Never ChangeIf in the futureThere aren't wires in the skyWhere will we hang shoes?
All Quiet EssayThe Screaming RiftThe last page of Remarques All Quiet on the Western Front read that [the] day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front (Remarque 296). The incessant screaming in the millions of minds of the ruined soldiers from World War I was not heard, and did not echo through the trenches like the pitiful whine of a dying horse. But it was there. In each mind the Scream was different; it was the hiss of gas bombs, the shriek of falling shells, or the gurgling moan of their dying comrades. This Scream, unlike the short shriek of a human, did not run out of breath. Instead it was continuous, and carried itself into the lives of the soldiers even after the war ended. Soldiers know when it began for them, though if you ask them when it will end your only answer would be the silence that is absent inside of them. On the first page of the book Remarque states that he wri
Cuando los angeles lloran...My grandfather died today. We found out because my dad called us while me and my sisters and my mother were at the park after going to starbucks.Right now I'm at the computer. My father told my sisters to turn the television off, snapped at them. Asked them how they could look at crappy television when his father had just died. Sat down, and started talking about him."He was so proud of me.""My father said he was very proud of me...""I'm proud of you, Lina. You know that? I'm proud of you."He holds me close and I breath in his smell."Call your cousins, Lina."I don't want to talk to them now. I hate crying.I pick the card up. Well... nothing to it.Just dial."Hello this is the operator, whom shall I call?""Heaven, please."
My little deathsDoubts likes to sit in a corner with her tar black hair spilling over her face. She sits and doesn't nothing much of anything, sometimes she plays cats cradle with her hands and no string, but mostly she sits and does nothing much of anything. Her white frock isn't dirty and she isn't dusty or spider webby cause I go and dust over there with my feather duster which I like so very much. And when I stray too close her sharp teeth dig into my arms and spread black doubts over my arms like the tentacles of an octapus. I don't know if she's looking at me then cause she had black bangs over her eyes and I wonder how she sees through them. My arm starts to hurt and I shake her off like a terrier and she lets go, and grins big at the ceiling. I run away because the tentacles are climbing faster and I hear a scream which maybe is me or maybe not. Then Reality comes and she roars at me and stops me short. I don't like her because she is savage and tears at the tentacles on my arms wit
Heart StringsHome is where the heart resides,Attached by a string when you're gone,And by this rule we must abide,So never stay away too long.The heart will always pull you back,Because it is an empty shell,Too fragile to ward off attackIt too is bound by this hearts-spellAnd if you stay away too long,Be warned this is not a good designYou will find that it's all wrong,Your home is your only valentine.So run home quickly little boy,The heart is no stupid toy.