The commission of sins . that are stated . in the books . by the nuns . commission of sins by omission . of religious duties . but not much commission of compassion.
he strolled in,
confident, bold,
curious.
all around were people
sipping cocktails
and merlot.
but he persisted,
weaving through the mass
of indifference.
he step right to the artist
who, herself was a little loss in
the drone of the excitement.
And he said with little hesitation,
i’ll take it.
Whether by commission or not the deed was done. All our efforts was in vain as we tried desperately to save or persuade the young man, who stood on the ledge of the apartment window and fell to his death.
i’d try to pay you for
equality
but i think that’s missing the point
we are the same
only you are less
and i am less
i’d pay you for
existing
but i’m struggling with it myself
and don’t think i’m in the position
to hand out bad checks
if this life isn’t
coincidence
i don’t know what is
we would always argue
whether or not there is meaning
in everything
and i would always insist
you were reading into things
i would say
“the wind doesn’t shake the needles
from branches to make them bare
it just happens”
and you would reply
“the wind’s intentions are just that,
to strip the tree of all it’s impurities”
i drained my pen
every last drop
to try to show these people
myself
you
how i feel
i can’t remember
but sometimes
i act like i’m watching tv
when i’m really thinking about
time traveling
and palindromes
and rolling around in summer grass
i drained my bottle
every last drop
to try to stop time
and forget how i feel
but it only induced my thirst
for greater things
like long poems and
food fights
and dancing through hard times
Out of commission again! What’s wrong with me that I still think everything will work out, when over and over again they don’t? Oh well, I guess I’d rather be this way than lose hope.
drea I once worked at a very well known Times Share Resort. I was a Sales Hostess. I was the only one who worked on commission. My pay was based on what the sales people sold that day. People were paying for one to two weeks once a year at the resort.Also for the price they paid for a year membership. Which entitled them anywhere from a day to a week anywhere the Companies owned other resorts in many places in the world. And you would trade the same amount of time in your paid for location for another members time share. The company made the arrangements with the other time share owners for you. I thought that the business was a good idea and it seemed to work well for people that had purchased their agreements.
I dated the owners son. His name was King MCKarthy and all the girls wanted him. He drove a gold convertible sl Mercedes.I remember he dedicated the song Every Breath You Take, by the band Sting. I thought I was in Love. But that’s another story all together. Just like the other many many pages or paragraphs of my life. What a full life Iv’e lived.So full that Iv’e many times left memories lie sleeping in the shadows of time, and then suddenly at times they wake to remind me of the past when I lived that chapter and most of the time it will bring great memories and a new smile to add to it.
they’re running out he said.
call california he said.
california’s out he said.
california’s down he added.
then let’s all pray to god they said.
one minute: standing.
one minute: kneeling.
hands clasped.
one minute: laying down.
The art commission was strange. The email had been sitting in his folder for weeks now, untouched. It scratched at the back of his mind everytime he worked on other, newer artworks. But he could never bring himself to even think of how he would paint that one strange art commission.
I had no idea what I wanted to do. This company commissioned me to build an installation that exuded their message. Their message made me feel dirty, though.
the words with wonder she spoke
the choking laugher drank the folks
wisdom is reserved for the bored
rich enough to complain about intellectual things
they set up commissions to decide
what and have nots
where then are they
gone forever like brain trust without a mind.
I was commissioned the task of dish duty. Wash, rinse, dry, wash, rinse, dry. Tedious indeed. I begin to wonder if they think me capable of anything greater.. My fingers are pruny and I suppose so is my pride. I watch the other more desirable workers start on more important tasks. Yet I suppose my pruny fingers have their place.
i think i’m drunk she said
words whisper like fragrance in the wind
what hell is this
a love that never ends
obsession
forgetting the fate of the ever loved
a commission of decisions of
no one in particular a kiss a frown a goodbye
it never quite made sense.
ohhhh thoughts of working at the mall. i hated that part. except that instead of coming home with a full pay check i’d come home with new clothes. apparently my mother did too when she was a young single gal working at a clothing store. i just dont want to be too much like my mother….
she’s a great lady in many ways and i love her but she can be a pill. not too mention… no, you know what. this is not about her. it always is but i’m sick of it. no more. when is it about me and letting go already? why am i so damn scared?
I had been drawing for hours but this last one really struck me, why would anyone commission me to draw this picture? I had never met the client before but it was obvious they knew me.
you have exactly thirty days to finish this project for her. even if it’s just about a month, it feels like even less time than that, like minutes even. your heart thrums in your chest as you remember the smile of gratitude she gave you, the way her voice keened in adoration and happiness, the way her fingers brushed yours as she handed you the fabric. it’s just a dress, you tell yourself, it’s just a dress for the most beautiful girl in the world. a dress for the girl you’ve loved ever since you started high school.
