Last night I didn't end up going out for dinner. I couldn't get the car and my friend and I both agreed to stay in. No one went, anyway, because they're all camping. But, last night my father dearest brought home MacDonalds. God's gift to tastebuds is the Southwest Grilled Chicken Sandwich of which I ate with a large fries. 1030 calories total. That's more than 2x what I want to me intaking per day! So I threw it all up. But Mia is not nearly as effective as Ana (obviously!) so I'm almost total Ana today. My only acception is coffee. And maybe a piece of bread if I plan on getting drunk tonight.
But the main reason I decided to post today was to show you a video. I know I was going to do a whole art compilation with every post, but I couldn't wait for the next one. Let's consider this a half post. Here's the almighty video: Cornelius by The Bloody Beetroots
Also, I wrote something. (I don't know if I've told you - but I write and read a ton) And I wanted to share it. It's definitely not my greatest. It's inspired by The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins and 100 Years if Solitude by Marquez, both of which I'm currently reading. If you're an atheist like me, you will absolutely adore Dawkins. But I'll discuss religion in another post that I have more time to write.
Here's my story. It's long, so I only included the first few paragraphs. Message/comment if you want the rest. (Photo: "The Search For Individualism" by Me)
The Repetance Burrows Deep
The air, strung with resentment, idled about her head, poisoned all her deliberation. Her thoughts conceived, she was impregnated with indignation. These feelings not preordained, but fabricated with the expansive sea of possibilities she longed to float upon. She longed to bathe in sin, in the eventual penitence, the anticipated pity.
To everyone else, it was unforeseeable, it was unrighteous, but there was a strike of dignity echoing behind her eyes as her dress slipped from her shoulders. Like a receding tide, her body gave into the heat and the stench of testosterone he emitted from every crevice. His sandpaper hands, grown rough from the salt of the sea, crawled from her ankles to her calves to her thighs. The wind whispered “shame” in through the windows. It gave shape to the translucent curtains, haunted their meeting, cursed their passion.
An existence suckling upon family ties and the Bible, she was always perturbed, veiled with a mask of composure. Adorned with an accumulation of “don’t”s and “no”s, she wore her
But the main reason I decided to post today was to show you a video. I know I was going to do a whole art compilation with every post, but I couldn't wait for the next one. Let's consider this a half post. Here's the almighty video: Cornelius by The Bloody Beetroots
Also, I wrote something. (I don't know if I've told you - but I write and read a ton) And I wanted to share it. It's definitely not my greatest. It's inspired by The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins and 100 Years if Solitude by Marquez, both of which I'm currently reading. If you're an atheist like me, you will absolutely adore Dawkins. But I'll discuss religion in another post that I have more time to write.
Here's my story. It's long, so I only included the first few paragraphs. Message/comment if you want the rest. (Photo: "The Search For Individualism" by Me)
The Repetance Burrows DeepThe air, strung with resentment, idled about her head, poisoned all her deliberation. Her thoughts conceived, she was impregnated with indignation. These feelings not preordained, but fabricated with the expansive sea of possibilities she longed to float upon. She longed to bathe in sin, in the eventual penitence, the anticipated pity.
To everyone else, it was unforeseeable, it was unrighteous, but there was a strike of dignity echoing behind her eyes as her dress slipped from her shoulders. Like a receding tide, her body gave into the heat and the stench of testosterone he emitted from every crevice. His sandpaper hands, grown rough from the salt of the sea, crawled from her ankles to her calves to her thighs. The wind whispered “shame” in through the windows. It gave shape to the translucent curtains, haunted their meeting, cursed their passion.
An existence suckling upon family ties and the Bible, she was always perturbed, veiled with a mask of composure. Adorned with an accumulation of “don’t”s and “no”s, she wore her
dissatisfaction on the outside in his presence. She shone with omnipotence. She reeked of power and he succumbed every time.
On the hard earth patted down to flooring, they made love. Their gasping was hushed despite their distance from town. Their grasping desperate, their ecstasy shared as they moved to their own rhythm, created their own melody. The harmony created by her feather of a body and his impulsivity crescendoed on the wakes of their waves. They perturbed the shores of home. The wind screamed and their consciences howled. But drowning, they were blind with love and deaf with worship.
Upon their tidal wave, their adolescence was excavated. Laying on their backs, their intentions were bare, running wild naked through the tiny room they had made their own. His heart thundered, her hands shook. Innocence was lost and flying through the mountain range that enclosed their settlement.Exhausted of vigilance, they had submitted to recklessness.
But once finished, silence inhabited and inhibited their departure. Duty filled their lungs and covered her eyes in a thin gloss. With obligation, their clothes retuned to cover their bodies, stuck to their backs and between their legs, and they again molded into the rigid entity created by their parents and their parents and their parents.
The End :)
Hope you enjoyed.
Later Days, Fellow AnaMias
On the hard earth patted down to flooring, they made love. Their gasping was hushed despite their distance from town. Their grasping desperate, their ecstasy shared as they moved to their own rhythm, created their own melody. The harmony created by her feather of a body and his impulsivity crescendoed on the wakes of their waves. They perturbed the shores of home. The wind screamed and their consciences howled. But drowning, they were blind with love and deaf with worship.
Upon their tidal wave, their adolescence was excavated. Laying on their backs, their intentions were bare, running wild naked through the tiny room they had made their own. His heart thundered, her hands shook. Innocence was lost and flying through the mountain range that enclosed their settlement.Exhausted of vigilance, they had submitted to recklessness.
But once finished, silence inhabited and inhibited their departure. Duty filled their lungs and covered her eyes in a thin gloss. With obligation, their clothes retuned to cover their bodies, stuck to their backs and between their legs, and they again molded into the rigid entity created by their parents and their parents and their parents.
The End :)
Hope you enjoyed.
Later Days, Fellow AnaMias
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