Til On Face Quotes

If God made all our faces, did he laugh when he made me? Does he make the legs that cannot walk and eyes that cannot see? Does he curl the hair upon my head 'til it rebels in wild defiance? Does he close the ears of a deaf man to make him more reliant? Is the way I look a coincidence or just a twist of fate? If he made me this way, is it okay, to blame him for the things I hate? For the flaws that seem to worsen every time I see a mirror,For the ugliness I see in me, for the loathing and the fear. Does he sculpt us for his pleasure, for a reason I can't see? If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me?

No time for better words, no time to unsay anything. -Til We Have Faces

Remus tipped his head back and took a deep breath, “CH CH CHANGES! TURN AND FACE THE STRANGE CH CH CHA-ANGES!

Mostly though, Rubes, I want to go back in time and beat every single person’s ass who’s ever made you doubt yourself, because the girl who makes me smile ‘til my face hurts even on a shit day needs to see that in herself. I feel like I owe it to you.” Aaron

I turn, touch the side of her face and look into her eyes. I hope she can see what I feel in them. I hope she can see that I’ve loved her since the day I fucking saw her. I hope she can see that I will love her ‘til the day I die.

He climbed into bed and rolled onto his side, facing the wall, to prove that he couldn’t care less which way Danny ‘swung’. Have you seen my boyfriend?! He wanted to say. As if I’d be interested in you, you big lump.

I wrote too many poems in a language I did not yet know how to speak But I know now it doesn't matter how well I say grace if I am sitting at a table where I am offering no bread to eat So this is my wheat field you can have every acre, Love this is my garden song this is my fist fight with that bitter frost tonight I begged another stage light to become that back alley street lamp that we danced beneath the night your warm mouth fell on my timid cheek as i sang maybe i need you off key but in tune maybe i need you the way that big moon needs that open sea maybe i didn't even know i was here til i saw you holding me give me one room to come home to give me the palm of your hand every strand of my hair is a kite string and I have been blue in the face with your sky crying a flood over Iowa so you mother will wake to Venice Lover, I smashed my glass slipper to build a stained glass window for every wall inside my chest now my heart is a pressed flower and a tattered bible it is the one verse you can trust so I'm putting all of my words in the collection plate I am setting the table with bread and grace my knees are bent like the corner of a page I am saving your place

People don' need no monster to make 'em do evil-hearted shit. All it take is a brown face, or somebody wearin' old tore-up clothes.

Much of what I’d done — mistakes, poems, manipulations, success and books and sex — had been done merely to get love. To get it. To answer my question: do you love me? . . . From that moment on, the love affair I would develop would be with my soul. [God] was already part of me; that much was clear. And now this would be where I would go for love — to the God in me. No more begging or pursuing or needing. Possibly it was only a myth, Jack’s myth [Til We Have Faces], that could have obliterated the false belief that I must pursue love in the outside world — in success, in acclaim, in performance, in a man. The Truth: I was beloved of God. Finally I could stop trying to force someone or something else to fill that role

Tis a far cry from home for a poor lonely thing, O'er the deeps and wild waters of seas, Where you can't hear your dear mother's voice softly sing Like a breeze gently stirring the trees. Come home, little one, wander back here someday, I'll watch for you, each evening and morn, Through all the long season 'til I'm old and grey As the frost on the hedges at dawn. There's a lantern that shines in my window at night, I have long kept it burning for you, It glows through the dark, like a clear guiding light, And I know someday you'll see it, too. So hasten back, little one, or I will soon be gone, No more to see your dear face, But I know that I'll feel your tears fall one by one, On the flowers o'er my resting place.

A deadline is a finish line. Don't stop 'til the door shuts in your face!

And so, as per usual, it was James and Lily who managed to bring everyone out of that gloomy winter slog, just in time for spring. The marauders and their friends faced the rest of their year with fresh eyes and renewed purpose. Because fighting a war was one thing - but fighting for the Potters’ future child made every challenge seem more worthwhile.

Off To The Races" My old man is a bad man but I can't deny the way he holds my hand And he grabs me, he has me by my heart He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past He doesn't mind I have an LA crass way about me He loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart Swimming pool glimmering darling White bikini off with my red nail polish Watch me in the swimming pool bright blue ripples you Sitting sipping on your black Cristal Oh yeah Light of my life, fire of my loins Be a good baby, do what I want Light of my life, fire of my loins Give me them gold coins, gimme them coins And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Ready for you My old man is a tough man but He's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam And he shows me, he knows me Every inch of my tar black soul He doesn't mind I have a flat broke down life In fact he says he thinks it's why he might like about me Admires me, the way I roll like a Rolling Stone Likes to watch me in the glass room bathroom, Chateau Marmont Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him Light of his life, fire of his loins Keep me forever, tell me you own me Light of your life, fire of your loins Tell me you own me, gimme them coins And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Now I'm off to the races, laces Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin' down I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani's basement Love you but I'm going down God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island Raising hell all over town Sorry 'bout it My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us Take him when he may, if he may I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him Who else is gonna put up with me this way? I need you, I breathe you, I never leave you They would rue the day I was alone without you You're lying with your gold chain on, cigar hanging from your lips I said "Hon' you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man." And we're off to the races, places Ready, set the gate is down and now we're goin' in To Las Vegas chaos, Casino Oasis, honey it is time to spin Boy you're so crazy, baby, I love you forever not maybe You are my one true love, you are my one true love You are my one true love

Hi— I’m Ted Mosby. And exactly 45 days from now you and I are going to meet and we’re going to fall in love and we’re going to get married and we’re going to have 2 kids and we’re going to love them and each other so much. All that is 45 days away, but I’m here now I guess because… I want those extra 45 days with you. I want each one of them. Look and if I can’t have them I’ll take the 45 seconds before your boyfriend shows up and punches me in the face, because… I love you. I’m always gonna love you, til the end of my days and beyond. You’ll see.

If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me? Does he make the legs that cannot walk and eyes that cannot see? Does he curl the hair upon my head 'til it rebels in wild defiance? Does he close the ears of the deaf man to make him more reliant? Is the way I look coincidence or just a twist of fate? If he made me this way, is it okay, to blame him for the things I hate? For the flaws that seem to worsen every time I see a mirror, For the ugliness I see in me, for the loathing and the fear. Does he sculpt us for his pleasure, for a reason I can't see? If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me?

When two people live in one place, their individual habits get amplified. For example: I'm not lazy. But I don't like to move a whole lot. I mean, if I am doing something, I'll do it. I'm as active as the next guy. But if I'm sitting, I don't like to get up. Even if I'm facing the wrong way. If I'm talking to someone whose chair isn't quite facing me, I'll talk to the side of their head. If I sit down and realize the TV is angled wrong, I won't get up to adjust. I'll watch it like that. I'll sit there and wait til someone walks by and ask them to move the TV.

Ye can at least promise me the victory,” he said, but his voice held the whisper of a question. “Yes,” I said, and touched his face. I sounded choked, and my vision blurred. “Yes, I can promise that. This time.” No mention made of what that promise spared, of the things I could not guarantee. Not life, not safety. Not home, nor family; not law nor legacy. Just the one thing—or maybe two. “The victory,” I said. “And that I will be with you ’til the end.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Snowflakes pelted down, melting as they struck his face, sticking for an instant, white on his lashes. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. “That is enough,” he said softly. “I ask no more.” He reached forward then and took me in his arms, held me close for a moment, the breath of snow and ashes cold around us. Then he kissed me, released me, and I took a deep breath of cold air, harsh with the scent of burning.

I’ve loved this face all my life. It’s the sun I pray to, and if what we have is a temple, I built it with my bare hands—I nearly died trying to build this fucking thing. Built it til my hands were raw and bloodied. And I’ll die on the altar of loving her, happily too. That’s not a waste to me.

TIL KINGDOM COME you'll be the one. FOR YOU theres NO MORE KEEPING MY FEET ON THE GROUND. My head is in the clouds NOW MY FEET WONT TOUCH THE GROUND. LIFE IS FOR LIVING and i cant live until i have stolen a spot in your heart. HURTS LIKE HEAVEN and feels like hell to know your in ANOTHERS ARMS. This is no PARADISE. DONT LET IT BREAK YOU HEART i tell my self. Your BEAUTIFUL WORDS always IN MY HEAD i cant stop my self. THINGS I DONT UNDERSTAND would be you and me. LOST in your X&Y. I feel like i was SWALLOWED IN THE SEA, LOST and unseen, not a WISPER or a weep. I cry in my sleep, EVERY TEARDROP IS A WATERFALL. Should have seen the WARNING SIGNS, they were always there like a WISPER in my ear. Every time you say hello were back at SQUARE ONE, a smile my face. SUCH A RUSH i get when i talk to you. My heart beats as fast as a HIGH SPEED race. Every second i wait for your reply like CLOCK ticking by. DAYLIGHT nears as the SLEEPING SUN is UP IN FLAMES. What if its US AGAINST THE WORLD? What if HOW YOU SEE THE WORLD is how i see it too? WHAT IF?

