sound-dispute

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T: April 25th, 2013 by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

T: April 25th, 2013

The glue on an envelope. Sweet, but sickly so. And no one above age twelve uses the lick method unless they’re in a severe hurry, but the absolute worst is opening a birthday card that’s been so freshly moistened with saliva that the glue is still wet when you shove a finger or two inside an exposed pocket of unstuck paper to wheedle it open. The glue sticks to your fingers afterward and hardens into a thin film during cake time and is forgotten about until dishwashing, when it slimes off for those first few seconds under the faucet stream. Paper cuts on tongue. Paper cuts anywhere. T for tongue. Moving on. Inadequacy. It&r

Document 12 by sound-dispute, literature

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February 18th by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

February 18th

I was taught that love was fragile. I was taught that collecting the pieces was what mattered, as spilling them out onto the floor was to be expected. I held the filled glass jar up high as you reached for it, pleading with colorless eyes, and brought down past your outstretched arms to feel it smash upon the wooden floor. We crawled on our knees to later find the freed black beads, hiding in places we never would have expected. They came rolling out of closets and under rugs and from behind the cracks in your heart, more shadow than solid, which you shielded away from my greedy hands. I wanted nothing but the pleasure of breaking, and y

A More Perfect Union by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

A More Perfect Union

When they thought the war was over, it had only just begun. That truly utopia is destructive fiction, blurring boundaries of childhood tales and benighted patriotism that rang a dissonance as proud and deafening as the Liberty Bell. Shapeless idealism struck the snare and led the way until the made could once again become makers- the beat to which they pegged all hope of reaching heaven. Forcefully endowed by God the divine right to become all men's creator, they pumped the wheel in bloodied boots over those weighted summer nights to shape our destinies for the next hundred years in their image. In that holy document, no word of their living

La Lucha by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

La Lucha

1. a Picasso night, laden with dust that settles on my skin like snow. I'm sitting in the center of the room with gooseflesh skin and broken bones still shifting, prodding my little flame with singed fingertips and all I can see is my childlike reflection staring hungrily back at me, thirsting for an inkling of something more. 2. the room is awash with yellow light from the oncoming dawn. I claw at the floor with scorched nails, digging my way out. through the genesis, my little flame swells with hope as my reflection shifts into someone I begin to recognize. 3. high noon. the roof is gone. the sun beats upon me like

somefink pretty by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

somefink pretty

I am alone with a dark page and your sleeping body next to mine. You're lost on the floor, but sleep cannot lay upon me so quickly; I'm still finding myself locked inside your hollow shell as you travel elsewhere in your dreams. The glow of the flashlight casts shadows on your face that are centuries long. Your eyelashes curve perfectly out from wandering sea glass eyes that hold infinities in their depths. I love the small of your back, defining your spine so perfectly and vivid. A finger twitches, and your lips pout unconsciously to breathe in my sigh. I watch you like a moth, weary and disoriented from following the fluorescent mo

Face by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

Face

The silence wrapped around us as we walked. Soft puddle splashes and the rhythmic crunch of damp gravel left more room for thought than I remembered having all to myself. Free from constant screams and horseplay, I took in the light sounds of nightfall with an unfocused mind. Without the burden of the heavy backpack I had carried for miles only days earlier, I felt airy and free amidst the dark hush of the forest. It was hard to believe this would be my last night here. Every so often our group would pass several statue-like figures standing with torches by the side of the trail. Watching each pair of eyes follow us under the pale flick

Mt Washington by sound-dispute, literature

Literature

Mt Washington

Mountain. Vast earthly giant, sprouting life, sheltering, secluding. Miles of shadowed blue spines wriggle beneath me, faithfully bearing the weight of our determined locomotive steadily climbing its way to the top. Thick black smoke from the engine clouds my view for several painstaking moments before we reach the summit, but as my vision slowly returns, awe replaces irritation as the world opens up again. People spread like ants after disembarking, either whistling to themselves at the intensity of the view or climbing on the exposed bedrock to take a memorable snapshot. Wrapped up in their own journey, they don't see how I do. The he

one point two by sound-dispute, literature

one point one by sound-dispute, literature

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Just You Now. by xmysecretcankillmex, literature

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About sound-dispute

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Artist // Student // Literature

Feb 15
United States
Deviant for 14 years
www.youtube.com/user/4bbyw5
She / Her

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My Bio

INFP 4w5.
Haven't been here in a while, but *may* start writing again.

Favourite Visual Artist

Renoir

Favourite Movies

Pink Floyd's The Wall, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Harold & Maude, Princess Mononoke

Favourite TV Shows

Avatar: The Last Airbender, Doctor Who (seasons 1-6), Death Note, Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Led Zeppelin, Dream Theater, Pink Floyd, Tool, Blind Melon, The Smiths

Favourite Books

Tree Grows in Brooklyn, East of Eden, The Fountainhead, Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Rings, Catcher in the Rye, Grapes of Wrath

Favourite Games

Lego Star Wars, Jedi Knight games

Favourite Gaming Platform

Tools of the Trade

Qwerty.

Other Interests

Reading, scribbling, making Youtube videos (ie moping).

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sound-dispute

Jun 29, 2014

Holy Hell, a DD

0 min read

I haven't been active on here in quite a while.  I attended a summer camp that was extremely writing-intensive in 2011, and after sharing my work in front of others, I realized that writing about pain only seems to perpetuate it.  The Sylvia Plath kick of 2010 left me in a bruised and battered emotional state, and luckily I escaped with my life at the end of that year.  Things are going fine now; no unrequited loves or hipster desires of moonbeams, hipbones, 3 am cigarettes, whatever you kids are writing about these days to fulfill all your egos and secret wishes. But there's a fine line between writing about pain subjectively and objectivel

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sound-dispute

May 16, 2013

Etc

0 min read

Blew up everyone's notifications, sry. Summer's here, for the most part.

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sound-dispute

Mar 23, 2013

Late and Procrastinating Because...Late

0 min read

Avoiding a giant research paper that's supposed to do all sorts of wonderful things for my being. I can only listen to music softly when I write anything, and it must be instrumental. Hello, Rodrigo y Gabriela. Once I spent a whole class period listening to Santana and doing excellent work at the same time. Such productivity will never happen again, I'm sure. Coming to the conclusion that I have to write shitty things (perdon mi francais) and let them simmer for a while before taking a second look. I made a painting last night. It was just lines over a trajectory graph. Kind of sunsetty lines, but still. In the same way a haiku is st

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Profile Comments 123

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Eremitik

Aug 31, 2015

I really enjoyed browsing your gallery- your work carries a lot of meaning beneath the surface. Its the kind of writing I can revisit over and over and find something new to appreciate each time.
I am looking forward to seeing what else you come up with.