check it out, if you're interested.
keepyourselfalive is what it's called. or what im called now, I guess.


TulipsEverything was alright in that town. They walked along the streets and tipped their hats at the ladies, smiling gentle smiles and twiddling their fingers on the brims of their hats. They all hoped that eventually they’d find out the secrets of everyone around them. Their shoes tapped against the sidewalk and then on the pavement, switching back and forth whenever they walked on the white crosswalk, creating a hauntingly unsteady rhythm. The boys in their bowler hats stopped at every old building, boarded up and ancient and found themselves sneaking in through broken windows and back doors, their fancy clothes getting covered in dust and grim.Tulips


Swinging Our LegsLet’s stumble a long a bit, down the road with no turns. Stumbling and tumbling and moaning and groaning The bridges are filled with trolls and tolls and toe-wanting beasts “I’d like to keep my toes, please” Five cents into the bucket and step on the gas. VroSwinging Our Legs


The Atlantic SingsThere’s a man that walks down my road on the days when the sky’s so blue that you feel like you’re going to fall off the earth. That man with a cane in each hand and a grumble falling onto his watermelon belly. A group of us sneak down from our windows and stand next to him. We talk about the world, and how groceries aren’t gathered by other people for us anymore. It used to be the ideal life back then. Back when we were children chasing our feelings in little circles, hoping to grasp onto them eventually. Time flew like dragonflies past our bodies and wrinkles formed from the corners of our eyes and mouths. Skin began to sag and spots threwThe Atlantic Sings


Ooze me.oozing and splashing onto the pavement that tells me: steps are hard. we’re slipping and sliding are way along, and if anyone ever tells you any different, they’re just the man walking around with a cane in each hand andOoze me.
a belly the size of the moon.
There’s a smell coming from that man and the moon and the mountain that hides our shadows. It’s one of those haunting smells
that stops the world from thinking, and the trees from running into the never-ending ocean. The smell makes the man wave both canes and fall
onto his face. He splashes and splishes
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Proud member of: Kill-Hannah [link] and ThePadfootGuild [link]
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hopelessly i'll love you endlessly
Spread the word, and then start spreading your own words like butter onto a bready page - I want something interesting to judge, and it better have more inventive metaphors than that one I did just there, or I'll be very disappointed!
--
~RoninGaleria My comments carry honesty 98% of the time, bear this in mind.
-Lauryn
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"Dear diary,
I shit my pants today.
I'd rather piss them.
At least then I can say I spilled a drink.
But with shit I can't say anything. People will know.
Can't say I ate brownies and got some on my ass.
That wouldn't work at all."
Your work is breathtaking.
If I could just write like you...or even take pictures like you, then I'd be doin' fine. I guess I sorta have my own style of doing things, but lemme tell ya, you're stuff is in a league of its own.
Please don't stop. It's seriously awesome.
Pure envy. Love ya.
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what
no
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No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!
random visit, very nice gallery .. keep it up
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<(O_O)>
(( I have to ask you this - do you live close to Stephen King? ))
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