He said, "everyone knows how short life is. Fiona and I know it especially. But no one ever talks about how long it is. And it's-- does that make sense? Every life is too short, even the long ones, but some people's lives are too long as well. I mean-- maybe that won't make sense til you're older." He stepped onto the escalator first, and he rode backward to face them. He said, "if we could just be on earth at the same place and same time as everyone we loved, if we could be born together and die together, it would be so simple. And it's not. But listen: You two are on the planet at the same time. You're in the same place now. That's a miracle.

"Joss" "What?" "What?" Dylan asked back. "You just said my name." "No I didn't" "Sorry that was me." I sat up, banging my head on the roof. "Who is that?" "Hey, stay down here where the air is good, okay?" Dylan pulled me gently back down. "Hows your head?" "Not good, I think." "Um, okay, so you here me. Heather's right, you do think loud. I mean, I've never heard you before, but my Talent seems to be a lot more selective than her's. But now that she's got me turned in to you-" "Who are you?" "It's still me, Marshall. It's Dylan. I'm right here." "My name's Joel." "Joel?" "Joss, what are you talking about?" He took my face in his hands. "Who's Joel?" "The voice in my head, I guess." "Jesus.

She put him out like the burning end of a midnight cigarett. She broke his heart. He spent his whole life trying to forget. We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time. But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind until the night. He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger. And finally drank away her memory. Life is short but this time it was bigger, Than the strength he had to get up off his knees. We found him with his face down in the pillow. With a note that said: I love her til' I die. And when we buried him beneath the willow, The angels sang a whiskey lullaby. La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la. The rumors flew, But nobody knew how much she blamed herself for years and years. She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath. She finally drank her pain away a little at a time, But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind until the night. She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger. And finally drank away his memory. Life is short but this time it was bigger, Than the strength she had to get up off her knees. We found her with her face down in the pillow. Clinging to his picture for dear life. We laid her next to him beneath the willow, While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby. La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la.

Til my heart ceases to beat, Til my boots cease to wander, Til my breath comes no more, I will search for her. Tis not gold nor silver, Tis not jewels nor coins, Tis not rum nor whiskey, She’s more precious than those. Through the oceans, Through the stars, Through the battles and wars, She’s worth facing those foes. Give me the strength, Grant me the will, And I will love her, I will love her still.

Don't talk to me like I don't know what you feeling 'Cause I was there with you back in the beginning Quit looking away when I talk, let me finish I'm tryna be honest, you're tryna forget me, ugh What's wrong with you, hey? I know that you got a lot on your plate You keep telling me I should get out of your way But I can't see how you gon' lie to my face Don't tell me you fine 'cause I know that you not so don't even try And what we gon' live for in this life full of pain 'Til we're eighty and one day we'll get up and say we regretted our lives That's where we going Do not pretend like you don't even notice Funny thing is that you already know it I'm starting to think that you like how I feel so be lost in the moment

I keep remembering being fifteen at Disneyland wearing my best friend's hoodie like it was my boyfriend's class ring. How many years it took me just to touch her face. How many years I sent praying my heart could play dead 'til the threat was gone. 'Til the world changed. 'Til history was history.

If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me? Does he make the legs that cannot walk and eyes that cannot see? Does he curl the hair upon my head 'til it rebels in wild defiance? Does he close the ears of the deaf man to make him more reliant? Is the way I look coincidence or just a twist of fate? If he made me this way, is it okay, to blame him for the things I hate? For the flaws that seem to worsen every time I see a mirror, For the ugliness I see in me, for the loathing and the fear. Does he sculpt us for his pleasure, for a reason I can't see? If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me?

His hand came around to caress my breast. “Even when I’ve just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.” He cupped my face in the dark, thumbs stroking the arcs of my eyebrows. “When I hold ye between my two hands and feel you quiver like that, waitin’ for me to take you…Lord, I want to pleasure you ’til ye cry out under me and open yourself to me. And when I take my own pleasure from you, I feel as though I’ve given ye my soul along with my cock.

My grandma always had chocolate-covered cherries," D said, his tone curled at the edges, like he'd surprised himself with the memory. Jack slid up a little so he could watch D's face. "Usedta love them things. The way they'd kinda burst open when ya bit 'em, and that syrupy stuff inside, then the cherry. I'd bite off one side a the shell real careful-like, so none a the syrup spilled, then suck all the gooey out, then fish out the cherry with my tongue, then I'd just have the chocolate shell left and I'd nibble on it 'til it was gone. She'd only let me have one or two so I hadta make 'em last." He glanced at Jack, who was just staring at him, his mouth open. "What?" "That is the sexiest thing I've ever heard." D flushed and fidgeted. "Aw, hell." "Seriously. Ask me how much I want to go get some chocolate-covered cherries right now just so I can watch you eat them.

You are gonna shoot me," he says. "One day." He's still holding Lindsay's hand, he's looking down at where their fingers are wound together and not at Lindsay's face, but his voice is clear. "I ain't thick. I know you'll get sick of me. You can't just let me go, I know too much, you'd be freaked out forever in case I snitched. You'll get proper sick of me one day, not just annoyed, and then you'll shoot me. It's okay." "I won't get sick of you," Lindsay says. He feels numb and far away, as if its somebody else talking, and almost like he's going to throw up, a sort of lurch in his stomach like when you're at the top of the the Angel tube station escalator and somebody a bit too eager to get on the train shoves you from behind. "Yeah you will. I'm gonna be with you til I die, though. Least I can say that and know its true, how many people can do that? Bit romantic, really. If you squint, and look at it sideways.

Brutality is boring. Over and over, hell night after hell night, the same old dumb, tedious, bestial routine: making men crawl; making men groan, hanging men from the bars; shoving men; slapping men; freezing men in the showers; running men into walls; displaying shackled fathers to their sons and sons to their fathers. And if it turned out that you'd been given the wrong man, when you were done making his life unforgettably small and nasty, you allowed him to be your janitor and pick up the other prisoners' trash. There was always another prisoner, and another. Faceless men under hoods: you stripped them of their clothes, you stripped them of their pride. There wasn't much more you could take away from them, but people are inventive: one night some soldiers took a razor to one of Saddam's former general in Tier 1A and shaved off his eyebrows. He was an old man. "He looked like a grandfather and seemed like a nice guy," Sabrina Harman said, and she had tried to console him, telling him he looked younger and slipping him a few cigarettes. Then she had to make him stand at attention facing a boom box blasting the rapper Eminem, singing about raping his mother, or committing arson, or sneering at suicides, something like that⁠—these were some of the best-selling songs in American history. "Eminem is pretty much torture all in himself, and if one person's getting tortured, everybody is, because that music's horrible," Harman said. The general maintained his bearing against the onslaught of noise. "He looked so sad," Harman said. "I felt so bad for the guy." In fact, she said, "Out of everything I saw, that's the worst." This seems implausible, or at least illogical, until you think about it. The MI block was a place where a dead guy was just a dead guy. And a guy hanging from a window frame or a guy forced to drag his nakedness over a wet concrete floor⁠—well, how could you relate to that, except maybe to take a picture? But a man who kept his chin up while you blasted him with rape anthems, and old man shorn of his eyebrows whose very presence made you think of his grandkids--you could let that get to you, especially if you had to share in his punishment: "Slut, you think I won't choke no whore / til the vocal cords don't work in her throat no more!..." or whatever the song was.

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow And each road leads you where you want to go And if you’re faced with the choice and you have to choose I hope you choose the one that means the most to you And if one door opens to another door closed I hope you keep on walkin’ ‘til you find the window If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile But more than anything, more than anything [Chorus:] My wish for you Is that this life becomes all that you want it to Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small You never need to carry more than you can hold And while you’re out there gettin’ where you’re gettin’ to I hope you know somebody loves you And wants the same things too Yeah, this is my wish I hope you never look back but you never forget All the ones who love you And the place you left I hope you always forgive and you never regret And you help somebody every chance you get Oh, you find God’s grace in every mistake And always give more than you take But more than anything, yeah more than anything

Sweetheart, I want you to go somewhere with your life. I know that you can do some wonderful things if you set your mind to it. You’re a smart and caring teenager. Much more mature then most seventeen year olds. But death is inevitable for everybody. No matter how much people try to fight it, it’s going to happen.” Eden looked at me with a serious expression painted on her face. “Death doesn’t suit everybody, though.

