Tarantino’s, “They,” write like you’re dead, new blood, life, warmth, and seamless beauty.
Quentin Taranatino's good sense inspired today's intro for number 34, and it leads us through a landscape of words and instinct and a whole lot of lovin' goin' on, baby. Some new blood opens the words, and it goes from there, into the places only the writers on this site can create.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRD-Y7R4X5E
And here are the featured pieces.
https://www.theprose.com/post/815107/take-off https://www.theprose.com/post/815199/life https://www.theprose.com/post/815120/colonoscopyas-where-you-cope
https://www.theprose.com/post/812774/of-warmth https://www.theprose.com/post/815122/driving-home https://www.theprose.com/post/815121/gone-fishing
And.
As always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team.
Life
take it
and I don't mean
"the Good with..."
but take it
bald faced eagle
and lying
upside down
pick at it
as true
carve it
sprawling
raw
into
the 'morrow
to the bone
that's some thing
like old Styrofoam
permanent marker'd
with personal initials
in boil, dribble
and in regret,
as it crumbles
in vice grip
of mind's
mother
feedin' vultures
and know, in the arrow
Death will take me,
broken,
but it will never
have you.
05.10.2024
The best way to live in a broken world challenge @putski
Driving Home
the fast hiss
or slow sigh
from the map
or the tire,
on a whim,
is misnamed
.........Escape
.......................
grounding itself,
prostrate, clawed,
and towed against
the universal will...
leveled, when all that
can be placed, is,
atmospherical;
the w/hole
was there,
.........dually
....................
uninterpreted
My Lover
Angry she seeks to usurp my lover.
Unkind words cut deep, wounds my soul.
But my lover eases my pain.
Paper stained by black ink.
With words that only have meaning to me.
My lover is a dream, shapeless,
Like the fantasy that stirs me on.
Elusive like the innocence I have long lost.
Angry, she strikes out
Little realizing the cost of another good-bye
Waiting just around the bend.
My lover eases my pain,
With words that flow with neither rhyme nor reason,
Just the comforting of a friend.
My lover is the words that spring from my pen.
My lover is the reflection of all that hides in my soul.
My lover is the dream only I've come to know
Beautiful Anomaly
Sometimes white coats may not have the best explanations. Saying Wolf-Hirschhorn syndrome is a lightning strike severe.
Though a lightning metaphor leaves a bitter sting. It was as if they said your hand is one destined to lose.
From now on I let the lightning's metaphor fade with the night. No need to focus on the charts and the odds of what you’ll do.
Because all that matters is the power you hold. And baby you have so much strength already. I see it daily.
Genes may be missing but that just makes You a real life unicorn. A one in a million baby.
Your condition makes you a beautiful anomaly, forever rare.
Not quite 9
In 1989
I awoke in Ladispoli,
an inception of consciousness rose from the bed with me…
disarming my sleep,
against dust with form and rhythmic quality
I tiptoed to the opened balcony…
Bums in the sewers sang in their
sea salted skin.
While the Tyrrhenian nightfall aired, gasping from dream
I slumped my eyes over crumbs and a council of pigeons beneath…
The timing and tone teased unrest from my heart.
As I watched the galaxy part with its lights.
Enough for walls of the buildings to weep.
While the sky opened its eye and stared right back into me
I went BOOM!
and swallowed it whole with the stink and perfume making gods in the point of the light in me.
I grow a visceral fever right here
in between line breaks and stanzas
where time shows and
reveals in a space
my Borrowed
and Drifting
stages of Wandering
The perfect mate
You've tried them all: Match, Tinder, E-Harmony, Bumble, Grindr, Coffee meets bagel…and any number of other apps that promise you love and/or companionship.
So, why are you still alone? There's always something, right? A big thing, a little thing, but always something to ruin your happily ever after.
Not any more. Introducing,The Perfect Mate, where science and technology meet your every desire.
With The Perfect Mate, you can choose body type (over 100 available), eye and hair color, nose and ear size, hand and foot size, skin tone and texture, voice pitch, interests and abilities (hundreds of choices) and general disposition.
Our robots look and feel human - your friends and family won't know your partner is the most advanced Android companion on the market. And when you're between the sheets, neither will you. Or maybe you will since The Perfect Mate intimacy programs are developed with your pleasure in mind.
Mates can also be upgraded with professional programming that will enable them to get a job in a multitude of fields if you want a working partner.
No more snoring. No more nagging. No more arguments. No more toilet seat troubles or food chewing annoyances. Great conversation or no conversation - your call. The ballet or playoffs at the sports bar - you decide. Or perhaps you don't like making decisions. Leave it to your mate. They are perfect not only because they meet all the requirements you seek, but also because they know everything about you. And aside from the initial upload of files on you, the perfect mate has the ability to learn every detail of you to ensure they always meet your every desire.
They will show you in a thousand ways that you are seen, heard, understood.
Your happily ever after awaits! Don't hesitate! Call us right now at 1-800-whatslovegottodowithit. Our operators are standing by right now to connect you with your Perfect Mate.
Where does the chocolate espresso go?
"So, I'm sure you have some questions," he said, lifting up his small cup, and sipping demurely from a double shot dark chocolate espresso.
"Yeah a few I suppose," I acquiesced, distrust clear on my face. Not that I could hide anything when my pulse and highly advanced sensors gave me away. I wasn't entirely sure how much that scared me. "First off--" besides where exactly does a coffee go when an android has no stomach.
"Why was I born? Why do I feel these things, that I'm not supposed to feel? Can you tell me?"
"Anything sweetheart," he said. My creator held my hand. He was what humans would call a dork with wide bright eyes, glasses, and messy curls. He'd been just as surprised and had quite a few questions when he found his old prototype, deemed defective, on a dating site of all places.