From: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org (eda-thoughts-digest) To: eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Subject: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #4 Reply-To: eda-thoughts@smoe.org Sender: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk eda-thoughts-digest Thursday, January 6 2000 Volume 03 : Number 004 * If you ever wish to unsubscribe, send an email to * eda-thoughts-digest-request@smoe.org with ONLY * the word unsubscribe in the body of the email * . * PLEASE :) when you reply to this digest to send a post TO the list, * change the subject to reflect what your post is about. A subject * of Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #xxx or the like gives readers no clue * as to what your message is about. Today's Subjects: ----------------- ET: Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #3 [RedWoodenBeads@aol.com] ET: excerpt from a story i wrote a few months ago [kara garbe ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Wed, 5 Jan 2000 01:25:38 EST From: RedWoodenBeads@aol.com Subject: ET: Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #3 In a message dated 1/4/00 9:15:28 PM Pacific Standard Time, owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org writes: << Hi, I just need someone to talk to. :) I'm in one of my depressed moods. So if you would like to talk to me now, IM me or email at my address, NOT through the list, because a couple of these I am on digest version. >> Hi! I liked your poem. In fact, I like just about all of the poems on here. Everyone is really good, and I enjoy it! ~*Joe Drink the Wine & Open your Eyes ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 5 Jan 2000 00:15:53 -0500 (Eastern Standard Time) From: kara garbe Subject: ET: excerpt from a story i wrote a few months ago comments much appreciated. ~kara garbe ................. Your vision is closing in around your eyes, narrowing the hole through which you glimpse the whitewashed room. Her face beside the bed seems to be in retreat despite the worried lines around her mouth that tell you she isn't leaving your side. You clutch the bed. Your arms are splayed out to each side, but you can barely feel the stiff cotton sheets beneath your fading body. Her eyes have grown large, green irises glowing around the edges of her pupils like two incomplete eclipses. The room is almost black, lit only by the cracks of a rising sun breaking through slats of the blinds, but both your pairs of eyes have adjusted to the darkness throughout the night. Neither of you slept. Soon enough a doctor or a nurse will come in on morning rounds and flood the room with light, painfully contracting her engorged pupils. But yours will remain unaffected; you won't last that long. Does she know? Can she see it? You feel your soul in retreat, pulled to the otherness that leaves you trembling in the bed like a pinned shadow. A touch of her finger to the button beside the bed would bring the doctor running, but it would do no good at this point. You try to tell her that with your eyes; you have been unable to speak for days now. The body deteriorates even as the mind lives on, but frustration has grown tiresome and you have accepted this handicap. You were told long ago that it would come to this. But the knowledge alone can never be preparation enough to leave, or be left by, the one you love. Your chest contracts and you gasp for air. Images assault you--memories you will not live to share. Her standing beside the bed after your heart has stopped; her leaving the hospital in a daze, unable to believe in your absence; her at your funeral; her five years from now, alone, or, even worse, with someone else; her, her, her. Oh God. You stare up at her, will yourself to talk. You can't even lift a hand to touch her as she stands, unmoving. In her eyes you see fear and desire, confusion, unchecked grief. But she is too afraid to move, to hurt your body further with her touch. But that is all you need, just one more touch, her hand on yours, anything-- Darkness descends again, overtakes your vision. Blacks her out entirely. You fall, try to cry out, stare blankly toward the memory of her face, the afterimage still gripping your mind. Her fingers touch you lightly, but they are powerless in your battle. She whispers your name, the last thing you will hear, utter dread and disbelief prolonging the syllables. You are being turned inside out, a ghostly second self dismembered from your physical body, ripped from the world in which she stands. You get no chance to say goodbye. ------------------------------ Date: 5 Jan 00 10:43:04 CST From: Naomi Vaughn Subject: ET: "they call me free, but i call me a fool..." Hi! Just another odd burst of what I'll just pawn off as inspiration while I was taking a shower. So, here's that. :) And, a belated intro/welcome for my sweetie, Joe... ;) Haha, he joined over the weekend, and I didn't think to introduce him. He's amazing and you guys will love him. :P So, have fun and play nice. ;) A bientot! Have a beautiful day~! Rubber duckies& raspberry swirls, Naomi - -- it's a suspenseful moment in the picture a turning point in the plot you can feel it coming the moment of discovery - -- it's my fantasy that you could return these midnight whims - -- I must apologize for my bluntness-- you see that blend of honesty is typically reserved for my PEN - -- the picturesque pretty girl simpleton and sweet stunning and smart dutiful and desired she's cloaked in rags, etched with defeat, shadowed by her history, but you don't see--- how beautiful. - -- he tells me I could be that, that dream he tells me I am that, that everything I want to be. - -- ((borrowed the last line from dear miss difranco)) the most unbelieveable sense of deja vu as his voice wraps around my skin I think that this is something I understand "i'm a chipper cheerful free for all / and i light up a room / i'm the color me happy girl / miss live and let live / and when they're out for blood / i always give" ~Ani DiFranco, "Pixie" ____________________________________________________________________ Get your own FREE, personal Netscape WebMail account today at http://webmail.netscape.com. ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 5 Jan 2000 17:48:26 EST From: JewelAng@aol.com Subject: ET: brand new poem I wrote this poem about two second ago. It's not very good. It's kinda stupid, but you get the idea. I was helping the little boy I babysit with his social studies homework. It was about expolers in the 13 and 14 hundreds. When I was walking home I wrote the poem in my head. It's not exactly what I thought because I cna'at rememeber the exact words, but it's the same idea. Comments and flares wanted!! In the thirteen and fourteen hundreds, we went out of our countries into the unknown to find way lay beyond. In the 1960s we went beyond our earth to look for something new. (There seems to be no crack or corner of the earth that is no yet been discovered.) The ironic thing is, we can't even search within to see what treasures and answer may be found. ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 5 Jan 2000 20:17:27 -0500 From: Annie Subject: ET: Welcome! (and a short poem) Hi! I wanted to welcome all the newcomers. I'm so glad we've got new poets. :) Can't wait to hear from you guys more often! - ---------------------------------------- industrialization transcending death grey as null but part of you smog fills my nose dirties my heart my hands are helpless gasping fish floundering for water finding none it is too late for them you have already gone i didn't expect you to hold a high position in my cherry tree you just appeared and i unknowingly opened the door i should keep it locked from now on you don't comprehend what it is to be enamored by Orion i want him to fall from the night sky and pour the words of an empty voice into my tongue (speaking is never necessary, merely habit) my prince has no voice! no mocking little traits my prince is king within my magistrates - -Annie ------------------------------ End of eda-thoughts-digest V3 #4 ********************************