![Profile banner image for BeulaDaisle](https://s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/images.prod.theprose.com/user-194624-banner-1711321296588.png)
![Profile avatar image for BeulaDaisle](https://s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/images.prod.theprose.com/user-194624-square-1712063533036.png)
Alone, like a train wreck, one mockingbird, a touch of rage, and a potholder.
Mavia sent in episode 52 this morning, and it sounds and reads like a satin sheet and an open window, the breeze just right, the moon just right. Featuring some seasoned talent, delivered with the air and pause ony she has, for a great way to get lost in the writing of these minds.
Here's the link to the show:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LjuIknQ8vE
And we'll tag the authors in the space below...
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
The Strange Case of Dr. Anger V. Nostalgia
He was no longer seeing his face.
His arms and hands flew up involuntarily to his damp brow, then graying temples. He wasn't gazing passed himself, into the half manifestation in the darkness of the glass. He was peering behind, an invert, and it was nauseatingly painful, looking back like that. It felt like the stab of a migraine, inside.
He hesitated a moment at the sink as if about to vomit, then turned abruptly like an automaton donning shoes and overcoat. He walked out without shutting, never mind locking, the door. He'd be back no doubt.
He'd made this loop before, and there was something about it he couldn't remember. Like a moment of blackout. Grey space. No, a moment red. Red, and it washed over him. He was back, scrubbing his hands raw at the sink, shifting in his quilted housecoat and terry slippers.
The dry towel was gentle to his hands, and he pressed his bifocals back on.
06.30.2024
Nostalgia v Anger... which is more Dangerous? challenge by @dctezcan
Pork Soda, Broken Teeth like Stars, Viagra and Voodoo, and One Soul Sold.
One hell of a show, literally, for episode 47, where six heavyweights throw down their styles to make one definitive bang on the drum of literature, pushing that frequency out beyond here, into the particles of the endless unkown. We hope when the waves are picked up in any future or past, to whomever receives the signal, it sounds like a mix of Slayer, Mozart, and Waylon Jennings.
Here's a link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UH5Cst6UrK0
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/818923/wag-spill https://www.theprose.com/post/819167/kitchen-employee https://www.theprose.com/post/818507/uncle-noah
https://www.theprose.com/post/818503/eye-of-the-dodo https://www.theprose.com/post/818502/phantom https://www.theprose.com/post/818795/seven-seconds-in-hell
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Lost
Lost
May 17, 2024
I look at the two espressos
Both untouched
They are a small illustration
Of what might be
Of what might of been
I wanted this space in the cafe
Secluded, demure, and reserved
The same qualities of her
That attracted me here
Attracted me to her
I can add some sugar
I could stir the mixture
Hoping for the creation of something new
Certain my actions have merit
Refusing to accept my reality
She finally made her decision
She finally made her leap of faith
Swept away on whirlwinds of passion
Instead of ruminating in paperwork
Her words, not mine
However, it wasn’t always this way
I once held these enduring qualities
Powering the magnetism of attraction
In sickness and in health
Til death do us part
But, now I watch as the baguette sits untouched
Hand-churned butter goes to waste
And the espresso’s useful time has passed
The bounty before me slowly spoils
Mirroring another bounty equally lost
Motel Hell
The three of us
In that seedy motel
The air reeking
Of roach poison
Cigarette smoke
Methamphetamine
And bleach
From the jacuzzi
To the kitchenette
I am in Hell
I remember
Thinking
As I wracked
My brain
For a polite way
To excuse myself
From the madness
Of my psychotic
Companions
And their
One-way
Expedition
To the outer limits
Of nowhere
David Burdett
1/10/2022
Hazy Shade of Winter, Less Than Zero, pills, sheet walls, redaction, and deciding to live.
From a hit by The Bangles, to the bloody and '80s adulating reach of American Psycho, episode number 38 starts and ends with more bangs than a West Texas brothel in the 1800s. Seven writers from the site complete the landscape here, with a lead by area_man, and wrapped nicely with thePearl and Mariah, so you know the new blood between them holds its mud.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLsEjqj8g6s
And here are the pieces featured on Prose. Radio.
https://www.theprose.com/post/816235/when-the-zoloft-hits https://www.theprose.com/post/816024/searching https://www.theprose.com/post/816017/they-call-her-fickle
https://www.theprose.com/post/816230/the-day-i-decided-to-live https://www.theprose.com/post/816225/if https://www.theprose.com/post/816122/i-redact-my-forgiveness
https://www.theprose.com/post/816108/perceived
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Foursquare Nightmare
As a kid
I lived next door
To a Pentecostal
Foursquare church
My grandmother taught
Sunday school there
Which meant
I was required to attend
Maybe there is a God?
Because in between
The convulsing
On the floor
Speaking
In tongues
And rampant
Pedophilia
It’s a miracle
That I didn’t
Turn out
More fucked-up
Than I am
David Burdett
5/16/2024
Pulchritudinous
Pulchritudinous
May 16, 2024
Lying in wait, awaiting the spread
Split down the middle
Hole clearly visible to those
Wishing to make the purchase
Flavored delicately
Betwixt modestly and immorally
Solely for the purpose of attraction
Not for the purpose of taste
Far more desirable when warmed
Particularly if the lark is visible
From the balcony
Sans the presence of kinsmen
So remain in the bedchamber
And partake of the breakfast bagel
Regulate other thoughts far away
Such is the comfort of allusions