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(window spies)

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(no subject) [Dec. 28th, 2004|12:18 am]
(window spies)
She glanced out the bus window and into the city streets beyond. And she saw them all. Every one. But she didn't see their trendy hairstyles or their perfect shoes or their fashionable clothes. She saw their lyposuction, their facelifts, their botox injections, their cabinets upon cabinets of medication. Sometimes it made her feel powerful. Sometimes it made her feel like she was committing a sin. Sometimes she just didn't care.

Nobody had ever liked her much. After all, who would want to be near someone who could point out their each and every flaw? She would have been better off pretending her way through life. But she had never liked pretending very much at all.
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i think she whispered for death beside her. [Dec. 26th, 2004|09:58 pm]
(window spies)

[song |rain]

i saw the city swallowed by dusty rain clouds & i was at the top of it all. est ce comme quels regards de ciel? my eyes teared up when i stared at the radiant sun, unblinking & my little cousin came up to me with childlike curiosity in his eyes & asked if i was crying. i told him no & he walked away from me. peut-être je pourrais mourir comme ceci. i cut patterns on my arms because i don't know what beauty is like without crimson. i think i took a picture & fell asleep but as i awoke the next morning, the clouds had dispersed & harsh reality had set in. i think i cried, but at least i had a picture of a transient hope in the distant or near future.

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(no subject) [Nov. 27th, 2004|02:16 am]
(window spies)
I saw her again.
Outside of her apartment on the sidewalk below.
I watched from my window.

Blue cotton dress.
Light brown hair.

She spoke with the mailman, like she always does.
He smiled. She saw the pain of war hidden behind his eyes.
(I knew him too. About 70 years old. Fought in Vietnam. His hands shook when he handed your mail over.)

I called her up.
Asked her out to coffee.
I wanted to see her in the blue dress.
It matches her eyes, but doesn't match their fluidity.
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First post: [Oct. 22nd, 2004|07:55 pm]
(window spies)
She's asleep.

Through this second story window I can see straight into her bedroom.

Room painted blue.
White satin curtains.
Black satin sheets and the pillows to match.
Warm wooden furniture her mother gave her for Christmas.

She doesn't talk to her much.
Infact, I'd go so far as to say her mother resents her a little for moving so far away from home to go to college.
She takes it in stride.

She has a more pleasant disposition than most, only rarely do I see her unhappy.
And when I do it doesn't last long.

I love to watch her dance.
She has hips like an hour glass.

Her skin the color of clay
Her eyes are the water and mud of the Rio Grande.

And I...

I am shoreline parched and waiting for her caress to soothe my blisters.
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(no subject) [Oct. 15th, 2004|03:07 pm]
(window spies)

Another beautiful day on the farm: overcast skies threatening to unload their burden like candy store owners in the afternoon when punk little chillun come swarming in like bees: grubby, dirty fingers anxiously pinching the goods, squishing the gummi-bears and not so patiently wandering the store- some of the older ones consider theft- middle school kids call it the “five finger discount.” Don’t believe me? Look outside. That’s what windows are for- playing on the imagination. Soon enough those threatening clouds will be in possession of a different precipitation- they’ll lumber down from the artic north bringing with them a blanketing rhyme of the purest white- twinkling “like diamonds” through the city’s street-lamps, glowing like haloes. People will arm themselves against the freezing onslaught with galoshes and downy bilious coats that make anyone look like a successful gym buff. Armed to the teeth. Slipping on ice- bruised ass and hamstrings. Not just yet. The trees still clutch tenuously to their aging foliage like grandpa- he’s a fighter, cancer won’t beat him- turning yellow and brown and red and wafting downward, loosened by the wind, dragged by gravity, swept into orange and black trash-bags with pseudo-evil grins staring out at the passing traffic. Cars that come to a temporary halt, waiting for the light to let them pass, their drivers aren’t looking at the grey sunblocked sky overhead- not that light- the creeping seasons mean only that maybe a fender bender looms about next months corner. But that’s tomorrow. Today the sky will open up its frosted doors and drench the streets with glimmering droplets that form small sparkling puddles- shimmering in the headlights like broken glass, fallen mirrors. Overgrown bushes, distant whispering.
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allo ? [Oct. 11th, 2004|12:07 am]
(window spies)

[song |led zep | whole lotta love]

is this community still up and running? i do hope so, I love the idea of it -

thought i would join and say hello, so

hello -




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(no subject) [Jun. 16th, 2004|09:11 pm]
(window spies)
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(no subject) [Jun. 14th, 2004|01:43 pm]
(window spies)
a man on crutches with nasty teeth all beat up and dirty underneath the train overpass. he looked like he needed a cigarette all grizzled and totally psychotic. cigarettes have a way of making the psychotic seem sane for at least awhile. so i stopped and offered him one. and our fingers touched when i held the lighter up to him. he ripped off the filter, a feeble attempt to make a mini-morphine puff. but his fingers, though, so smooth underneath ragged, dirty fingernails. he cracked a crooked smile and it stretched a mile wide.
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(no subject) [Jun. 14th, 2004|12:36 am]
(window spies)


fremont just past boulder highway, where the people are desperate and the buildings are dying and everything is corroded sunfaded neon signs.
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(no subject) [Jun. 7th, 2004|08:53 pm]
(window spies)
+Collapse )

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