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fake-theory

fight off your fucking demons
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1. When did you first start writing?

In seventh grade, I had the most awful English teacher you could imagine. She smelled like cat litter, was lazy and didn't care about the course material or her students. Therefore, she would give us weekly creative writing assignments, on which she failed everyone and ridiculed most of the students who read their stories and poems aloud. As the prospect of ever getting A's in the class dwindled away, my best friend and I turned these impossible assignments into a competition between us. Tossing aside all literary conventions known to seventh graders, we embarked on a quest to determine who could write the funniest, most ridiculous and experimental story each week. Writing these absurd, dark parodies of our little lives eventually became fun. I've been writing ever since.

2. Why do you write?

I might differ from the rest in saying that I have always written only under the influence of other people, friends of mine who write and have shared their interest with me. I hadn't written much for a while before I started living with v-espertine, who is seemingly always overcome with creative energy (in a good way!) and it becomes infectious. Aside from that, I write to relieve stress, for mental and emotional exercise, to procrastinate, what else?

3. What specific area would you like to improve in? (i.e. flow, character development, etc.)

I would like to become more capable of talking about poetry. I feel like, often, I find poems that I love, but I don't know why and I would like to know. I would also like to know how to have better ideas more often. With enough persistence, I can usually get anything tumbling, but it takes me such a long time to get started that I can't always do it. I know these concern the writing process more than the writing product, but I really would like to improve in these ways.

4. Name at least three fandoms you are familiar with.

I don't write fanfics (anymore), so I doubt this is relevant, but at the risk of sounding cliche let's just go with Doctor Who, Harry Potter and Game of Thrones (you don't need the whole list, I promise).

5. How do you hope to better the literature community? Do you hold any benefits, now or in the past, regarding the literature community?

Oh, I don't know. Does filling this out count? But seriously, I feel as though my limited knowledge and busy schedule in real life don't permit me to be any more active than I already am. Still, I would like to continue read and share exciting work, and spread positive energy when I can. I don't have any "benefits" besides my watchers (who are all wonderful!). 

6. Feel free to add anything else if you wish.

I think I'm good! Thank you <3
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<3
:thumb395264044: Haikuwrimo - August 2013office desk
a sunbeam tracks
across the clock
ripening wheat
listening to skylarks
and airliners
rainbow's arc
the wilted garden
perks up
caught
in the glasses hinge
a grey hair
in the silence
of the coffee shop
tapping smartphones
sunset colours
not worried
about wet grass
the merlin
disappears in a puff
of pigeon
wailing alarms
in the car park
red faced chefs
riding school horse
the carrot vanishes
from my hand
from the lounger
sunbathing dragonflies
on jasmine
bathroom songs
outside, the frog chorus
tonight's forecast
meteorite showers
and thick cloud
gathering
on the village green
one, two, tai chi
off to work
the fox asleep
in the sun
halfway between
office and lunch
- rain
riding lesson
whose grey hair
on the shirt?
roaring joyfully
the ancient biplane
leaps skyward
creaking windmill
sparrows erupt
from the barley
drifting thistledown
a straggle of seagulls
blows eastwards
evening stroll
the sweet taste
of stolen plums
flying ants
how did you bite
right there?
riding, she said
ne
Icarus and the Use of Forceit wasn't abandoned
but it was quiet-
a smell of metal
in the grain silo
the ladder outside
speckled white
I clambered through
the basement
into the home
of a murder
duct taped
their feathers
to my arms
sat there
gazing
like newborn crows
before me
Revive Meshadow blankets
blister-form,
worn Icelandic limbs
burning in
passionless flame
the moon rabbits
cater-mouth
and foreign-whisper,
verbal silence tones a
salt language
translating itself alone
and I swallow.
pallet pills cultivating
sun lilies on a greenhouse
tongue
paleo plasticspreturnatural blandishments
there are no more
reactionary gods left roaming outer space
writhing,
destroying,
orange deadlights in their macroverse
cramming couched babble
into more recently crowded
shelters from time
ad infinitum;
curious and writhing
in the yawning hollow of a chasm
a strange viscosity of air
Come AprilAcoustic heartbeat and moonskulled,
I am weary against this dirt.
Vinegar on my lashes,
how do I turn into a fox?
Clever and sly, let me run away
and hide beneath god's palm.
Cross this river and these roads
and don't forget those mountains;
I shine brightest when I'm near you.
Bathed in diamond's light,
I am open, exposed, and oh!
My thimble arms become trees
and I am still growing.
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i just really don't.
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thank you

1 min read
holy shit wow. you are all wonderful!
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