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We Are Midnight Daydreamers

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LJ Foolishness [26 Nov 2007|09:31pm]

 Maybe a dream

Rain soaked gown

Body shimmering

Breasts rising and falling like the tide

Her body an ocean to drown in

And he would but wish

Just to be the drops

Now brushing her cheek

Caressing her neck

Down into each pore

Tasting the sweetness

Of a foreign shore

She'd know

Because she always does

A hand upon his knee

Now rising

On his thigh


Coming so close

To hear his breath



She'd know

She could do anything

She pleased.

"Just teasing you.that's all."

And he would be lost

In total submission

And despite the sake

Of sanity

Would never want to awake

1 night| When do you daydream?

The Hungry Heart [01 Nov 2007|07:28pm]

 Hunger like an ache
The thirst never quenched
Throbbing desire
Standing still
Waiting and wanting
For what will never be.
What can I give?
When I cannot even take your hand
If all is never to be
Because love wants so much more than itself
Why then I will want you even more
Let desire burn even brighter
Let my blood scream out
Your name
So that somewhere
Some how
You will smile
At all I offer
All that is yours
And in that smile
When I'm lost in your eyes
For the briefest second
I am touched
By all you know
Of what I am
Of what we are
From before we ever were
I was meant to love you
Yet never have you
To want what can never be

Just smile
And know how much I love you

7 nights| When do you daydream?

Two haikus and a three line poem [30 Nov 2006|12:01am]

Autumn Leaf
As the summer fades
Decay creeps along your veins.
Your reactions, stilled.

Still the Air
And still the air sings
The iron latch's low note
Black bars on gray sky

Hands bruised and blue with cold
clutching the seeds of a marigold.
Wicked eyes and a beautiful soul.
When do you daydream?

River-snow [20 Nov 2006|12:59am]

I didn't write this, but it's been a long, long time since anyone posted on this community. And I love this poem like none other.

A hundred mountains and no bird.
A thousand paths without a footprint.
A little boat, a bamboo cloak,
An old man fishing in the cold river-snow.
--Liu Zongyuan
When do you daydream?

[24 Sep 2006|04:36pm]

This is something I wrote for english class, and I actually ended up writing.  It was supposed t o be a character sketch, but it came out more like a gloomy short story.  I also need a title so if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them. 

When do you daydream?

A first chapter... [23 Sep 2006|10:14pm]

Now, I don't usually write in this style, and I need a little help with my fact-checking, which is why I'm posting here with this... so what does everybody think so far? Any advice is gratefully appreciated. (Edit: Err. This takes place 1500 years before present.)

6 nights| When do you daydream?

Maybe if I had a list of answers, I'd write them all in song [23 Sep 2006|10:13pm]

Here's a poem. I wrote it. Now you read it.

nightCollapse )
3 nights| When do you daydream?

beginnings of a college essay [19 Sep 2006|11:38pm]


I would really appreciate feedback. lots of it
I'd put it under a cut.. but the cut option is being unreasonably evil... so i shall just post it flat... sorry for the length...

"Ready to go, Runt?" I stretched out in the back of my cousin's Jeep, a boxy green thing with barely enough leg room for my 5'7" frame if I can spread out over two seats. The only redeeming feature about this particular gas consuming transportation device is the formerly yellow rubber duckie that holds a place of honor in the change dish set into the dashboard. The sunlight burning through the windshield has sunburned the duckie, but it still squeaks. My cousin, Keith, got out of the driver's seat; his best friend on the East Coast, Adam, got out of the passenger side and opened the back for me. I crawled out, ducking to avoid hitting my head.

"Which trail? Or are you going to get us lost again?" Keith punched me in the shoulder and smiled. His smiles are hard to see-- it took me years to realize that you don't look at his mouth when he smiles. You look at his eyes. Keith's eyes smile, and he really means it.

"I take no responsibility for that one, Runt," he said, tossing me our pack. I pulled the black straps over my shoulder, clipped the lock around my waist. The pack held our currently prized posessions: three jackets, a spare pair of gloves, three bottles of water, Keith's camera, and three King Sized Snickers bars.

