I'm Shubox, a fun loving kitty who is always up for a good cuddle. I love salmon and hate angry people, my days consist of hiding in random places and attacking my owners with loving cuddles.
What's up Fat Lip?
About you:
You're a pile of human flesh. Feed me. I like snackums.
You’ve got a pretty even-keeled head on your shoulders. You’re well-grounded and realistic. You don’t really daydream or think about the future (unless you’re planning ahead, of course). Actually, you tend to find day-dreaming and flightiness pretty annoying and pointless. Sometimes people get you confused for being pessimistic, but you know that you’re just being real.
He was right when he said "Hurts, doesn't it?" as if using another's behavior, he was giving me the opportunity to look at my own childishness. Funny, though revealing. Men notice in a room when you're the only one not getting the notation of a goodbye, they understand the stubborn behavior, but look at you like you're a victim of the plague after. I behaved myself, said nothing to promote negativity between us, and made the choice to stay in other areas than him. I can understand the silent "Fuck you" in his actions but it still hurts. Unknown"Schuhkarton"Sparkling
- 16 years, 12 days ago
Life Of A Writer
A conclusion, is always the best and most bittersweet of all prose. The point was to find something so shattering that the reader would have to tell someone. In this game of telephone he would build fame and in this fame earn the money he required. It’s always best to try and become the character, he was told by many others, but in becoming this man he would transform into the very thing society disdains. It wasn’t the murder or the rape involved in this fictional mans lifestyle, but his ability to perform these acts and not care. Separate mind from body and not feel any difference. Fear, a staple in a victim’s career, is often something sought after mostly by the same kind insane enough to leap from a building. It’s a human emotion everyone encounters at least a handful of times, but even your narrator can’t think of anything more terrifying than being face to face with a gun. When directed at you, a gun loses its playfulness that the idea held as a child. The term bang! You’re dead has a completely different meaning in such a context. Separating mind from body, a task hard to comprehend, harder to complete. He should figure the ending first, that’s what everyone buys the book for anyways. Racking the brain for material he begins to free associate ideas, throwing away his bias’ to form plots. Simply killing him off would be too easy, though possible with a Shyamalan twist. Listing off possibilities like a grocery list he sighs with disdain in his own abilities, he needed a muse. Eyes a mirror of listlessness he looks to the clock to see it change from 10:14 to 10:15. He changes his clothes into his most magnetic come hither look and didn’t look back at his mangled paper-covered desk. Red planet was a club only a short four blocks away from his home. Its theme was almost as tacky as the name, Mars references everywhere, even the bathroom labels were Martian and Martianess. It was a factory producing a slew of free-wheeling women, the reason most men bit their tongue and endured its lame quality. The DJ’s noise shook the heart back and forth, and like a spell, he would find himself out on the dance floor. As if a form of slut magic he’s out on the floor merely a song before he feels a delicate touch to his side. Fingers hungry for flesh drag around his frame to bring him face front with the woman. An exchange of smiles between the two and he’s found his muse.
Unknown"Schuhkarton"Sparkling
- 16 years, 17 days ago
All of your needs will be met here with my ridiculous stock items! I want to please each customer the very best I can. If you don't see something here that you would like, drop me a line and I'll do what I can for you. <3