Martin worked on commission alone, and that was a mixed blessing. On a good month, he was living the high life … but string several bad month together, and he knew his friends would start avoiding him. It was unfair, to be sure. He was happy to buy drinks for everyone and share his stash, but putting a hand out during a rough patch invariably caused instant amnesia among the recipients of his previous generosity.
Being made to recall a dream like wandering foam slips through light crack window no hope, no ear, tilt your head just slightly to the left watch the foam thought dribble out
The California Rocket Enthusiasts’ Commission had been created by a man who had had enough of simply shooting mentos-bubbling soda bottles into the stratosphere, so he decided he’d do experiments similar to that with others who may have had more connections or money or both. Of course, he had decided to be its Grand High Chancellor – although Director or Chairman would have sufficed as a title. Needless to say, the actual rocket scientists and scholars were not amused.
I earned my commission the hard way. Hitchhiking down the road, selling out of my suitcase, one good shirt on my back. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew the gospel of what I was selling. “Immortality! Yours for just such and such a month.” With the new computers anything was possible. I didn’t want it. But I knew how to sell it.
She tucked the flashlight under her chin and slipped her slender fingers into the crack between the window panes. The window slid open noiselessly. Perfect. She slid into the house and followed the directions she had memorized. Second door on the right, staircase up a level, third door on the left. She pushed the door open, which swung on silent hinges. Her flashlight scanned the room. There were various works of art hanging on the walls, leaning against cabinets, standing on pedestals. She wasn’t here for the sculptures, although she was sure they were worth thousands. She quietly rifled through the frames that were leaning against each other, obscuring the paintings they encased. She found the three pieces she was after. Two of them were of flowers or fruit, the third was of a naked woman looking off into the distance. She worked on commission and, being promised a lot for these pieces, she new they were worth something huge.
I don’t want people to tell me when I have to write music and how I have to write music. It just defeats the purpose. I don’t remember ever asking for commissions, but for some reason people just come along and ask me to write songs for them anyways. I do have a life of my own – projects of my own – and I need to figure it out somehow. No more commissions for me, that much is for sure.
I commissioned her to paint me a painting just to talk to her, and just as I had intended, I brought her to my bed. We laid their, in post-coital bliss, and she told me her dreams. She asked me mine, and I smiled, and said I dreamed of another bottle.
“What do you think we should do?” she asked, glancing over to Peter. “I mean, the whole thing is very vague. They just told us that they wanted a commission, and that they wanted it to be something to do with water. Water.”
“Just water?” he replied, grimacing. “I mean, nothing more? There’s a lot of ways you could take that.”
“My point exactly,” Sierra sighed.
If only you could commission yourself to the right to live your life happily and freely. Maybe then people would stop taking advantage of you and tearing you to the ground, only you don’t understand that do you? The words escaping my mind and flowing into this computer frighten you, don’t they? You need to live life for yourself. That means getting out of bed each morning and knowing that what you are about to experience was of your own creation and that you are exactly where you are meant to be. Growing up shouldn’t be this hard, you’re not that old, you’re not too young, you are in the perfect place to just commission the papers and start living your life as wonderfully and beautifully as you want instead of as basically and tired as you know how.
of all the brain trusts and cultural leaders
existential angst and thoughtless predecessors
commit to commissions on commitments
pointless roundabouts and paid for postulates
picking through paperwork
redundancy required through repetition.
She thought she would commission a painting for the empty spot in the family room above the couch. She wandered into an art gallery on 1st Avenue and wrote a blank check. Soon she began to worry. The money disappeared from her account, and she took took a job in shlock art sales, on commission.
There was that dirty money he had got from her. He knew not to touch it but he did need it. How would he feed his family with such disgusting, ill-gotten bills?
The blessing and the burden. A gift of purpose and a gift of responsibility. The orders are given and thus, are expected to be followed. Is ignorance truly bliss? Or is there something more? To be given a commission is to be given meaning and passion.
I am in the company of writers.
The commission of sins . that are stated . in the books . by the nuns . commission of sins by omission . of religious duties . but not much commission of compassion.
he strolled in,
confident, bold,
curious.
all around were people
sipping cocktails
and merlot.
but he persisted,
weaving through the mass
of indifference.
he step right to the artist
who, herself was a little loss in
the drone of the excitement.
And he said with little hesitation,
i’ll take it.
Whether by commission or not the deed was done. All our efforts was in vain as we tried desperately to save or persuade the young man, who stood on the ledge of the apartment window and fell to his death.
One word is enough for all of us.
Commission makes me think of sales. You make the sale. You get the commission.
People commission art work all the time.
If you commit a crime, while you are doing it, are you in the commission of a crime?