If there's one thing in the world I will drop everything to do, it's go hiking with my cousin. He's never in town, so getting to spend time with him is a treat worthy of christmas morning status. He's more like the much-older brother you never fought with because he's got the old pictures of you in a bathtub and isn't afraid to use them. Keith arranges outings whenever he can. He says it's because if we don't push him, he'll get fat. We know this is Keith language for "I'd like to spend alone time with you but don't want you to get any ideas that I actually LIKE you or something".

We started on the trail, our positions on the trail shifting as we each found our rhythms. Adam and Keith talked; I listened. Their conversation ranged from Adam's current medical residency to Keith's looking for a job up in Toronto. My listening ranged from the shifting crunch of damp leaves under our feet and the slosh of water bottles at my back. Eventually, we fell into a conversationally quiet line. Adam took up the rear, jogging ahead occasionally. Keith and I walked together. I kept my pace slow, knowing he'd torn his hamstring hiking Machu Picchu that August.

"So, Runt, what's going on?" Keith speak for "update me on your life". I launched into a conversation on AP Physics and US History, offering some of the facts I thought he'd find vaguely interesting. The talk shifted from classes to college search to his girlfriend, Jen. When I asked about her, his eyes lit up. Few people can make my cousin glow the way she does. I refrained from mentioning that he was over his head with her.

One of the best things about my cousin is he listens and talks. Unlike a lot of 35 year olds who have 16 year old cousins, Keith never treats me like I know less than he does. Even when I do. Especially when I do. He says he's done enough stupid things that listening to a 16 year old's advice, even his Runty cousin's advice, can't be the worst of them. Keith would be a great tennis player: he has an amazing backhand.

We fell back into silence as I ran out of things to say that I think would be okay to talk about. Some things you just don't tell your cousin. Though I should. The silence stretched through two water breaks, broken up by Adam telling us about the bike ride through the boroughs he plans to do later this year. Keith started up a monologue about his hike through Machu Picchu, a story that carries us through August and the steeper part of our own hike.

When we reached the top, we all shut up and appreciate the view. Hiking has a distinct advantage over other forms of uphill cardiovascular activity: the view is always worth however agonizing the hike may have been. I never liked uphill jogging at gyms: tredmills make me feel like some sort of gerbil in a sadistic human experiment. I keep waiting for someone to put a bell in front of me and feed me when I learn how to ring it.

The Hudson River Valley spreads out in a flood of evergreen and mist. Looking to the left a bit, Bear Mountain sleeps over little grey and red towns. The Hudson river wanders like a slash through my vision. Adam went to inspect a dry bush out of our eyesight that was in desperate need of attention. Keith threw me a snickers bar and tossed back a gulp of water before taking out his camera. I was a quarter of the way through my bar when the silence had stretched too thin for my nerves.

"Keith." He turned, shut off his camera with an extraneous flick of his hand. Adam goes back to inspect another bush. Keith settled down on the flat rock next to me, legs propped on a conveniently placed fallen log. The silence stretched again. I stared at the view, unable to appreciate it again.

"Keith," I start, and hate my voice for cracking. I drink from my water bottle. "Keith, I'm bi." The silence thins, thickens, and my throat closes in a way that has nothing to do with caramel, peanuts, and chocolate.

"Well, Runt," Keith starts slowly, "I guess you lose points for being half fag." I listen to the way the word rolls off his tongue. Fag. it's the most insulting term I can think of offhand. But it didn't sound like an insult coming from him. Rather, just another word. Like muffin, or shoehorn. "Then again, Adam's brother's all fag, and he's a great guy. So maybe you'll make up for riding the bicycle." I can't help but laugh.

19 nights| When do you daydream?

[08 Jul 2006|02:40am]

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

A brand new community looking for more active members
Apply today if you think you've got it all

I normally don't like these kinds of things, but I do really like this one.
Plus, it's my community (even though I've switched names eight billion times) and I can put it here. :)
When do you daydream?

Fireflies [03 Jul 2006|10:52pm]

[ mood | mellow ]

FirefliesCollapse )

When do you daydream?

[26 Jun 2006|05:36pm]

I wrote this in my journal awhile ago, and found it again last night.

I write the strangest things in my journalCollapse )

Why am I always writing about the subway? Answer me this.
2 nights| When do you daydream?