Heaven’s Door" I’d search the world for Heaven’s Door, Over mountains and valleys, each sandy shore. I’d find the stairway, soaring through clouds, I'd climb each step, without making a sound. I’d arrive at the door of glimmering gold, I’d slip through unnoticed, not stirring a soul. I’d gasp at its beauty, at its rivers and trees, I’d stray from the paths, I’d hide among leaves. I’d tiptoe unseen, under sun and sky blue, I’d search every corner until I found you. I’d capture a tear, catch a glimpse of your hair, As you danced and you twirled, without any care. You’d smile and you’d laugh, like a bird you’d be free, I’d try not to cry, you’re there without me. I’d stay my hand from touching your face, From calling your name, to feel your embrace. You’d open your mouth and your voice would be pure, I’d treasure the sound, no more pain you’d endure. I’d stay ‘til the sunset, when I’d have to leave, A pain in my heart, my spirit in grief. I’d blow you a kiss, let it drift to the sky, I’d whisper ‘I love you’ and bid you goodbye. I'd pass through the door, I’d descend out of view, Knowing that one day, some day, I’d again be with you. - Elsie

Nogle, især piger, havde måttet leve deres mors barndom, mens deres egen lå gemt hen i en hemmelig skuffe. For sådanne piger var det vanskeligst. Deres stemmer brød ud af dem som materien af et sår, og lyden af den forskrækkede dem, som når de opdagede, at nogen havde læst i deres dagbog, skønt den var låst inde mellem skrammel og gammelt legetøj fra den tid, hvor de bar en firårigs udsatte ansigt. Det stirrede op på dem mellem snurretoppene og de invalide dukker med det uskyldige, forbavsede glasblik. Deres søvn var let og lugtede af angst. Hver aften når de ryddede op på deres værelse, måtte de samle deres tanker sammen for natten som fugle, der skal lokkes ind i deres bur. Det hændte, at en af dem ikke var deres egen, og så vidste de ikke, hvor de skulle gøre af den. I farten, for de var altid trætte, proppede de den om bag et skab eller ind mellem to bøger i reolen. Men når de vågnede, disse piger, passede tankerne ikke mere til deres ansigt, som havde opløst sig under søvnen ligesom en fastelavnsmaske, hvis stive pap er revnet og gennemvædet af den varme ånde. Med besvær tog de det nye ansigt på sig som en skæbne, og de blev svimle af at se ned på deres fødder, så stor var afstanden blevet i nattens løb.

All right,” she said. “Inductive reasoning. It’s what those so-called detectives on CSI, SVU, LMNOP and all the rest of them call deductive reasoning, which is wrong and they should know better. It’s inductive reasoning, a tool you will use frequently in geometry as well as calculus and trigonometry, assuming you get that far and that certainly won’t be you, Jacquon. Stop messing with that girl’s hair and pay attention. Your grade on that last test was so low I had to write it on the bottom of my shoe.” Mrs. Washington glared at Jacquon until his face melted. She began again: “Inductive reasoning is reasoning to the most likely explanation. It begins with one or more observations, and from those observations we come to a conclusion that seems to make sense. All right. An example: Jacquon was walking home from school and somebody hit him on the head with a brick twenty-five times. Mrs. Washington and her husband, Wendell, are the suspects. Mrs. Washington is five feet three, a hundred and ten pounds, and teaches school. Wendell is six-two, two-fifty, and works at a warehouse. So who would you say is the more likely culprit?” Isaiah and the rest of the class said Wendell. “Why?” Mrs. Washington said. “Because Mrs. Washington may have wanted to hit Jacquon with a brick twenty-five times but she isn’t big or strong enough. Seems reasonable given the facts at hand, but here’s where inductive reasoning can lead you astray. You might not have all the facts. Such as Wendell is an accountant at the warehouse who exercises by getting out of bed in the morning, and before Mrs. Washington was a schoolteacher she was on the wrestling team at San Diego State in the hundred-and-five-to-hundred-and-sixteen-pound weight class and would have won her division if that blond girl from Cal Northridge hadn’t stuck a thumb in her eye. Jacquon, I know your mother and if I tell her about your behavior she will beat you ’til your name is Jesus.” The

When the war ended in 1945, Robert Newton’s film career took off. And then he landed the part of Disney’s Long John Silver. “What accent do you want me to put on?” he asked Walt, in his natural thick West-country, ‘Cornwall/Devon/Dorset’ burr. Pointing at his face excitedly, “Why, that one.” Disney replied. And THE OFFICIAL PIRATE ACCENT was born. Newton went on to do another Long John Silver film, then a 26 part television series. He died early, aged 50, from chronic alcoholism, just the way a pirate would want to go. But he left the legacy of ‘the’ pirate accent ‘til the end of time. Every pirate ‘R’ or ‘Arrrgh’ joke you ever heard, owes its very life to the combination of Robert Newton, R. L. Stevenson, and Walt Disney. -- Renaissance Festival Survival Guide

A three-way?” Garrett asked. “You’re kidding, right?” “Ménage à trois,” Jack said. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Britt turned to face them, her hand still on the doorknob. This conversation was starting to get interesting. The two men faced off like snorting bulls, ignoring her. “We do her one at a time,” Garrett said, “and I get her first. When the hell did you do a three-way?” He raised two fingers. “Follow-up question—two girls or two guys?” Jack raised one finger. “College. Duh.” Another finger. “Two girls. It was awesome.” “Well, I’m not doing a two-guy three-way,” Garrett said. “No way.” Britt spoke up. “Afraid it’ll turn you on?” “The hell kinda question is that?” Garrett said. “I’m a hundred percent straight.” “Because you didn’t seem like a guy who’s insecure about his sexuality,” she said. “You know, when we met at the club.” “Do not try to play me with that ‘insecure’ crap,” Garrett said.

whatever happened to the one whose hands could take pencil to paper and turn imagination into reality? whose feet could walk out the backyard door and into another world? the one with eyes ready to swallow the sky whole and a heart ambitious enough to do it? whatever happened to the one who raced from dawn ’til dusk, waving in the wind on wings of wax to wrap their fingertips around the sun, yet cowered from the glow of streetlights? the one who decided even the sun wasn’t enough and pocketed entire galaxies instead? whatever happened to the one whose dreams were so grand the universe itself had to expand to keep up the pace? the one who refused to be contained and became a universe themself? the one you’re thinking about right now? skull kid childhood is the time when one reaches toward the sky and grows into the person they were meant to be, but my childhood was the time when i reached toward fictional faces and buried my roots within a flawless facade. my childhood was the time when i rejected my own growth to mirror the growth of others because i wasn’t sure who i was supposed to be.

I am not a Goddess. I am the face of them All, the embodiment of many. I will burn your village to the ground wearing pants. Nourish your soil and scatter new seeds in a skirt that lifts in the breeze. Strike like lightening and change everything you thought you knew. Scorch you and replenish your reservoir. Sing until you weep with joy. I will leave you poetry on your pillow beside a bottle of hemlock. Feed you til' your belly is full. Devour your ego and spit out your falsities in front of you. Steal your favourite things. I will lead you into temptation. Be the ugliest hag you ever did see. Awaken you from your slumber. Hand you a poisoned apple. Light a candle in your darkness. Weave you a dream. Bow at your feet and kiss the ground you walk upon. I will love you like you've never felt love before. Take your breath away with my beauty. Call your demons into the Light and watch them bury you. Make you tremble in ecstasy. I'll answer your prayers. Shake you til' you scream. Retrieve you from the deep. Carry your manifestations inside of me and birth them into Being. Be the wind in your sails. The blood on your sheets. The wish granted from the wild dandelion wheel. The snake in the grass. Tufts of idle time. I will disappear suddenly, wait until you ache for me, and reemerge as if I had never gone. I am not a Goddess. I am the face of them All, the embodiment of many.

Blues Elizabeth Alexander, 1962 I am lazy, the laziest girl in the world. I sleep during the day when I want to, ‘til my face is creased and swollen, ‘til my lips are dry and hot. I eat as I please: cookies and milk after lunch, butter and sour cream on my baked potato, foods that slothful people eat, that turn yellow and opaque beneath the skin. Sometimes come dinnertime Sunday I am still in my nightgown, the one with the lace trim listing because I have not mended it. Many days I do not exercise, only consider it, then rub my curdy belly and lie down. Even my poems are lazy. I use syllabics instead of iambs, prefer slant to the gong of full rhyme, write briefly while others go for pages. And yesterday, for example, I did not work at all! I got in my car and I drove to factory outlet stores, purchased stockings and panties and socks with my father’s money. To think, in childhood I missed only one day of school per year. I went to ballet class four days a week at four-forty-five and on Saturdays, beginning always with plie, ending with curtsy. To think, I knew only industry, the industry of my race and of immigrants, the radio tuned always to the station that said, Line up your summer job months in advance. Work hard and do not shame your family, who worked hard to give you what you have. There is no sin but sloth. Burn to a wick and keep moving. I avoided sleep for years, up at night replaying evening news stories about nearby jailbreaks, fat people who ate fried chicken and woke up dead. In sleep I am looking for poems in the shape of open V’s of birds flying in formation, or open arms saying, I forgive you, all.

