I could suggest "wang"...
Angel: He is dead. Technically, he's undead. It's a zombie. Connor: What's a zombie? Angel: It's an undead thing. Connor: Like you? Angel: No, zombies are slow-moving, dimwitted things that crave human flesh. Connor: Like you. Angel: No! It's different. Trust me.
'Destiny'
The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Amy - Nov 21, 2005 9:06:31 am PST #4972 of 10001
Because books.
deborah grabien - Nov 21, 2005 5:12:55 pm PST #4973 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Hunger and thirst?
Persistence?
The human voice?
Steph L. - Nov 21, 2005 5:26:50 pm PST #4974 of 10001
I look more rad than Lutheranism
Bad Teppy! Bad!
Challenge #84 (lost in translation) is now closed.
Challenge #85 is pose (and, of course, any variation thereof -- poses, posing, poseurs, strike a pose, etc.)
deborah grabien - Nov 21, 2005 9:45:08 pm PST #4975 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
On The Cover of Rolling Stone
"Turn your head - perfect."
Click, light, another shot done. He's wearing a jacket: silver, lightning bolts up the sleeves. Damned thing weighs a ton, and he had dialysis two days ago. It's bright in here, too warm. He looks desperately tired.
"Almost done?" I want to cry. I don't usually come to shoots, but he's been ill. The photographer clicks away.
He catches my eye, and I smile. They'll airbrush the illness from his eyes, the exhaustion from his face. All a pose; whether or not the camera loves him, I'll take him home, and show him I do.
SailAweigh - Nov 22, 2005 12:54:04 pm PST #4976 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Good one, Deb.
Aims - Nov 22, 2005 1:20:33 pm PST #4977 of 10001
Shit's all sorts of different now.
It's short. But, well, there you go.
Pose
Hands clasped. No smile. Mouth closed.
The body seems to automatically go into this position.
Hands clasped. No smile. Mouth closed.
Give him the remote. He’s only sleeping and will be pissed if he can’t find it when he wakes.
Hands clasped. No smile. Mouth closed.
I want to scream. I want to strike. I want to wake up from this awful dream.
Hands clasped. No smile. Mouth closed. Tears streaming down my face.
The pose of death.
For the living.
deborah grabien - Nov 22, 2005 2:20:14 pm PST #4978 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Oh, Aimee. Ouch, and more ouch.
OK, two drabbles on this one, two ouchies. I suspect anything I write on this one is going to be either grief or erotica, or possible both.
Meh.
Astarte - Nov 23, 2005 6:43:33 am PST #4979 of 10001
Not having has never been the thing I've regretted most in my life. Not trying is.
Gah, those are amazing, Aimee and Deb.
Aims - Nov 23, 2005 6:53:17 am PST #4980 of 10001
Shit's all sorts of different now.
Ah, death. Lots of pain = lots of writing.
erikaj - Nov 23, 2005 8:29:22 am PST #4981 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
No pressure, after all the stroking up-thread, but:
Just Good Friends, Pose #9
“Something you wrote the other day really stuck with me...thank you.” he writes.
Oh, yay! Brain points...maybe he’ll tell me the way I think is sexy again. Not quite like being covered in strawberries, but validation’s validation. And I really do want to help him, too, but better not write how much...it’ll freak him out. Oh, I haven’t finished reading yet. He has such great manners...love that. His mama may be crazy, but she did that much...
“...helped me break a co-dependent pattern between me and Norwegian Wood one that has followed me in some of my other relationships, too. Thank you for steering me in the right direction.”
What I write:”Oh, c’mon. You are so welcome. I just felt bad about our fight last week. Ain’t no thing. It was easy enough.”
What I think:Yeah, I’m a genius. It’s not that I’m in love with you and following your moods is as easy as following my mother’s or mine...that I know your prose well enough now I could probably tell where you scratched your nose while typing this. No, I’m the second coming of Dr. Freud, and just pleased to death to help you two crazy kids(You know that’s not just an expression for her, right?) relate better together...of course. Do you always have to be so damn polite?
His reply: “Well, I really do appreciate it.”
What I write, shorn of its Godfather quote:
”Any time...that’s what friends are for.”