bleusman

Of words and such

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Talent Show by bleusman, literature

Literature

Talent Show

Ever since I was three years old and they were shoving words in my face, waiting for me to chirp the written word into speech so they could gawk at my precociousness, I knew the most important thing was being smart. Later it turned into a struggle for scores and percentiles, for grades and medals, and if I accumulated enough of them then I would achieve success and happiness. Now I'm busing tables for a restaurant that doesn't serve anyone under fifty and no one cares how smart I am – in fact, I suspect they get their satisfaction from gambling on how dumb I am. When I get home to my apartment reeking of fried fish and cabbage I walk pa

Citation Needed by bleusman, literature

Literature

Citation Needed

Jennifer DeLongpre from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Jennifer DeLongpre is the worst poet ever. Her collections Dreams of the Ocean and Filing Cabinets of the Heart have been described as "tedious," "infantile," and "vomit inducing." [citation needed] It has widely been accepted that her acceptance of the Chicago Prize for Poetry was ironic and that the much superior Allegra Bishop should have won the prize. Personal Life Jennifer DeLongpre was widely mocked by most of her classmates for being a "dumb poopyface" during most of her grade school career. In third grade she wet her pants in class and everyone laughed at her. According to

Could Have by bleusman, literature

Literature

Could Have

"It's crazy what you could have had," she said. He nodded and blinked. "Que sera sera," he said. His voice quavered and she knew the insincerity of that sentiment, that he was filled with the murky fog of regret. He stared at her hands, hard. Of course he did. He was always the type to change his mind – to let a good thing go without a second thought. That's how it'd always been. "Admit it. It's better for both of us." And it was, wasn't it? "Okay." He took a deep breath, still staring at her hands. "I really wanted to order that eggplant sandwich instead of this salad." "Was that so hard?" she said. She offered him a bite of he

Why Did Ever We Meet? by bleusman, literature

Rule Number One by bleusman, literature

Literature

Rule Number One

The kids were digging a hole in the backyard. The mother was out, buying groceries for a dinner party that night, and the father was at work. But the kids were responsible – they knew Rule Number One: nobody gets hurt. The dog scratched at the back door. "Think we should let him out?" asked one of the kids. She was a tomboyish girl with a head full of curls, puffed up with a persistent layer of body fat. "He's just lonely," said another, this one tall, lean, and the only one wearing garden gloves. He made no move to let the dog out and he continued to scratch at the screen. The hole deepened. The girl glanced at the dog again, the

Catharsis by bleusman, literature

Literature

Catharsis

The mother used to find casseroles cathartic. Sunday afternoons she knew she could open up a couple of cans from her pantry, pull out a freezer-burned chicken breast, and blanket everything with tarragon, and she'd have dinner after the oven had its say. A terrible dinner, true, but it was food and it wasn't anything she had to think about. It was automatic, a thoughtless way to get something on the table. She thought of it as perfect peace. Her son used to find climbing in small spaces cathartic. He liked to feel the cold press of the sides of something all over his skin. His mother used to tell him that he'd get into trouble, but it was

E and D by bleusman, literature

Literature

E and D

Three dwarves saunter into Mother's store, bare-chested, wearing nothing but the loosest of pants so heavy-looking Alera and I are just waiting for the drop. This isn't something we're familiar with – dwarves tend to stay out of this shop for the most part, and when they come in they're all cloaked in their formal clothes, the one you see them 'round market with. But here they are, the short brutes, walking 'round in their line through the shop, rubbing their fingers against especially shiny things. Alera keeps a glowering eye on them, and the other people in the store – such as they are – follow her lead, covering them with a

Attention by bleusman, literature

Literature

Attention

Misha found America agreeable, for the most part – there was the Boston traffic, but it wasn't as bad as Moscow's, and the food was overly rich and too abundant. But the people of the city were positively warm compared to the Spartan attitudes he knew, he hadn't had a single dollar stolen from him, and the university kids couldn't keep their eyes off of him. Not even the boys. He'd heard catcalls walking by a gathering of young men, the kind he'd learned to call "bros." It was his hair, maybe, or the way stubble refused to show on his face: in America, you could be anything other people wanted you to be, it seemed. He told Sasha about

A Key Point by bleusman, literature

Literature

A Key Point

Hello. I'm your left shift key. You know, on your keyboard? I think it's time we had a little chat. See, I think I have things better than some others I know. Like my friends P, A, I, and N – you know those keys? - well, they've been feeling used. Whenever you open up Microsoft Word, they just start groaning because they feel your poetry coming. Me, though, I guess I'm just feeling ignored. Unappreciated. You know the feeling? I know you do. I saw that poem about your family. Tough stuff, right there. I feel you, I really do. I know you feel all deep without me. Like the restraints I put upon you shackle your inner poet. I'm not unc