It’s like a mission, but with a copilot.
Don’t commingle the money for that commission!
“He’s paid based upon commission,” I answered. “Why do you ask?” Then I followed her line of sight to the clumsy mural caked upon her wall.
“Oh.”
He called them commissions. He did them whenever money got tight.
He went to the bad side of town, as if there was really a good side to it, then offered himself up as entertainment to whoever was willing to pay.
Sometimes he was paid to fight, other times to work, still though…most often it was for sex.
This was one of the sex commissions.
im on a mission for some serious commission
a way to make it by
a take on foolish memory
takes one to make it by
#2~*real oneword on commission*~
i’d try to pay you for
equality
but i think that’s missing the point
we are the same
only you are less
and i am less
i’d pay you for
existing
but i’m struggling with it myself
and don’t think i’m in the position
to hand out bad checks
if this life isn’t
coincidence
i don’t know what is
we would always argue
whether or not there is meaning
in everything
and i would always insist
you were reading into things
i would say
“the wind doesn’t shake the needles
from branches to make them bare
it just happens”
and you would reply
“the wind’s intentions are just that,
to strip the tree of all it’s impurities”
i drained my pen
every last drop
to try to show these people
myself
you
how i feel
i can’t remember
but sometimes
i act like i’m watching tv
when i’m really thinking about
time traveling
and palindromes
and rolling around in summer grass
i drained my bottle
every last drop
to try to stop time
and forget how i feel
but it only induced my thirst
for greater things
like long poems and
food fights
and dancing through hard times
at least we can say
we tried
Out of commission again! What’s wrong with me that I still think everything will work out, when over and over again they don’t? Oh well, I guess I’d rather be this way than lose hope.
drea I once worked at a very well known Times Share Resort. I was a Sales Hostess. I was the only one who worked on commission. My pay was based on what the sales people sold that day. People were paying for one to two weeks once a year at the resort.Also for the price they paid for a year membership. Which entitled them anywhere from a day to a week anywhere the Companies owned other resorts in many places in the world. And you would trade the same amount of time in your paid for location for another members time share. The company made the arrangements with the other time share owners for you. I thought that the business was a good idea and it seemed to work well for people that had purchased their agreements.
I dated the owners son. His name was King MCKarthy and all the girls wanted him. He drove a gold convertible sl Mercedes.I remember he dedicated the song Every Breath You Take, by the band Sting. I thought I was in Love. But that’s another story all together. Just like the other many many pages or paragraphs of my life. What a full life Iv’e lived.So full that Iv’e many times left memories lie sleeping in the shadows of time, and then suddenly at times they wake to remind me of the past when I lived that chapter and most of the time it will bring great memories and a new smile to add to it.
I commission you to go and do what is right. Do not sway from this. Be bold and be strong. Do the right thing in the midst of wrong.
they’re running out he said.
call california he said.
california’s out he said.
california’s down he added.
then let’s all pray to god they said.
one minute: standing.
one minute: kneeling.
hands clasped.
one minute: laying down.
The art commission was strange. The email had been sitting in his folder for weeks now, untouched. It scratched at the back of his mind everytime he worked on other, newer artworks. But he could never bring himself to even think of how he would paint that one strange art commission.
The commission of the report by the commission resulted in a sizeable commission for the commissioner in the commission of his duties.
I had no idea what I wanted to do. This company commissioned me to build an installation that exuded their message. Their message made me feel dirty, though.
the words with wonder she spoke
the choking laugher drank the folks
wisdom is reserved for the bored
rich enough to complain about intellectual things
they set up commissions to decide
what and have nots
where then are they
gone forever like brain trust without a mind.
I was commissioned the task of dish duty. Wash, rinse, dry, wash, rinse, dry. Tedious indeed. I begin to wonder if they think me capable of anything greater.. My fingers are pruny and I suppose so is my pride. I watch the other more desirable workers start on more important tasks. Yet I suppose my pruny fingers have their place.
i think i’m drunk she said
words whisper like fragrance in the wind
what hell is this
a love that never ends
obsession
forgetting the fate of the ever loved
a commission of decisions of
no one in particular a kiss a frown a goodbye
it never quite made sense.
“Customers are the worst, but you can’t really buy the bread without them.”
“Wow. I never thought about those things before. It’s like you’re a barista, with people asking you for sugar-free blended drinks or some crap.”
“So desu.”
he wanted comissions
like a lot, a lot
no one ever offered though,
they didnt want his art in exchange for their money,
he didnt know why
ohhhh thoughts of working at the mall. i hated that part. except that instead of coming home with a full pay check i’d come home with new clothes. apparently my mother did too when she was a young single gal working at a clothing store. i just dont want to be too much like my mother….
she’s a great lady in many ways and i love her but she can be a pill. not too mention… no, you know what. this is not about her. it always is but i’m sick of it. no more. when is it about me and letting go already? why am i so damn scared?
