bubble gum holy city

as a symbol Jerusalem represents so much to the world and its religions. one would be outright foolish to try and wrap the archetype around some personal or even interpersonal wet dream. corporate thought processes delude you. pursuit of a bubble gum packaging theme. one could lose faith.

wattpad story - part 2

I have a Bible. I like to run my fingers up and down the pages cut so thin -- I think only God could have cut those pages so thin. Maybe there is a God after all, wouldn't that be nice for us all? Sometimes out on the streets someone will offer up a name and a verse, Corinthians so and so, or shout out mad props to one of the apostles. If I happen to have my backpack on, and if I happen to have a pen in there, I might go ahead and mark what they said on the back of my hand. So long as they aren't all preachy about it, and only if I got nothin' better to do. When I get home I might actually pick up the Bible (if I can find the Bible) and look up chapter and verse, and read. Only if I have nothing better going on. I confess I would have to be quite bored out of my mind to actually go and look up a verse in the Bible. Hey! This is the twenty-first century! Life is just that way. That book was written so long ago no one can even say for sure who wrote it. Coulda been someone in their own world, for all anybody knows. Whomever it was sure wrote their heart out. God had to cut those pages pretty carefully, miraculously thin even, just to make it small enough to fit into our hands. Good for them and good for us. They got God for a publisher, and we got something we can look at and touch and admire. Or excuse all of our misdeeds behind, too. All I know is once I take a shower, those books, chapter and verse, wash off of me forever. And it's not a big loss. Not like when I can no longer make out the phone number of that sweet guy who was talking to me at the cafe just the other day, whom I may never see again. This is a big city. In an even bigger world. Some people get lost never to be found. Like my cousin. I miss her. We had hella good times growin' up. -KatYa @ Wattpad

fear. south carolina

They could kill you at a book study. Pull a gun out of a fanny pack. They could kill all your friends, and leave you alive. After reading with you for an hour. After getting second thoughts, they could go back to the first. They could do it anyway. They could not care. They could be so afraid of you, they think they would be better off if you were not here, anymore. They could express remorse yet still stand by their actions. Killing you at a book study. They could.

she whose temples -- iii)

She was not homicidal, but violence was in her nature and yours. Her parents became decidedly pacifist in the wake of all the bloodsport they boasted, as documented in the ledgers. Nobody read the ledgers, so pacifist was an unconditionally accepted facade. Neighbors only knew something funny about the spicy chili they spooned out at the annual neighborhood watch block parties, so spiced up with habanero and wasabi to silence the smell of powdered ear lobes, sending a rush of icy air through your sinuses and mine, getting accolades blockwide and block long. Nobody heard the powdered cries of the powdered owners of the powdered ear lobes they could not discern. Suffice it to say, the neighborhood watch was not watching.

She wanted to live, and made that choice early on. Probably around four or five years. Suicide was dystonic to her and distasteful. She knew this clear as her favorite drink in her hand; one part lemon, one part tonic. She held it up quickly at times when her arm and wrist began to falter. To prevent its being corrupted, she drank it quickly. An old and tired lemon and tonic was sad like the first rainfall in the city and all the imminent inevitable car crashes slding on the oils arisen from the asphalt. She approached the Bible the same way. She was confirmed in a Protestant Church, and the version was Good News. She scanned it that year, and basically never picked it up again. Except to box it with the other books every time she had to relocate. Why she held on to a text she found so sad and possibly corrupted, no one can say and certainly not herself. Maybe it was her name engraved on the leather cover? She was hard to figure.     - to be continued