clandestine143

This is a meaningless, rhetorical bite of the thumb A literary, image-ridden slip of the tongue This is Self-indulgent, narsasistic without a doubt This is what higher education teaches us     And everything we choose to leave out In our recitaiting explanations of the wornout motifs Played back on our wired brains in broadband streams We're so dialed into the way the texts tell us to feel Juxstaposed against our convient foils     Signed, analogously yours, Holden Caulfield Have I got your attention now or do I need something else? More allegories, another reference, you know, whatever sells How about if I add in another quick

Tonight the headphones will deliver to you the words that I can't say –Fall Out Boy This story borrows many lines and turns of phrases from several bands. Each section is meant to read like a song from a group in the genre, and from that idea, representing a period of time in my life, though this isn't autobiographical, but fictional. The lyrics of Ken Vasoli, Andrew McMahon, Ace Enders, Pete Wentz, Chris Carrabba, and others are theirs, but I've got a sizable share of stock in their words, emotions, and stories. PART I Something Corporate- "Walking By" from Audioboxer and "I Want To Save You," "Punk Rock Princess," "I Woke Up In A Car,

His legs fell over the side of the bed. He picked his way across the room to the stereo, careful not to harm the hand-me-downs and photographs spread across the floor. Richard played it low. This was just the background; he still wanted it all to come to him, every rustle, every pad of foot against carpet. He got it, the opening notes, the amber glow, her feet rubbing together in her sleep, all as he slipped into her jeans and his sneakers; his pin-striped blazer he put on with a flourish. His legs spanned yards, in two steps he was to the window, and with a well rehearsed leg-up-and-out he was gone. He went and the 2.12.99 stroke-of-midnig

They had been moving stuff since nine, early for him, later for her on a Saturday. Even with the van they borrowed from his parents it had taken them three trips, this being their third and final load.                These possessions had been carefully selected as the things that couldn't be placed at any sort of risk among his other, less sentimental belongings. Now his comics in their long storage boxes, which had multiplied three fold since she'd seen them last, and his guitars, whose quality and expense doubled since their last failed music lesson, and his computer, supplemented with updates to the monitor and graphics interface, and

The suit was hot and itchy and that was the least of his worries, with the legs not as trim as he was used having them, his lanky mechanics most commonly spending their time crammed into sheik pants tailored to meet the needs of  a subject a bit easier on the eyes and lacking an appendage that he could credit to the possession of a Y-chromosome, worked inside and out, slaved over on a hot stove with the pungent aroma of apple vinegar filling the kitchen with an expectation a bit tastier than a pair of jeans, dried out by mother nature herself to avoid shrinkage that always seems all too close when they're slipped on, a love and tenderness tha

The cool caress across my hand hugging the warm steel makes home seem like the right coast. The relief, that's just the speed talking. I've felt that breeze before between the time share consolation prizes. That's where we did our thing. It looked bad enough from there, chipped paint and bad tans from a summer that was never supposed to end and hasn't no matter how much they pray it would. Off season is even worse. Autumn to Spring Break the life leaves their eyes and hope leaves their hearts with the family cars they live vicariously through. Their own kids hate them. How dare they make a life for them in the town they're supposed to run awa