Lit Fortnightly - 12 April 2012

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What you'll find in this news article: Day late, but still that same intro... | Current Lit Going-Ons | General info on the Lit Community | The past week's lit DDs

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dA Literature




The past week's Lit DDs

Mature Content

How To Say GoodbyeDear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water from a rusty tap, yet you clung on, holding tightly to the walls of my pelvic region. Wiggling upwards, towards my throat. Past my teeth. You're trying to get out, but my family has decided you won't breathe when you're released from your bloody shackles; you may as well settle down now, sweet son, settle down.
The rest of this, to me, is a blur. Th
HweolCollectively they were dubbed "The Intoxi". Everyone thought it was just short for "intoxicated", as if some internationally organized internet conspiracy had caused them all to pour out into the streets on cue that day, drunk out of their minds. Hell, I thought I had missed out on something, and after seeing the news, even I popped open a bottle of Bud I had in the fridge and roamed the streets for a bit with everyone else. It seemed like the thing to do, and I didn't want to be left out when I'd clearly missed the memo. It had seemed meticulously planned at the time, especially with all those people in all those countries. As I walked the streets that day, sipping my beer in clear defiance of US law, I nodded to my fellow wanderers, waved to some, said hi to others. However, the ones I waved to merely looked at me and frowned even though some of them waved back. The ones who waved back did so with clear trepidation, and they all stopped mid wave to me and became intensely interested
J'AI VU TOMBER UN EMPIRE - I SAW THE FALL...(English version below)
J'ai vu tomber un Empire.
                                                     À Marie.
Cité désagrégée par les vents de la guerre
Murs d'airain éventrés
Coeurs froissés à la peine un espoir comme cendres
Par-delà les tertres froids
Dialogue d'un être et d'un néant
Soi contre moi
Te bercer dans les bribes balbutiées
Fils d'argent d'un discours sur l'or de ton coeur lourd
La feinte du fantôme
Comment voguer ton orage profond
Troue les abysses épais d'éclairs vifs courroucés
Marie Porphyrogénète
Tes yeux sur les frontières sacrées de l'Ouest
Farouche Impératrice au
Romancing CottonSomeone told me that the balled-up almost was growing inside her like
a sapling, that soon the girl would be all swell and wet.  What she said
was, "don't leave". Her ego was a white sheet caught on a branch, the
type of fabric my mother treated with contempt. Frippery, beautiful
but impractical: keeping it alive was like trying to catch a bubble with
dry hands.
The wind carried the sickly smell of opium and morning sickness,
signals of a spring in which fingers like white spiders cradled
the beginning of bloom. Hope seemed at once skin-near and star-far.
What I offered her was not a marriage proposal, it was a murder
of crows slipping across the sheet of day. Union makes for ardour
and sweat. We were trying to build a body bereft of bones, with
phrases shaped like small sharp pins, like dove-fletched
arrows, like abandoned gods—relatively, you're
beautiful
and there are always greater pains.
I assembled cribs, prayed to the god of broken things.
The future
waking-cat's morning reflectionyyyyy
   yaaaaaaaa
           aaaww
                  wwnn
                       nnn
                          nn
                        what a
                     strange mor-
                   -ning to wake up
         

Better Off DeadBetter Off Dead
It was a normal Tuesday that I woke up dead.  I could just tell when I opened my eyes that it was a different day.  The doctors always gave people the warning signs for when they would die, so that there would be no mistake.  A lack of warmth in your body, skin became pale, senses weakened and a distinct lack of breathing.
  
Rubbing the sand out of my eyes felt surreal.  Every joint popped and cracked on their journey, which was rare to me.  Naturally, I just figured it was a rough night's sleep and nothing more, but as I pushed the covers off of myself, I saw how white my body turned overnight.  Again, death wasn't the first thought to pop into my head, just that I needed to get out more, maybe take a day off work and go to the park.  
As I slowly creeped over to my bathroom, my body was still fighting me, making my apartment sound like a thunder storm.  By the time I got the por
Cadaver HotelI live inside of your corpse. Stealing
in through the incision
between your ribcage and hipbone, I burrow
myself inside of your embalmed organs and
wrap my fingers around your bones,
clutching until my knuckles turn
the same kind of white.
Though you are dead,
your body sometimes quakes-
spasms and sends a flash-pulse of postmortem waves
over me. For quick sucks of air,
I crawl up and out of your pretty mouth, careful
not to hit your crooked teeth.
To avoid dying inside of you-
oh, how I long to-
I have taken
to gnawing on the insides of your cheeks
and the sinewy parts of your
atrophied muscles.
Yesterday you began to reek
the way dead things do,
while it is sour,
it still smells like you.
:thumb291529293:
:thumb124858318: VerdigrisThe sun was red the day Slicker died. She watched him fall a hundred levels, to shatter against a fat, reinforced gas pipe, shards of him breaking across archways and supports and cables, plummeting into the foggy void below. His blud drenched a cluster of backup valves. It dripped from the nozzles, thick and syrupy.
Slicker was unsticking the gears on the Bigtime, with such focus that he paid no attention to the approach of the Quickhand, making its minute-long journey around the Bigtime's face. He had clamped safety cables to the supports, but was careless. The Quickhand caught a support line, and dragged him off the gears, sending him plummeting. The Bigtime was in such poor repair that the other clamps had torn free, sending scraps of rusted steel along with Slicker to his death.
Shine had tried to shout a warning, but Slicker couldn't hear. Or wouldn't. Slicker loved his work, loved the way things ran smoothly when he was finished. Mostly, he loved it when things worked, as


That's it for this fortnight, if you've got questions or concerns, let us know! :]

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