April+28th+Workshop


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 * When Anger Speaks. - Introduction -**

I am going to be starting a series of writings titled "When Anger Speaks". I will write about what makes me angry and spread some things i believe. I am doing this primarily for myself because i see anger as the most constructive emotion there is if used in the right way. I see this as a great way to build myself up into a great person. Maynard James Keenan from the band Tool once said in an interview, (a summary of what he said) "I really went out of my way to discover the things i don't like about people, for self reflection. I see things i dont like that you do and how you do them, I then turn you into me and come up with some really interesting things". In other terms, Maynard found things in people and in society that he didn't like and built himself around it and made sure he didnt reflect any of it. In my eyes Maynard is one of the most intelligent people to ever walk the earth, so i have much faith in myself doing this series. Im not sure how much of the series i will share because some may find material offensive and ide like to avoid that, like i said this is more for me than anything but if i write something i feel others may benifit from i will share it. If anything i say in my writings offends you please notify me and i will be sure not to talk about what ever it is again. Tomarrow im looking forward to getting some feedback of what in society angers you and maby ill get some ideas of what to write.

- Eric Kamm

Leaving my heart thoroughly scarred. When it burned... There was a chance my blitheness will never return. When it was yanked out... I was living in a land surrounded by drought. The only thing I can do is cry. Letting it drip away from the watery eye. I'd be lying in the sun deck. Figuring why life is sometimes a wreck. Let me be happy again. And I shall be singing amen. My god, my dearest god, have mercy for my sins. And the pathway to brand new happiness will begin. Happy tears, happy tears. Offering special prayers. If I was given a chance... To receive realistic romance... I thank the angels with a blissful dance.
 * Escape from SadnessEVAN QUADE** A forgetful moment is hard.

//Alexander Brandt//
 * A Popular Girl Story**

The floor was filthy.

But she was filthier.

She ran a finger along the rim of her bottle, picking up drops of beer and saliva before bringing the finger to her mouth caressing it with her tongue, sucking every drop from it. Filthy. But delicious. It all burned so good. And when her finger was free of the beer, dirt and grime that caked up on it, she continued to suck it.

Why not?

A chill came over the lengthy digit as she withdrew it from her mouth a string of drool breaking away from tongue as she pulled it away. It all burned so good. The taste was shit, but it went down good. So good. So good that she could forget the layer of it spilled on her shirt or the wrinkles beneath her eyes.

She tossed the empty bottle aside and reached for another, prying the cap off with an aching fingernail. The smell of it wafted up to her noise. The anticipation alone was enough to unhinge her. She was a baby sucking for the first time from the teat of life. Beer was her mother, her friend, her lover. With it, she cared not for thoughts of tomorrow or the repercussion of life.

Her lips pulled away long enough to suck in a breath of smoke filled air. The smell of nicotine burned her nostrils. But the painful sensation was drowned out by the alcohol. By her lover. She hugged the bottle to her chest, pressing it against her breasts in a tight embrace. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her make up ran with them, streams of black down her face.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star...” she murmured, her speech slurred and her head flopped to one side. “...how I wonder what you are...” Thoughts of sleep clouded her mind, but she denied them. She had not endured enough to indulge in such pleasures.

So she discarded the bottle, despite it still being half full, and reached for another.

Meg Bradley
 * Cassandra (Part 2)**

Her head was throbbing when she finally made her way back to the parking lot at the end of the night, keys in hand, green bills wadded and stuffed into her bra. Her vision was blurred and her hands were shaking from the combination of the pot and the drinks the men had insisted on buying for her, one after another.

She wouldn’t allow herself to replay any of the moments of the night in her head. She would go home, make some hot chocolate, then crawl into bed and stay there for several days.

She would forget, and then she would escape.

She shoved the key into the lock of her car and swung the door open. She knew she probably wasn’t safe to drive, but there was no other way, and she had to get out of there, away from that place.

Key in the ignition. Fasten seatbelt. Adjust the mirrors. Shift to drive. Check behind.

That’s when she saw him, sitting in her backseat.

“What the fuck!” Before she had time to think, she ripped the key out of the ignition and slashed him across the face like she’d seen in self-defense videos. The blood dripped slowly down his cheek, and in her altered state it was almost pretty, like strawberry syrup.

He grabbed her wrist. “Cassandra?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Ever so briefly, he allows her to see the point of the knife he’s holding. “Drive. And no funny business.”

With everything that was coursing through her veins, it wass all she can do to think straight, let alone drive straight. She felt the sharp edges of the bills against her breast. She had been going to get away. She was so close.

But there he was in the car, right behind her, so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath mingling with the scent of cigarette smoke that hung around her car no matter how many times she cleaned it. A shudder ripped through her. It couldn’t be. Not him.

//She was fourteen, the silky feel of her new homecoming dress clean against her skin. Her hair had been curled to perfection, and she wore a corsage on her wrist.“You look so pretty, Cassie,” he’d said, gently taking her elbow and leading her out to the car. And then later, whispered in her ear like a soft wind – “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”//

(Note: Part 1 is in the April 14th Workshop page.)

Freedom.

My bars of painfull past will break, My chains of Hate will rust away, My prison door of fear will shake, opening to my Freedom.

Froggy


 * __I Am Done.__**

had a lot of fun with you even sad to be done with you sat in the sun with you i was almost hung with you

it was your thin, weak hope and then your downward slope and you still mope even though im the dope

it was your slippery mind almost had you gripping mine you're really one of a kind now i can't unwind

now im left with sand kneeling by my hands screaming to the Man who holds my land