My Cardboard Balcony

Can't talk now. With my girlfriend. Um. Introspection is introspective. Poetry is awesome. Girlfriend is hot. Recommendations now. Recommended Book: Ask the Dust by John Fante I recommend this because it has one of the most interesting characters I've seen in fiction. And by interesting, I mean frustrating. Which makes for an alarmingly good read. Recommended Poet: e.e. cummings Yes, I'm writing out his name the way he would write it out. So there. Nyeh. Recommended Music: Sara Bareilles Her music is fun and catchy, her lyrics are clever, and her voice is great. Plus she's a friend of my stepcousin and performed at her wedding. So I listened to her CD before she even got big. Recommended Drink before Bed: Warm Egg Nog I'm running out of drinks, so my girlfriend volunteered this one for tonight. So enjoy it, damn it. Writer's Quotation of the Night: I am a galley slave to pen and ink. - Honore de Balzac Have a great night and a great weekend, ...

To Be by Belinda Roddie It's one o'clock in the morning and the air is cool but heavy on my shoulders. That's the way summer nights linger on a person who lives in this town. It only seems that when I attempt to submit to my subconscious that my mind is pierced with heat and I find myself staring at the ceiling. Not like I'm able to fall asleep, anyway, what with all my aspects of the world spinning in crystalline webs across my mind, each thought biting at me. Questions, concepts, dreams, the list doesn't end. Tonight, I decide that I won't attempt to sleep. Ironically, it takes more effort than staying awake. I'm sitting on the stone steps outside of my house, my black coat a comforting weight on my back as I gaze at the horizon. These days, the stars don't look so white anymore; they seem to be graying with age, wispy and fine like dust, like ashes. It's always amused me that we wish upon these weary balls of flame for our whims and fancie...

The blemish on the steering wheel shone red in the light of the sirens. The scratches on the sideview mirror were prominent. Matted clumps of hair dangling from a bruised, gashed scalp. They first thought it had been a simple accident. Involving a phone, no less. But the phone hadn't been a typical phone. It was a far more superior machine.