Frankie was making me work for my forgiveness. It had taken several days, a thousand phone messages, and a seriously overpriced Vogue Hommes International shoved through his mail slot to get him even to speak to me. He was sitting across the table from me now, arms crossed over his chest (to be fair, he did that a lot when wearing that particular cashmere sweater; it covered the repaired moth hole at the point of the V-neck), glowering a little. I nudged the cannoli another millimeter toward him. It was chocolate chip,his fave. "So I screwed up twice." I was wrapping up my tale of guilt and woe. "Edward I don't mind so much now. We just were too different for it to work out in the end..." I chanced a glance at Frankie's sulky face to see if he found that at all humorous. Apparently not.,. I sighed and went for honesty. "Alex...That one has walloped me." Frankie darted out a finger and scooped a little of the filling from the cannoly. I resisted the urge to fling myself across the table and hug him until he squeaked. "The sharks were good," he acknowledged, and not even too reluctantly. "Insane but good." "Yeah.And Ferdinand. I'll introduce you sometime." Frankie wrinkled his perfect nose. "I'll take my stingray as a shagreen wallet, thank you." I laughed.Not that I appreciated the thought of Ferdinand as an accessory,but I was just so happy to have my Frankie back. He read my mind and waved a cannoli-tipped finger at me. "Ah.You are not forgiven yet, madam." I subsided in my chair. "I'm sorry," I told him quietly. "I'm really really sorry. If I could go back and do any of it differently, the very first thing would be to tell you everything as it was happening." "Hmph." Frankie took a bite of cannoli, delicately wiped his mouth, had a sip of espresso,wiped his mouth. And examined the painted til ceiling.

The Unknown Soldier A tale to tell in bloody rhyme, A story to last ’til the dawn of end’s time. Of a loving boy who left dear home, To bear his countries burdens; her honor to sow. –A common boy, I say, who left kith and kin, To battle der Kaiser and all that was therein. The Arsenal of Democracy was his kind, –To make the world safe–was their call and chime. Trained he thus in the far army camps, Drilled he often in the march and stamp. Laughed he did with new found friends, Lived they together for the noble end. Greyish mottled images clipp’ed and hack´ed– Black and white broke drum Ʀ…ɧ..λ..t…ʮ..m..ȿ —marching armies off to ’ttack. Images scratched, chopped, theatrical exaggerate, Confetti parades, shouts of high praise To where hell would sup and partake with all bon hope as the transport do them take Faded icons board the ship– To steel them away collaged together –joined in spirit and hip. Timeworn humanity of once what was To broker peace in eagles and doves. Mortal clay in the earth but to grapple and smite As warbirds ironed soar in heaven’s light. All called all forward to divinities’ kept date, Heroes all–all aces and fates. Paris–Used to sing and play at some cards, A common Joe everybody knew from own heart. He could have been called ‘the kid’ by the ‘old man,’ But a common private now taking orders to stand. Receiving letters from his shy sweet one, Read them over and over until they faded to none. Trained like hell with his Commander-in-Arms, –To avoid the dangers of a most bloody harm. Aye, this boy was mortal, true enough said, He could be one of thousands alive but now surely dead. How he sang and cried and ate the gruel of rations, And grumbled as soldiers do at war’s great contagions. Out–out to the battle this young did go, To become a man; the world to show. (An ocean away his mother cried so– To return her boy safe as far as the heavens go). Lay he down in trenched hole, With balls bursting overhead upon the knoll. Listened hardnfast to the “Sarge” bearing the news, —“We’re going over soon—” was all he knew. The whistle blew; up and over they went, Charging the Hun, his life to be spent (“Avoid the gas boys that’ll blister yer arse!!”). Running through wires razored and deadened trees, Fell he into a gouge to find in shelter of need (They say he bayoneted one just as he–, face to face in War’s Dance of trialed humanity). A nameless sonnuvabitch shell then did untimely RiiiiiiiP the field asunder in burrrstzʑ–and he tripped. And on the field of battle’s blood did he die, Faceless in a puddle as blurrs of ghosting men shrieked as they were fleeing by–. Perished he alone in the no man’s land, Surrounded by an army of his brother’s teeming bands . . . And a world away a mother sighed, Listened to the rain and lay down and cried. . . . Today lays the grave somber and white, Guarded decades long in both the dark and the light. Silent sentinels watch o’er and with him do walk, Speak they neither; their duty talks. Lone, stark sentries perform the unsmiling task, –Guarding this one dead–at the nation’s bequest. Cared over day and night in both rain or sun, Present changing of the guard and their duty is done (The changing of the guard ’tis poetry motioned A Nation defining itself–telling of rifles twirl-clicking under the intensest of devotions). This poem–of The Unknown, taken thus, Is rend eternal by Divinity’s Iron Trust. How he, a common soldier, gained the estate Of bearing his countries glory unto his unknown fate. Here rests in honored glory a warrior known but to God, Now rests he in peace from the conflict path he trod. He is our friend, our family, brother, our mother’s son –belongs he to us all, For he has stood in our place–heeding God’s final call.

Dear Jon, A real Dear Jon let­ter, how per­fect is that?! Who knew you’d get dumped twice in the same amount of months. See, I’m one para­graph in and I’ve al­ready fucked this. I’m writ­ing this be­cause I can’t say any of this to you face-to-face. I’ve spent the last few months ques­tion­ing a lot of my friend­ships and won­der­ing what their pur­pose is, if not to work through big emo­tional things to­gether. But I now re­al­ize: I don’t want that. And I know you’ve all been there for me in other ways. Maybe not in the lit­eral sense, but I know you all would have done any­thing to fix me other than lis­ten­ing to me talk and al­low­ing me to be sad with­out so­lu­tions. And now I am writ­ing this let­ter rather than pick­ing up the phone and talk­ing to you be­cause, de­spite every thing I know, I just don’t want to, and I don’t think you want me to ei­ther. I lost my mind when Jen broke up with me. I’m pretty sure it’s been the sub­ject of a few of your What­sApp con­ver­sa­tions and more power to you, be­cause I would need to vent about me if I’d been friends with me for the last six months. I don’t want it to have been in vain, and I wanted to tell you what I’ve learnt. If you do a high-fat, high-pro­tein, low-carb diet and join a gym, it will be a good dis­trac­tion for a while and you will lose fat and gain mus­cle, but you will run out of steam and eat nor­mally again and put all the weight back on. So maybe don’t bother. Drunk­en­ness is an­other idea. I was in black­out for most of the first two months and I think that’s fine, it got me through the evenings (and the oc­ca­sional af­ter­noon). You’ll have to do a lot of it on your own, though, be­cause no one is free to meet up any more. I think that’s fine for a bit. It was for me un­til some­one walked past me drink­ing from a whisky minia­ture while I waited for a night bus, put five quid in my hand and told me to keep warm. You’re the only per­son I’ve ever told this story. None of your mates will be ex­cited that you’re sin­gle again. I’m prob­a­bly your only sin­gle mate and even I’m not that ex­cited. Gen­er­ally the ex­pe­ri­ence of be­ing sin­gle at thirty-five will feel dif­fer­ent to any other time you’ve been sin­gle and that’s no bad thing. When your ex moves on, you might be­come ob­sessed with the bloke in a way that is al­most sex­ual. Don’t worry, you don’t want to fuck him, even though it will feel a bit like you do some­times. If you open up to me or one of the other boys, it will feel good in the mo­ment and then you’ll get an emo­tional hang­over the next day. You’ll wish you could take it all back. You may even feel like we’ve en­joyed see­ing you so low. Or that we feel smug be­cause we’re win­ning at some­thing and you’re los­ing. Re­member that none of us feel that. You may be­come ob­sessed with work­ing out why ex­actly she broke up with you and you are likely to go fully, fully nuts in your bid to find a sat­is­fy­ing an­swer. I can save you a lot of time by let­ting you know that you may well never work it out. And even if you did work it out, what’s the pur­pose of it? Soon enough, some girl is go­ing to be crazy about you for some un­de­fin­able rea­son and you’re not go­ing to be in­ter­ested in her for some un­de­fin­able rea­son. It’s all so ran­dom and un­fair – the peo­ple we want to be with don’t want to be with us and the peo­ple who want to be with us are not the peo­ple we want to be with. Re­ally, the thing that’s go­ing to hurt a lot is the fact that some­one doesn’t want to be with you any more. Feel­ing the ab­sence of some­one’s com­pany and the ab­sence of their love are two dif­fer­ent things. I wish I’d known that ear­lier. I wish I’d known that it isn’t any­body’s job to stay in a re­la­tion­ship they don’t want to be in just so some­one else doesn’t feel bad about them­selves. Any­way. That’s all. You’re go­ing to be okay, mate. Andy