Poetry! [26 Jun 2006|12:48am]

Normally, I am not one for poetry. I can deal with reading it, most of the time, at least the masters, but I don't write it, because I suck. (Unless, of course, I am purposefully writing it to be... well, disturbing, which has happened at least once.) This time, however, I think it was worth keeping... a relative first. Plus, this community gets almost no posts anyway, so why not.
1 night| When do you daydream?

Poetic silliness [23 May 2006|01:40pm]

When do you daydream?

I wrote this just now. [22 May 2006|05:24pm]

The photo caught her with her mouth half-open
in laughter, in prayer, in song
or telling a secret that spilled out like a snake--
a flash of bright green darting under dripping leaves.

A shrug, a smile, the curl of an eyelash
this is all the love I get
picked up like crushed petals off a rain-wet sidewalk.
I can't say I mind.
3 nights| When do you daydream?

I'm rescuing this place from community death! [22 Mar 2006|08:23pm]

Here's this thing I wrote about the transit strike. dark winter birds on a telephone wireCollapse )
5 nights| When do you daydream?

[20 Jan 2006|02:01pm]

I wrote this awhile ago. Not much new stuff from me lately, so I'll post it.

Oh, how I CRINGECollapse )
When do you daydream?

black madonna [19 Jan 2006|10:17pm]

[ mood | cheerful ]

I don't know WHAT to say about this. It was written to: "Idioteque" and "In Limbo" by Radiohead, "Song For Holly" by Esthero, and "Juniper" by Noe Venable.

This doesn't really make sense, and there is some wierd crap with the tenses and I very much dislike some of my phrasing. But this is a part of something that's been brewing in my mind for long, long time.

another message you can't read///black madonnaCollapse )

When do you daydream?

tmesis [19 Jan 2006|10:10pm]

[ mood | bored ]

{separation of the parts of a compound word by one or more intervening words}

She does not always remember the color of his eyes- what is color but something he is erasing from his life? Every photograph he takes in black and white is progress towards a future of colorless memories. All she wants these days is to be the only glowing thing in his world: the only shaded strokes of indigo beneath his tired eyes.

Baby, do as I say and not as I do.

She can’t sleep without him and he can’t sleep at all- she does not ask where his night goes and he does not ask what she dreams. But the knowledge of his long hours and fingertips pressing rhythm into the drums stashed in the corner gets caught in her throat. The idea of him alone like that- so far from her and her silent warmth- is hard to breathe around, and tonight is not the first night she has dreamt of standing alone on the lake with the pale blue of his lips pressing at the solid ice beneath her feet, eyes wide and coated in distorting crystals of snow.

She always holds herself before she falls asleep at night, fingers gripping the soft flesh of her back. She hopes that by keeping his place in her bed at night- she forms her body around the place his used to lie- that he will sense it and come to her. Somehow his heart will feel the heated space left for it, and he will come slipping through the freezing midnight streets to find her. He will come, she is sure that he will. So far, he hasn’t.

Subtle dawn slips through his windows and over where he has fallen, exhausted, into his bed. The sheets tangle and tear around him in wild configurations. If she were here she would watch for omens in the way the fabric traps their feet together.

Her night stretches ever onwards towards morning and her dreams coil in on one another, twisting angry and lambent across frozen landscapes. The ineffable horror of waking without him- he is rarely in her bed, so she sees the fear of loss in a more general sense- manifests itself as an ocean spilling across the wood of her bedroom floor. It laps at her feet and waves pound at every door, holing her where she cannot find him and where he will not tread.

He dreams of her, and the way the tendrils of her hair spill so elegantly through his fingers when she sleeps.

(THIS IS NOT FINISHED. I am writing this piece partially because ginblossom inspired me, and partially because I need to get a new short story out.)
1 night| When do you daydream?

[29 Dec 2005|11:41am]


I've just been grappling with the idea of beauty and where I fit in .. I came up with this poem.


VoirCollapse )

2 nights| When do you daydream?

[22 Dec 2005|10:52pm]


Just a short poem I wrote.  Dark and violent.  Read at your own risk.


Battez-moiCollapse )

1 night| When do you daydream?

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