Words About Boys by bleusman, literature

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Talent Show by bleusman, literature

Literature

Talent Show

Citation Needed by bleusman, literature

Literature

Citation Needed

Could Have by bleusman, literature

Literature

Could Have

Why Did Ever We Meet? by bleusman, literature

Rule Number One by bleusman, literature

Literature

Rule Number One

Catharsis by bleusman, literature

Literature

Catharsis

Attention by bleusman, literature

Literature

Attention

A Key Point by bleusman, literature

Literature

A Key Point

Words About Boys by bleusman, literature

Peaches by bleusman, literature

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Whiskey Laden Dreams by WyvernLetDie, literature

Literature

Whiskey Laden Dreams

Bitter eyes and tears might taint a drink, but sitting in this bar alone with your stool pulled out next to me, and the Martini poured regardless of your presence still brings a smile to my face; despite the taste. I'm having a whiskey myself; dry. Yes, I know I don't drink, but every once in a while you need whiskey to solve an intricate problem, and mine is the distinct lack of alcohol in my life. There are people everywhere and it amazes me how none of them are you, from the woman in the black dress coming down the stairs to the signing couple in the corner, laughing silently. They're not you at all, and that's what's amazing – in an

Thunderstorm Physics by AzizrianDaoXrak, literature

Literature

Thunderstorm Physics

June 21st This morning I woke up and wiggled my toes, as usual, listening to the drumming sound inside my head. By lunch I was thinking— Good Lord, where have all the thunderstorms got to? —normally, I could pluck them out of the air like apples on strings. Isaac would have been proud of me. When cold air and hot air meet… But no. That's thermodynamics, isn't it? June 27th Today Mom shattered the vase she'd been arranging sunflowers in, and I watched the glass pieces skitter across the floor like rain— it's been so long since it rained —before I ran to put shoes on and get the vacuum. The clouds toda

last night by oracle-of-nonsense, literature

Literature

last night

last night, the smell of you seeped into me. i caught it dripping from my pores and unfurling from my hair like a sightless memory then settling comfortably on the pillow beside me and pooling in the creases of my sheets like a contented water cat. last night, the taste of you rubbed into me. your unique spice grubbed beneath my unpainted nails, flavoring the back of my tongue and the space between my scapula with a sweat-salty sweet desire that I licked from your shoulder while your stomach breathed into mine and we balanced indelicately on coxae and cotae like dancing bears on balls. last night, the idea of you sailed into me. it came sil

Tin Cup by IndigoSkyes, literature

Literature

Tin Cup

I love [cities]. I am used to [smelling] The pulse [of] life, The way the [women] Walk, [and] the way The dog [urine] drips off the hydrants. I don't cry. But today, a [tear] Goes. Slips slowly [down], A raindrop scurrying on [the] window. My body like a [wall], Built from skin [of] sorrow. But I can catch [my] heart In a tin cup called [pride]. The reason why I [live] Is because I have something to live [for]. The world is full of [me], Full of myself [when] [I] croon to the sky. I [am] everywhere, [Sick] with love.

ambient by ocean-whispers, literature

Literature

ambient

i like the night sky. stars of only white criss-crosses purple sword blades called milky-ways moonlight, which promises never to stare clouds rolling somersaults over each other galaxies with medication lulling you to sleep i like the rain. drops falling so your tears don't have to bows of colors forming from fallen rouge kiss the smell away because it's nostalgic of those nights where rivers looked so comely so perfect to slip into on accident and to be swept away into every past rainfall i like the rapture. like a game of life with five people, two boys, three girls each with dreams of immaculate love but only four achievi

Battlefield by cherrichan13, literature

Literature

Battlefield

It's probably sick that I have such an addiction to you, but I can't find it in myself to care. Your attention is something that I bathe in. I let it run under skin and catch between vertebrae, warm and heavy. It is the coat you cannot put over my shoulders, the wisp of hair you cannot brush from my face, the question you cannot answer. My spine has become a staircase for you, molded by the treading of your continuous feet. It's becoming soft and it's caving in, and the butterfly nerves in my fingers just can't stand you anymore. They're itching to make you fly away. I never used to think thoughts like these, thoughts that I would be ashamed

Bus Cycles + Backwards Clocks by commonstrosity, literature

Literature

Bus Cycles + Backwards Clocks

Seizures are in my hands like earthquakes from a forgotten land that transcended both time and place to come and meet me here. I must be desirable when I am shook up. Maybe I am like a smoothie who is only perfect once the blender has run its course. I'm like the canvas that an artist will paint on and mar the perfection of. I've got too many colors to appeal to Roy G. Biv now, and I've been stroked into bruises and rashes that seem to grow until I'm just a pristine Clementine gone gray and soft. I'd much rather be the gesso, and be the one that can take a single even swipe and erase history like a clock wound backwards. The

Wish You Were Here: K.B. by IndigoSkyes, literature

Literature

Wish You Were Here: K.B.