Kode’s older sister, Kira, was leaning over a display of jewelry, fisting a jade-green necklace in one hand. Her nose was two inches from the Braetic across the table, the two exchanging intimidating glares. Eena watched for a few seconds as Kira all but crawled over a pile of merchandise, her face scrunched up with resentment, yet enviably stunning as always. “Hey Kode,” the young queen whispered. “Hey, girl.” “What’s going on?” “Kira’s bartering.” Eena watched the fistful of necklace come within a whisker of smacking the merchant’s nose. “She isn’t going to hurt the guy, is she?” Kode snorted on a chuckle. “Not if the dude’s got any sense.” Validly concerned, Eena inched closer to the confrontation, straining to hear their growled dialogue. Kode and Niki crept closer too. Efren, however, stayed where he was, testing the flagpole’s ability to support his body weight. They watched the feisty Mishmorat hold up a small pouch and shake it in front of the Braetic’s eyes. Kira’s fingers curled like claws around the purse. She seemed to smirk for a second when the merchant flinched. In a blink he was back in her face again, shoving aside the purse. “What is she trying to trade?” Eena asked, her voice still hushed as though she might disturb the haggling taking place across the way. “Viidun coins,” Kode said. “Ef gave ‘em to her.” “Are they worth much?’ Kode grinned wryly, “He sure as hell don’t freakin’ think so.” Eena foresaw Niki’s disapproving smack to the back of Kode’s head before he even finished his sentence. He cursed at his girlfriend for the physical abuse, an unwise response that earned him an additional thump on the head. “Freakin’ tyrant,” Kode grumbled. “Vulgar grogfish,” Niki retorted. Still unable to hear well enough to satisfy her curiosity, Eena stole in closer to the scene of heated bartering. She stopped when Kira’s strong voice carried over the murmur of the crowd. Kode and his girlfriend were right on her heels. “This purse is worth ten of those gaudy necklaces. You oughta be payin’ me to take ‘em off your hands, Braetic!” “That alien money is worthless to me, Mishmorat. In all my life I’ve never left Moccobatran soil. And even if I were to take an interstellar trip someday, you’d never catch the likes of me on a barbarian planet like Rapador!” Kira jerked her head, causing her black, cascading hair to ripple over her shoulder. The action made the trader flinch again. His eyes tapered, appearing to fume over what he perceived as intentional bullying. “You ain’t gonna sell this crap to no one else,” the exotic Mishmorat said. “Be smart and take the money. Hell, you could make a dozen pieces of jewelry from these coins. Sell ’em all for ten times the worth of anything you got here.” The Braetic shoved his finger at Kira’s chest, breathing down her throat at the same time. “Why don’t you just take your pretty little backside away from my table and make your own Viidun jewelry. Sell it yourself and then come back with a reasonable offer for my necklace.” His palm opened flat, demanding she hand over the jade stones still in her fist. “You wanna make me?” Kira breathed. “What do you plan to do, steal it?” The merchant challenged her in a gesture, nostrils flaring. “I’m no thief, but I’m not above beating some sense into you ‘til you choose to barter like a respectable Braetic!” Caught up in the intense interaction, Kode supported his sister a little too loudly. “Teach the freakin’ crook a lesson, Sis!” Niki smacked her boyfriend upside the head without missing a beat.

His face always got soft with wonder when he felt the life within his wife’s womb. “This kid’s on the move.” Mariah sat up straight and worked her fingers against her lower back again. “He can move out any time now.” “Your back hurts, huh? Come here.” She offered no resistance as he sat on the grass and drew her to sit between his legs. “Lean back and let me do that for you.” “We’re sitting right out on the front lawn,” she reminded him as she dropped her head back against his shoulder. His hands felt so much better on her back than her own did. “So what? We’re dressed.” Then he lowered his voice near her ear. “I’m only imaging we’re not.” “You’re fantasizing about giving a back rub to a naked hippo?” “Your stomach is beautiful, just like the rest of you, but I have a feeling it’s getting kind of heavy for you.” In sympathy, he kissed the corner of her forehead. “I wish I could carry it for you when you get tired like this.” “The baby carrier from Dad will fit you nicely.” Seth responded with a cheeky cluck. “There’s only one thing that came from Dad that fits me nicely.” “Seth…” She drawled his name, and he laughed. “You sound more like a wife all the time.

Try to go slow then,” Tyler said, using his ankles to tug Tim down, lifting his ass to meet his thrusts. “I dare you.” “You know I can’t now.” Tim whimpered, orgasm tapping at the door as he fucked Tyler relentlessly. Leaning one arm on the mattress, he fumbled between their sweaty bodies and found Tyler’s cock, still hard and thick. Gripping it tight he jerked it, staring directly into Tyler’s eyes as he penetrated his body again and again. Tyler didn’t look away, and Tim’s emotions rose with the impending climax. Though he wasn’t confident he could follow through, he whispered, “I’m not blowing it ‘til you do. I wanna see your face.

He felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, as he deepened the kiss, his fingers curling lightly around the tendrils of her hair. His other arm encircled her waist, pressing her closer, and for a moment he went for broke, kissing her with everything he had. And now that he knew he wasn’t going to get his face slapped, he slowed down to take his time and do it right. The outside world simply ceased to exist. There was only Chloe, warm in his embrace, as her lips responded to his.

I’d learned long ago that actions spoke louder than words with my Phoebe. A man could say “I love you” ‘til he was blue in the face, but send her out on the porch with fresh lemonade while I do the dishes or surprise her with a ridiculous and completely sappy bouquet of flowers picked in the fields, and she heard me loud and clear.

Hi, Paul, it’s great you’re home. I thought you wouldn’t be home ‘til after midnight.” “We got done early,” Paul said, his face devoid of any “nice to see you” smile. “I was really hoping you’d be here … the one night I’m back before midnight …

It is not the difference between them [non-Christian worldviews] but the fact that all of them, whatever their differences, have in common the assumption of human autonomy that is basic to an understanding even of their internal differences. I do not speak of the autonomy of theoretical thought but of the pretended autonomy of apostate man. It is this and, as it appears to me, basically only this this which all schools of apostate thought have in common. Assuming this autonomy apostate man gives a rebellious covenant-breaking response to the revelational challenge that meets at every turn. The face of the triune God of Scripture confronts him everywhere and all the time. He spends the entire energy of his whole personality in order to escape seeing the face of God.

Christ upholds even those who ignore, deny, and oppose him. A little child may slap his father in the face, but it can do so only because the father holds it on his knee.

Not a day has gone by for me that I haven't been waiting for you. That I haven't dreamed of a faceless you. That I haven't imagined what you would feel like under my palms. Waiting was never the problem, it was doubting. I began to doubt that you were real, that you were actually coming to me. But I should never have doubted you. I'm amazed when I look at your face to see the love I feel for you smiling back at me. I would do anything you asked of me to keep that smile there. You are all there is, my world... I'm honored just to be in your presence, let alone have your heart. I adore the way you look at my world. The love you have for my family. How you can be so completely innocent and so achingly sexy all at the same time. How you're always selfless, and there, and full of love even after everything you've been through. Baby, I've said it a million times and I'll continue to say it 'til my last breath… You're amazing. Tomorrow you'll be mine in every way, every sense, every second, but I know that no matter how tight I hold you, it'll never be close enough. No matter how long or hard or passionately I kiss your lips, it'll never be sating. You're my soul-mate, my reason to keep pulling air into my lungs, my gorgeous significant that fits in my arms and my life perfectly, my whole life, my love, my partner in crime, my very heart, my amazing girl. Marry me. Take the beating heart in my chest and do with it what you wish. It's been yours since the day you saved my life. You've been saving it ever since. I love you, baby, more than will ever be understandable, but I dare you to try. Every tomorrow is all that matters, my love. The

Baby, please say something.” He pleaded as he rubbed soothing circles into my back. “Brandon will be back in a couple hours.” I finally spoke. He hissed a curse through his teeth and sagged into the headboard with a thud. “I thought he wouldn’t be back ‘til tomorrow night.” “He got scared when I didn’t answer the phone. Bree told him I was sick and alone, and since no one could get a hold of me …” “Bree called me a few times, begging me to come check on you. Looks like they’re all heading home today too.” “Chase, what should I do?” I began to search his face for answers, but he looked so pained I had to stare at my hands instead. “I can’t answer that for you Princess. No one can.” After a few minutes of intense silence he continued hesitantly, “Who do you want?” “I don’t know!” I blurted out quickly, “I want you Chase, but I can’t hurt him. I won’t hurt him anymore than I have. I love him too much.” He flinched away like I’d slapped him. “No matter who I choose, people will get hurt. And then what happens if I leave him? He lives in your house Chase. He’ll have to see us together, it will kill him, I can’t do that to him! He loves me, he hopped the first flight he could because he was scared for me and wants to come back to take care of me. How am I supposed to tell him I’m in love with someone else after that?” I took three deep breaths in and out in an attempt to calm my shaking, “If I left him for you, it would be bad for us. He’d come after you, the guys in the house would take sides. We would be miserable. My body craves you Chase, but I feel like I’m being torn in two. I just – I need a few weeks to think about this. Can you please give me that?” His jaw was clenched so tightly I thought it might break, “Are you going to ask him to give you time too?” “No, I can’t.” Chase’s eyes turned to ice and his mouth popped open, “So you’re just going to go back to him? Pretend like last night never happened? You’re so worried about hurting everyone else, do you even realize you’ll be hurting me?” He shot up off the bed and started pacing back and forth, “Damn it Harper, don’t you see that? I’m the one that will have to watch you with your boyfriend while waiting for you to figure out what you want!” I flinched when the bedroom door slammed shut behind him. He was right, and I didn’t want to hurt him either, but I didn’t know what else to do at the moment. I was more in love with Chase than I’d realized, but I couldn’t live without Brandon. If I thought I’d hated myself for kissing Chase, I now felt like I was dying thinking about how I’d just betrayed the man I love more than my own life. Even if I thought it was too soon, I’d overheard him talking to his mom telling her he thought I was “the one”, and I couldn’t help but smile at thoughts of our future together. I briefly considered a future with Chase, it didn’t go far. There’s no way Chase felt the same way I did for him. I’m not saying he doesn’t love me, but it can’t mean the same as it does for me. If I were to choose him, would he go back to being hot and cold once I did, and would he want to be with me for any length of time? As much as I wanted to believe everything he said to me last night, deep down I was terrified he’d up and leave me like he has every other girl.

