don’t have a clue what ate it.

» Posted By laurapacker On 02.14.2012 @ 4:13 pm

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