I Don't Care For Your Fairytales He is the ebmodiment of passion. He has passion for what he believes in: love, life, and the pursuit of happiness. He knows all the places that 94% of the population couldn't point out on a map if it could save their lives. He's read the fairytales with their rosy, perfect happy endings and disagrees with them. So he writes his own. They're thought-provoking and fascinating and deep, making you wonder why you had missed out on this all this time. He is proud of where he comes from and who he is, even if, just like the rest of us, he's still trying to figure out who he is. I know him well, but not nearly

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Engineering Eggshells by bleusman, literature

Literature

Engineering Eggshells

He knew that "I love you" also means "I love you more than anyone loves you, or has loved you, or will love you," and also, "I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you," and also, "I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else." --Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated Kathrine had said "I love you" too soon, which terrified Ty because it wasn't supposed to be done like this. It was either the seventh or eighth time they'd been out together and she just came out with it as they folded their laundry side-by-side. It was either desper

Engineering Eggshells

bleusman

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About bleusman

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Artist

May 20
United States
Deviant for 14 years

Badges

Favourite Movies

Big Fish

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

fun.

Favourite Writers

Haruki Murakami or Michael Chabon

Favourite Games

Rock Band!

Favourite Gaming Platform

I just don't care

Tools of the Trade

OpenOffice is all I need

Other Interests

Drama, writing, music, politics

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bleusman

Jul 15, 2011

Upcoming account change

0 min read

Very shortly, I will be switching accounts to bleusyrhythms (https://www.deviantart.com/bleusyrhythms) instead of this account. My reasons are personal and most of those closest to me should already be aware of them. This account will remain open and the writing currently on this account will remain here, but new work will be posted on the new account - you're free to start watching that account at any time. I've planned to start using that account on August 1st, so you'll have time to adjust. If you're curious as to the change, feel free to message me privately. Thanks! A. C.

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bleusman

Sep 12, 2010

Let's make a list of who we need and throw it away

0 min read

Writer's block is pretty awful. It's not that I don't have any good ideas, it's just that I've become so self-critical that I end up trashing all of my ideas before I can finish a single paragraph. And now I look back on my old work and I'm embarrassed at it. In fact, I was just looking at my college essay, which I wrote back in June, and now I'm just shocked that I'd ever consider letting colleges see something so poorly written. :shrug: What can I say? Something happened to me in August that seemed to increase my self-censorship so much that it's totally stopped my creative output. Maybe it's because I'm not reading as much as I was before,

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bleusman

Aug 5, 2010

Cars.

17 votes

We'd be better off without them

They are my freedom

I need them to define my status in society

A medicore Pixar movie

vroom vroom I love my NASCAR

I live somewhere cool where everyone rides public transportation

I have no opinion because I'm a big apathetic blob

I demand my constitutional right to an "other" option

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Profile Comments 197

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AyeAye12

Apr 9, 2013

I loved and adored your short story "Attention" and so thought that should warrant a Watch.

TheSkaBoss

Jul 9, 2012

(Psst. It's July. Where's my yearly dose of your Flash Fictions?!)

SnowmenLikeToWrite

Jan 29, 2012

I'm quite enamored with your body of work, I'll be delving greedily into it's mercurial depths indeed

Also, I wanted to mention that you have a level of humanism and comic sadness in your writing that I've been wanting to pursue, the past couple years I've explored the style of magical realism and articulating the incomprehensible, visualizing repressed and/or unleashed emotion, speculative science fiction, but in so doing I think I've been flung out in to space and I've lost touch with my love for simpler studies of human behavior, which can be deeply harrowing, melancholic, or absurd - thanks for inadvertently steering me in that direction, I love people!

JassieMaam

Jul 15, 2011

Thank you for the various collections. :]

Daft-Enigma

Jul 4, 2011

-also likes stories that end sad- Haha

You're writing's amazing. Love it, dude.

Thank you!

K dude, I love your words. ^_^