treacle tart, the talk turned to their families. “I’m half-and-half,” said Seamus. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mum didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.” The others laughed. “What about you, Neville?” said Ron. “Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought

Runnin'" Can't keep runnin' away..... [Verse 1: Fat Lip] I must admit on some occasions I went out like a punk and a chump or a sucka or something to that effect Respect I usedto never get when all I got was upset when niggas use to be like 'What's up fool!' and tried to seat a nigga like the Lip for no reason at all I can recall crip niggas throwin' c in my face down the hall I'm kickin' it in the back of the school eatin' chicken at three, wonderin' why is everybody always pickin' on me I tried to talk and tell tham chill I did nothing to deserve this But when it didn't work I wasn't scared just real nervous and unprepared to deal with scrappin' no doubt cuz my pappy never told me how to knock a nigga out But now in 95 I must survive as a man on my own Fuck around with Fatlip yes ya get blown I'm not tryin to show no macho is shown but when it's on, if it's on, then it's on! [Verse 2: Slim Kid Tre] There comes a time in every mans life when he's gotta handle up on his own Can't depend on friends to help you in a sqeeze, please they got problems of their own Down for the count on seven chickens shits don't get to heaven til they faced these fears in these fear zones Used to get jacked back in high school I played it cool just so some real shit won't get full blown Being where I'm from they let the smoke come quicker than an evil red-neck could lynch a helpless colored figure And as a victim I invented low-key til the keyhole itself got lower than me So I stood up and let my free form form free I don't sweat it I let the bullshit blow in the breeze in other words just freeze [Verse 3: Knumbskull #1] It's 1995 now that I'm older stress weighs on my shoulders heavy as boulders but I told ya till the day that I die I still will be a soldier and that's all I told ya and that's all I showed ya and all this calamity is rippin' my sanity Can it be I'm a celebrity whose on the brink of insanity Now don't be wishin's of switchin' any positions with me cuz when you in my position, it ain't never easy to do any type of maintaining cuz all this gaming and famin' from entertainin' is hella straining to the brain and... But I can't keep runnin I just gotta keep keen and cunnin'...

Maybe that's the genius you were talking about," I said. "The genius to heal it is to hit it head on and keep hitting it 'til you develop the strength to deal with it. Make sure you don't pull the rug over it and pretend it isn't there. Talk about it. Face it. Feel it. 'Til you heal it.

Excerpted From Chapter One “Rock of Ages” floated lightly down the first floor corridor of the Hollywood Hotel’s west wing. It was Sunday morning, and Hattie Mae couldn’t go to church because she had to work, so she praised the Lord in her own way, but she praised Him softly out of consideration for the “Do Not Disturb” placards hanging from the doors she passed with her wooden cart full of fresh linens and towels. Actually Sundays were Hattie Mae’s favorite of the six days she worked each week. For one thing, her shift ended at noon on Sundays. For another, this was the day Miss Lillian always left a “little something” in her room to thank Hattie Mae for such good maid service. Most of the hotel’s long-term guests left a little change for their room maids, but in Miss Lillian’s case, the tip was usually three crinkly new one dollar bills. It seemed like an awful lot of money to Hattie Mae, whose weekly pay was only nineteen dollars. Still, Miss Lillian Lawrence could afford to be generous because she was a famous actress in the movies. She was also, Hattie Mae thought, a very fine lady. When Hattie Mae reached the end of the corridor, she knocked quietly on Miss Lillian’s door. It was still too early for most guests to be out of their rooms, but Miss Lillian was always up with the sun, not like some lazy folks who laid around in their beds ‘til noon, often making Hattie Mae late for Sunday dinner because she couldn’t leave until all the rooms along her corridor were made up. After knocking twice, Hattie Mae tried Miss Lillian’s door. It opened, so after selecting the softest towels from the stacks on her cart, she walked in. With the curtains drawn the room was dark, but Hattie Mae didn’t stop to switch on the overheard light because her arms were full of towels. The maid’s eyes were on the chest of drawers to her right where Miss Lillian always left her tip, so she didn’t see the handbag on the floor just inside the door. Hattie Mae tripped over the bag and fell headlong to the floor, landing inches from the dead body of Lillian Lawrence. In the dim light Hattie Mae stared into a pale face with a gaping mouth and a trickle of blood from a small red dot above one vacant green eye. Hattie Mae screamed at the top of her lungs and kept on screaming.

You can’t see them but Kindred have scent glands all over their bodies—mostly in the face and groin area. One of the ways we claim a mate is to scent mark her—but that’s pretty hard to do when the woman I want to claim won’t let me touch her.” “I told you I don’t want to be claimed.” Liv could hear the tremble in her voice but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I left too much back on Earth to forget about just because you want me as your mate, Baird.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want to fight it ‘til the end? That’s fine with me, Lilenta. We’ll call it a draw tonight. But you want to remember one thing—tomorrow is the beginning of the second week—our bathing week—so we’ll be sharing the bathing pool every night. And I’ll be allowed to touch you—touch you and make you come.” “You can’t…you wouldn’t.

THE BALLAD OF NEARLY HEADLESS NICK BY J.K. ROWLING It was a mistake any wizard could make Who was tired and caught on the hop One piffling error, and then, to my terror, I found myself facing the chop. Alas for the eve when I met Lady Grieve A-strolling the park in the dusk! She was of the belief I could straighten her teeth Next moment she’d sprouted a tusk. I cried through the night that I’d soon put her right But the process of justice was lax; They’d brought out the block, though they’d mislaid the rock Where they usually sharpened the axe. Next morning at dawn, with a face most forlorn, The priest said to try not to cry, ‘You can come just like that, no, you won’t need a hat,’ And I knew that my end must be nigh. The man in the mask who would have the sad task Of cleaving my head from my neck, Said ‘Nick, if you please, will you get to your knees,’ And I turned to a gibbering wreck. ‘This may sting a bit’ said the cack-handed twit As he swung the axe up in the air, But oh the blunt blade! No difference it made, My head was still definitely there. The axeman he hacked and he whacked and he thwacked, ‘Won’t be too long’, he assured me, But quick it was not, and the bone-headed clot Took forty-five goes ’til he floored me. And so I was dead, but my faithful old head It never saw fit to desert me, It still lingers on, that’s the end of my song, And now, please applaud, or you’ll hurt me.

**Verse 1:** I've got the blues, they're settin' in, Like a slow train comin' 'round the bend. My heart's heavy like boots in mud, Life's dealt a hand, and it ain't good. **Chorus:** I'm down, but not out, in this lonesome town, My spirit's low, but I ain't gonna drown. I'll sing my sorrows to the prairie wind, 'Til I find my way up once again. **Verse 2:** The whiskey whispers and the guitar cries, Telling tales of how time flies. Lost my love, lost my way, But I'll find the strength to face the day. **Chorus:** I'm down, but not out, in this lonesome town, My spirit's low, but I ain't gonna drown. I'll sing my sorrows to the prairie wind, 'Til I find my way up once again. **Bridge:** In the quiet of the night, under the starlight, I find hope in the pale moon's glow. The road is long, but my will is strong, I'll rise again, this I know. **Chorus:** I'm down, but not out, in this lonesome town, My spirit's low, but I ain't gonna drown. I'll sing my sorrows to the prairie wind, 'Til I find my way up once again. **Outro:** So here's to the down, but not defeated, To the hearts that keep on beatin'. In the end, we'll stand tall, 'Cause being down ain't the end at all.