I had been drawing for hours but this last one really struck me, why would anyone commission me to draw this picture? I had never met the client before but it was obvious they knew me.
you have exactly thirty days to finish this project for her. even if it’s just about a month, it feels like even less time than that, like minutes even. your heart thrums in your chest as you remember the smile of gratitude she gave you, the way her voice keened in adoration and happiness, the way her fingers brushed yours as she handed you the fabric. it’s just a dress, you tell yourself, it’s just a dress for the most beautiful girl in the world. a dress for the girl you’ve loved ever since you started high school.
Martin worked on commission alone, and that was a mixed blessing. On a good month, he was living the high life … but string several bad month together, and he knew his friends would start avoiding him. It was unfair, to be sure. He was happy to buy drinks for everyone and share his stash, but putting a hand out during a rough patch invariably caused instant amnesia among the recipients of his previous generosity.
They wish that they knew
why she no longer accepts
commissions. They won’t.
Being made to recall a dream like wandering foam slips through light crack window no hope, no ear, tilt your head just slightly to the left watch the foam thought dribble out
What is, truly, a great commission? Take everyone back to your home planet.
The California Rocket Enthusiasts’ Commission had been created by a man who had had enough of simply shooting mentos-bubbling soda bottles into the stratosphere, so he decided he’d do experiments similar to that with others who may have had more connections or money or both. Of course, he had decided to be its Grand High Chancellor – although Director or Chairman would have sufficed as a title. Needless to say, the actual rocket scientists and scholars were not amused.
I earned my commission the hard way. Hitchhiking down the road, selling out of my suitcase, one good shirt on my back. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew the gospel of what I was selling. “Immortality! Yours for just such and such a month.” With the new computers anything was possible. I didn’t want it. But I knew how to sell it.
She tucked the flashlight under her chin and slipped her slender fingers into the crack between the window panes. The window slid open noiselessly. Perfect. She slid into the house and followed the directions she had memorized. Second door on the right, staircase up a level, third door on the left. She pushed the door open, which swung on silent hinges. Her flashlight scanned the room. There were various works of art hanging on the walls, leaning against cabinets, standing on pedestals. She wasn’t here for the sculptures, although she was sure they were worth thousands. She quietly rifled through the frames that were leaning against each other, obscuring the paintings they encased. She found the three pieces she was after. Two of them were of flowers or fruit, the third was of a naked woman looking off into the distance. She worked on commission and, being promised a lot for these pieces, she new they were worth something huge.
I don’t want people to tell me when I have to write music and how I have to write music. It just defeats the purpose. I don’t remember ever asking for commissions, but for some reason people just come along and ask me to write songs for them anyways. I do have a life of my own – projects of my own – and I need to figure it out somehow. No more commissions for me, that much is for sure.
I commissioned her to paint me a painting just to talk to her, and just as I had intended, I brought her to my bed. We laid their, in post-coital bliss, and she told me her dreams. She asked me mine, and I smiled, and said I dreamed of another bottle.
“What do you think we should do?” she asked, glancing over to Peter. “I mean, the whole thing is very vague. They just told us that they wanted a commission, and that they wanted it to be something to do with water. Water.”
“Just water?” he replied, grimacing. “I mean, nothing more? There’s a lot of ways you could take that.”
“My point exactly,” Sierra sighed.
If only you could commission yourself to the right to live your life happily and freely. Maybe then people would stop taking advantage of you and tearing you to the ground, only you don’t understand that do you? The words escaping my mind and flowing into this computer frighten you, don’t they? You need to live life for yourself. That means getting out of bed each morning and knowing that what you are about to experience was of your own creation and that you are exactly where you are meant to be. Growing up shouldn’t be this hard, you’re not that old, you’re not too young, you are in the perfect place to just commission the papers and start living your life as wonderfully and beautifully as you want instead of as basically and tired as you know how.
of all the brain trusts and cultural leaders
existential angst and thoughtless predecessors
commit to commissions on commitments
pointless roundabouts and paid for postulates
picking through paperwork
redundancy required through repetition.
She thought she would commission a painting for the empty spot in the family room above the couch. She wandered into an art gallery on 1st Avenue and wrote a blank check. Soon she began to worry. The money disappeared from her account, and she took took a job in shlock art sales, on commission.
There was that dirty money he had got from her. He knew not to touch it but he did need it. How would he feed his family with such disgusting, ill-gotten bills?
The blessing and the burden. A gift of purpose and a gift of responsibility. The orders are given and thus, are expected to be followed. Is ignorance truly bliss? Or is there something more? To be given a commission is to be given meaning and passion.