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Literature Text
Organic waste
Mushroom clouds and daisy chains
Bio-hazard
nuclear medicines
Atomic clocks
The nucleus of time
Division and the gravity of man
Ancient prophecy
The age of reason
Kingdom come
Armageddon
Mushroom clouds and daisy chains
Bio-hazard
nuclear medicines
Atomic clocks
The nucleus of time
Division and the gravity of man
Ancient prophecy
The age of reason
Kingdom come
Armageddon
Literature
Whatever the Price
Tom was going through a hard time. In reality his life was fine. He was decent looking. Maybe could cut his hair shorter. He was in alright shape. Maybe a bit scrawnier than he should be. He had a job to cover his bills. Maybe that was about it. He was young and boring to put it plainly. And madly in love. Well, he knew it wasn’t love. He knew it was more of an infatuation. Every day he thought of her. He thought of her at work where she kept a cubicle further down the hall. He thought of her on his way home and when he would get stuck in traffic. He would even think of her shamefully when he was alone in his bedroom with a tissue in hand. Lately the lonely lovebird was thinking of her at the slummy bar where the drinks were cheap. He felt like a loser. In reality it wasn’t that bad. He might have done well to actually speak to the cute co-worker. Perhaps Tom was greedy, fantasizing about holding the girl at night. Perhaps he should have stuck to his reality, sorry as it was, the
Literature
Rock Pool
It was early morning, and the little cove below the coastal cottage was entirely deserted. Finn scampered agilely across the obstacle course of rocks, feeling the day-break sun warming his back as his bare feet slapped across the rough barnacled surface. It was the start of summer breaks, and he didn’t have a care in the world. Aunt Lauren had invited the whole family to spend their holiday at her place in Cornwall. For the next two weeks, it would be nothing but ice cream, sun, and hanging out with his cousins. The boys were pretty close in age - all within three years of each other - and they got on well; though Finn did enjoy messing with Harry, the littlest of them, from time to time. Just yesterday they’d taken a boat trip out to spot seals, and Finn had taken great pleasure in taunting him about the babyish Winnie the Pooh design featured prominently on the puffy yellow collar of his life jacket. The nine-year-old had been so upset that he’d flat out refused to wear it at
Literature
Close and Per... 2 (Giant M/Tiny F Buttcrush gas)
Author note: This is part 2 of a story. You can find part 1 over here: If you're not in the mood to read more, don't worry, I can give the run down! Content warning gas and allusion to scat. Daxton, isn't feeding his tiny servants both Mina and Zabrina. Mina in pure rage and ego decided that she'll go up against her master and even attack him. This 3 inch and 0.2 ounce woman got a reality check when this 400 lb. man essentially ended her mini rebellion. All it took was a couple of massive farts in the face to impair her. Daxton made up his mind that the two girls are useless to him anyway and plans on killing them. It's now it's up to Zabrina to please her master and hopefully get a second chance at life. Zabrina was having a hard time breathing. Not only because of the pure stench radiating from Daxton's bed, but also the idea that if she doesn't do this right, both her and Mina would die. If her master killed her, he would think she's worthless and she'll never get his
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Comments4
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The more I read your poetry, the more I wonder if what I write is in the right category. Doesn't really matter.
Your brain seems to work on vivid imagery that might pop in your head and then you write one/two/three words about it to capture the image that occurred to you.
Reading this, I get snapshots. Then puts it all together into a painting. You bring readers exactly where you want them, fast.
You seem to be doing poetry right, though I don't know much on the subject; for me it always were that I was just writing, period. I'll keep on reading your stuff.
Your brain seems to work on vivid imagery that might pop in your head and then you write one/two/three words about it to capture the image that occurred to you.
Reading this, I get snapshots. Then puts it all together into a painting. You bring readers exactly where you want them, fast.
You seem to be doing poetry right, though I don't know much on the subject; for me it always were that I was just writing, period. I'll keep on reading your stuff.