Stars, Sam. We mucked it. I mean, I mucked it. And not just for us. Yet I recall pure joy: your bike hot between my legs, your arms locked ’round my waist. I recall poor Second’s chiding before I blinked it off. I recall laughter and all of those soldiers from someone else’s war standing on that terrace singing yet another Terran victory rag. You told me later that you didn’t know I’d make a run at the canyon wall ’til I torqued it, thumbing your bike’s twin throttles hard enough to singe our legs as the acceleration turned into an increasing roar. By the time we hit fifty, I couldn’t even hear you yelling at me to stop over the wind. I didn’t think you were serious. We’d climbed that mesa in daylight when we were younger, smaller, bendier. We’d done it with safety rails and belts, with hoverbikes that floated back down like carnival balloons when we failed; we’d done it with our parents cheering and a Grass Priest standing watch in case we needed healing. That run should’ve been a lark, Sam. But the night was dark as space, and our planet has no moon. You grabbed hard as I pulled the yoke. The engines screamed. I meant to pull up, climb that mesa vertically—see if we could rocket to the top before I gunned again like we’d done a hundred times as kids. But I timed it too late. I saw the mesa wall in our headlamps, and then everything went black. The next thing I recall is waking up on the Unity ship Ascendant with Ken’ri Mureen of Glos smiling down at me. Those big round eyes in her lovely, lying face. I thought I’d surely killed you, Sam, but Mureen swore you were fine. Mureen swore removing my Second was only temporary—swore surgery would fix the soup the crash had made of my brain. She made me sign forms, and then Ma came in with pastries. I still didn’t believe you’d made it out, but Ma swore it too. You know the gist after that—mostly—but there’s a lot I never told—

O’Reilly passed a table where Gerry Shanks was telling a joke to his friends. Gerry nodded to O’Reilly but didn’t break his stride. “… so there’s your mountaineer man on a ledge a hundred feet down, both arms broken, and this other climber higher up throws him down a rope and says he, ‘Grab you on til that there with your teeth and I’ll get you up here, so I will.’” O’Reilly saw the grins on the men’s faces, heard their chuckles already beginning. Gerry had a reputation as a storyteller. “So the one at the top starts pulling away and pulling away.” Gerry accompanied his words with the motions of a man hauling hand over hand on a rope. “He’s working like blue blazes.” O’Reilly had to hear the punch line. “And then, as your other man’s head appears level with the safe ground, the one pulling gasps, takes a big deep breath, and says, ‘Are you all right, Paddy?’ “‘I aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam,’ says Paddy,” and as Gerry spoke he let his voice fall from a yell to a whisper.

Man, people don' need no monster to make 'em do evil-hearted shit. All it take is a brown face, or somebody wearin' old tore-up clothes.

I looked across the table and caught Jack watching me while Chloe and Gage whispered sweet nothings to each other. "What are you looking at?" I demanded. "You." My heart squeezed in my chest. "Well, don't look at me. I would say don't talk to me, either, but we need to get this thing done." "Would it help if I apologized?" Sincerity oozed from every pore of his handsome face. It was incredibly irritating. "Apologize for what? For ghosting me? For kissing Clare? For failing to tell me about your past or your psychotic bunny-boiling ex? For making her so angry that she ratted us out to a Mafia boss who has threatened to kill me and my friends?

Clare can be our grease woman," Jack offered. "If we have to deal with a pressure-sensitive floor or lasers in the bunker or the vault, she'll be invaluable. She's very flexible and can get through tight spaces. I've seen her bend---" I choked and spat my drink in Jack's face. It wasn't intentional, but I was also not unhappy his face was in my way. "Dude..." Gage shook his head. "That's not what I meant." Jack dabbed at his face with a napkin. "She's a burglar. She's who people call if they need someone to scale a brick wall, descend from the ceiling via a series of cables, or maneuver around a laser hallway." I had a strong feeling Clare wasn't the type of person to do her flexible twisting and bending in jogging pants and a baggy tee. She would probably put on her whitest Lycra and ask Jack to set up a pretend laser field made out of string so he could watch her practice.

For the One Jesus gave His life for me, He took away my pain, He made beat this heart of mine So I could love again. In return I asked Him What I could give away, He showed me things That break His heart, And then I heard Him say. Just stop for the one, Until My kingdom comes, From the smallest seed, Comes a mighty tree. When you just stop for the one. He showed me orphans on the street, Their faces full of fear, Always hungry, always cold, Always death is near. Girls in flimsy dresses, Watching men drive past, Trading on their kisses, Every kiss their last. He said... Just stop for the one, Until My kingdom comes, From the smallest seed, Comes a mighty tree. When you just stop for the one. I saw boys without a purpose Become men before their time. Every day a little worse, Driven into crime. Drugs to ease the sorrow, Never kill the pain, Peace lasts ’til tomorrow, Then it all starts up again. Jesus stopped for children And the thief on Calvary, For the woman at the water well, And then He stopped for me. He said go love another, Until the battle’s done, In this world you will have trouble, But victory shall come. He said... Just stop for the one, Until My kingdom comes, From the smallest seed Comes a mighty tree. Just stop for the one, Until My will is done Here on earth, As you just ... stop ... for ... the ... one. (Claire Vorster, 2012)

Seriously? I wouldn't need to be rescued. I would find out which way was downhill and locate the nearest water source to follow or I'd climb high and look for gaps in tree lines due to roads, power cables, or train tracks. At night, I'd look for artificial light sources..." I paused when I noticed the smirk had been totally wiped off Jack's face. "Do you want me to tell you how I'd read the night sky? I can do that, too. Oh, and I also know how to make a fire out of sticks and build a rudimentary shelter. I joined an orienteering club when I was a kid to learn outdoor survival skills, and every Christmas I asked Santa for survival gear." Silence. "Boom." I opened my hand and closed it again, giving Jack my most satisfied smile. "Mic drop.

You understand the secret part of me that craves adventure. You push me to be better. You have faith in me. When you listen, you really listen. When you look at me, you really see me." "I'm the best." He gave a satisfied growl and unbuttoned the rest of my shirt. "Very best," I agreed as he lifted me and propped me on the desk, facing the chair with my skirt bunched around my waist. "You love me." "I do." He sat in the chair facing me and slowly slid my panties over my hips. "What are you doing?" I could barely hear my own words for the pounding of my pulse in my ears as he eased me back on the desk. "We're going to play show-and-tell." His hands found my thighs and he spread me wide.

It occurred to me in that moment that this was the perfect opportunity to incapacitate Clare. Unfortunately, I didn't have a weapon, and the only thing in the room, aside from the coffin, was a wreath made of exotic flowers on a wire stand beside me. "Jack loved his flowers." I bent over as if to smell the flowers, grabbed the wreath, spun, and smashed it over Clare's head. Flowers scattered across the carpet and the wreath came apart in my hands. Stunned, Clare just stared, her hair adorned with a sea of pretty pink plumeria. "Simi, what are you doing?" Dad stood in the doorway, his face a mask of horror. "This is the woman who kissed Jack with a gun to his chest. She also tried to kill me. She tried to make it so I would never see you again. I still might have to leave you because of her." My hands tightened around the wire frame so hard my knuckles turned white. Dad's brow creased in a frown. "Use your fist like you did when you were playfighting with your brothers." "Pathetic." Clare grabbed the remains of the flower wreath out of my hands and threw it on the floor. "If you really wanted to hurt me, you'd pick something more substantial." I threw a hard right, grazing her cheekbone when she ducked to the side. "That's it," Dad called out. "A little higher." "What's going on?" Mom walked into the room with Nani. "Why is Simi hitting that woman beside Jack's coffin? We're at a funeral. It's disrespectful." "This is the woman who tried to break them up," Dad said. "She's the reason for all that talk of leaving us. She tried to kill our Simi." "Hit her harder." Mom held her fists in the air. "Give her a one-two punch.

I sucked in my lips and leaned against the camper door. "Which one is the real you? The charming rogue slash professional thief or the highly trained secret undercover agent?" Jack walked over and leaned his forearm against the door above my head, his gaze never leaving mine. "Which one do you want?" My pulse kicked up a notch and a white-hot heat shot through my veins. "I want the real you." Jack cupped my jaw, tilting my face back as his lips came down on mine. "You have the real me." I melted against him, drowning in his kiss. I wanted to go back to the time when there was trust between us and life hadn't gotten in the way. He lifted my hand and brushed his lips softly over my knuckles. "I never saw a more beautiful sight than you hanging out the window of a speeding truck, screaming my name." "You didn't answer." Slowly, carefully, he kissed my hand, claiming every inch of bare skin with a gentleness I didn't know he possessed. "I had a knife between my teeth." "I suppose that's a good excuse." I tipped my head back for another kiss. Alone for the first time since the chase, knowing he was safe, I felt overwhelmed with the need to have him close, to feel his body against mine. His smell, his taste, his heat, his desire--- I wanted them all. His lips met mine and I explored the depths of his mouth, tangling my tongue with his as I slid one hand under his shirt to feel his warmth and the firm, steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. When we broke apart to take a breath, I pressed a kiss to his throat, licking the saltiness from his skin. He backed away, one step, then two, leaving me bereft. "What's wrong?" "Chloe is in the truck." "She's a very heavy sleeper." I trailed my fingers over every hard ripple of his abdomen, following the soft trail that disappeared beneath his belt.

Perfectly Imperfect country melodic acoustic August 2, 2024 at 11:34 AM [Verse] I'm not perfect, I stumble and fall, Sometimes I say things that don't make sense at all. Laughing when I shouldn't, a little wild and free, This is who I am, it's just me being me. [Verse 2] Might seem crazy, might seem strange, But I promise you, I probably won't change. Small-town roots run deep in my mind, Love it or leave it, the choice is yours to find. [Chorus] Love me or leave me, take me as I am, With all my flaws, I'm still giving all I can. If I love you, it's with a heart that's true, Full of passion, through and through. [Verse 3] On those backroads, under the moon's light, Singing songs 'bout the wrongs and rights. Got a heart that's tender, but strong as steel, Feelings so real, that’s how I heal. [Verse 4] When the storms come rolling, and the skies aren't clear, Just hold my hand, and I'll be right here. We can face the thunder, take it head-on, With a love so strong, we'll ride 'til dawn. [Chorus] Love me or leave me, take me as I am, With all my flaws, I'm still giving all I can. If I love you, it's with a heart that's true, Full of passion, through and through.

He was too close. Too familiar, and yet too foreign. And with that hollow, affective breath, she felt her own chest begin to rise and fall with rapid, necessary, actual breath. “You owe me an explanation, Marjory,” he said quietly. “You owe me the same,” she snapped. “You first.” “You’re dead,” she said again, her voice thick with threatening tears. “But I’m here. I’m right here.” A small sob escaped her, and she found herself instantly surrounded. Her face was pressed into the broad strength of his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around her. And because she was a masochist, she allowed him.

Two hundred years ago, Mother Nature snapped. She hit the world with a plague that ate greed. The 1% was her appetizer. Then another 60% of the population, 'til the whole world stood still. The chaos killed millions and crushed capitalism (that system that let people worship money more than earth, FYI. I know, so gross, right?). The weather she sent was so wild, it changed the face of the planet forever. Everyone was left scrambling to survive.

Scribbled and scratching, Half finished pages at dawn People that live here are wondering Where all their strength's gone. Moments of splendor Wind up like ashes in rain, One look you're smiling, Another your face is in pain. I wake up at night With the sweat on my head. A look in your eyes That will haunt me til dead. I just can't seem to shake it, Something about what you said: How love's like an orphan, A motherless child gone unfed. So we laugh with the joker Hold back the tears til they're gone. Drink and be merry They'll find us all dead men at dawn. We're so far away From wherever we came That sometimes I wonder We'll see it again. It's true what they say... You can't always go home, You can't always be warm inside. That, in love, we're like orphans, Strangers in paradise.

At least stay here til you move—” “Fine, yes.” Bushka nods. “They do so much sex.” “No—” Magnolia starts shaking her head. “They do,” Bushka nods. “Like animal. Bang bang bang all day.” Magnolia scrunches her face up. “But your sex—” Bushka continues. “Is okay!” “Oh, good—” I stare over at Parks, eyes wide. “You are young,” Bushka tells us. “Have fun, is good to have orgasm, yes?” She pats me on the arm for a job well done. “Good.” “I take it back—” Magnolia shakes her head. “You can leave.” “I go to my room now,” Bushka says, ignoring Parks, already walking to it. “—Not your room!” Magnolia yells down the hall.

I'm ready to hear your plan for Moscow, assuming you're not going to eat me for knowing what you are." Just 'til Moscow. I could handle this just until we got to Moscow. Right? "I'm not going to eat you." Ryker snorted a laugh, then changed the expression on his face to something of flirtatious mischief. "That is, unless you want me to, firecracker.

What good fucking boys,” she coos. “So pretty on your knees for me.” The surprise must be evident on my face because she does a little laugh and smiles, a queen triumphant. When we started this scene, I was in control. Now I’m on my fucking knees and loving it, ready to beg for more. She brushes her fingers down my cheek, mirroring the motion on Jake. “Now…who’s going to be the first to take me upstairs and fuck my ass til I scream?” We can’t scramble to our feet fast enough.

A man could say “I love you” ‘til he was blue in the face, but send her out on the porch with fresh lemonade while I do the dishes or surprise her with a ridiculous and completely sappy bouquet of flowers picked in the fields, and she heard me loud and clear.

Act like someone who is self-confident, even if you aren’t. “Fake it ‘til you make it” is a great personal development strategy. You might not control your feelings, but you do control your actions. You control your body; you can choose to act self-confident even if you don’t feel it. When faced with something that scares you or makes you feel threatened, think what choice you’d make if you were confident and secure…and then do that.

Tell you what I want Essence 'Tell you what I need Essence What I'm looking for Essence Sit in silence close your eyes, feel the magic everywhere inside you Fingers toes head heart and soul, connected deep to every living thing Not just the taste, the touch, the smell Or the face you know so well Not the 400 word description The book, the film, the faithful depiction Get out of here Get out while you can Choose life, strive for essence Choose life, Choose living Choose life, Choose living Go digging, Go digging Go digging, Go digging Go digging for essence for Essence for Essence Sit in silence and watch the sky Feel the magic deep inside you Every woman and every man Turn off your mind and you'll understand Sit in silence and watch the sky yeah Feel the energy inside outside Aint one damn thing means a thing in this life til you get close to Essence, til you try Every man and woman listen to me, hey Live in the moment or you'll never be free Essence Essence Essence. Choose life, Choose essence.

Only you,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him. “To worship ye with my body, give ye all the service of my hands. To give ye my name, and all my heart and soul with it. Only you. Because ye will not let me lie—and yet ye love me.” I did touch him then. “Jamie,” I said softly, and laid my hand on his arm. “You aren’t alone anymore.” He turned then and took me by the arms, searching my face. “I swore to you,” I said. “When we married. I didn’t mean it then, but I swore—and now I mean it.” I turned his hand over in both mine, feeling the thin, smooth skin at the base of his wrist, where the pulse beat under my fingers, where the blade of his dirk had cut his flesh once, and spilled his blood to mingle with mine forever. I pressed my own wrist against his, pulse to pulse, heartbeat to heartbeat. “Blood of my blood …” I whispered. “Bone of my bone.” His whisper was deep and husky. He knelt quite suddenly before me, and put his folded hands in mine; the gesture a Highlander makes when swearing loyalty to his chieftain. “I give ye my spirit,” he said, head bent over our hands. “ ’Til our life shall be done,” I said softly. “But it isn’t done yet, Jamie, is it?” Then he rose and took the shift from me, and I lay back on the narrow bed naked, pulled him down to me through the soft yellow light, and took him home, and home, and home again, and we were neither one of us alone.

Two hundred years ago, Mother Nature snapped. She hit the world with a plague that ate greed. The 1% was her appetizer. Then another 60%of the population, 'til the whole world stood still. The chaos killed millions and crushed capitalism (that system that let people worship money more than earth, FYI. I know, so gross, right?). The weather she sent was so wild, it changed the face of the planet forever. Everyone was left scrambling to survive.

You crack slightly in the face of a world not built for you, and they load you up with medications til you can't feel anything, then they act surprised when your body and mind rebel and the rebellion is an explosion outward instead of another suicide attempt.

I'm part of the fellowship of the unashamed. I have Holy Spirit power. The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been made. I am a disciple of His. I won't look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still. My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, my future is secure. I'm finished and done with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tamed visions, mundane talking, cheap giving, and dwarfed goals. I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity. I don't have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded, or rewarded. I now live by faith, lean on His presence, walk by patience, lift by prayer, and labor by power. My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is heaven, my road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions are few, my Guide is reliable, my mission is clear. I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded, or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity. I won't give up, shut up, let up, until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, preached up for the cause of Christ. I am a disciple of Jesus. I must go 'til He comes, give 'til I drop, preach 'til all know, and work 'til He stops me. And when He comes for His own, He will have no problem recognizing me - my banner of identification with Jesus will be clear.

Don't turn away, don't tell me that we're not the same We face the fire together, brothers 'til the end Brother

Go back to bed." He told me. The bright light illuminated his face and made him look angelic. I laughed to myself. What a stupid, stupid thought...

I love you, Quade,” she says, once the kiss is done and with his warmth still in her. “Always have.” “See, I knew—” She cracks him one on the arm before he can finish. It can’t always be kisses and dancing, after all. Sometimes you’ve got to keep things zesty. Sharp. Tough, like love is. She’s pretty sure her love for him is tough all right. It let her run to him, after all. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know. But I knew this much—I’ve loved you since the first day you punched me in the face. And I’ll love you ’til the last.