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Please excuse the comma splices, tense changes, verbosity, etc. I was just a youngin' and now I realize the error of my grammatical ways. Plus, I preferred the flowery and descriptive writing styles of the early 19th century and beyond rather than the short, journalistic post-Hemingway-style of writing. I love intense imagery and descriptions in general. Still deciding whether I should edit my old poetry for grammar mistakes or take the Beatnik approach and fuck it.

Disclaimer: I only wrote/write on bad days. Grand days have never inspired me enough to write as I've always used writing as an outlet. A majority of my poetry is angsty, dark humored, or depressing, however, I don't have depression, and I'm not self-destructive or suicidal by any means. My writing is mostly a tenfold representation of the kind of day I was having at the time. Embellishing the realities of my bad days on paper helped turn them into good days. Not sticking my head into an oven anytime soon (or ever, actually). :P +10 points if you got the reference.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment

Friday, August 21, 2009

The Adventures of Josie Appleseed

One day, a shoeless young girl was walking alone in the wilderness without a map. She was lost and could only pay attention to where she was heading. The girl was uncertain of her current location, and she did not want lose her current pace. As a result, she did not turn around to ask for directions.

The girl continued along a rocky pathway through a grove of apple trees. She gazed upon the bushels of apples, and wondered why they were left unpicked. The apples' luster amazed and intrigued her, as the translucent sheen they emitted stood out from the rest of the natural terrain.

Expecting a truly mesmerizing taste, she grabbed one of the apples from the tree and took a bite. She soon spat out the apple, as she realized they were worm-infested crab apples. She tossed the apple on the ground, hoping in time a new apple tree with brilliant crimson apples would sprout from the recalled apple she had attempted to eat. Without thinking, she took another apple from the tree, and bit into it. Her taste buds, already numb from the sourness of the previously discarded apple, withstood the taste.

She continued walking along the rubble as the soles of her feet reacted to the rough road with their generous donations of blood. A sticker they did not receive, nor a pat on the back, nor a merit of honor. The girl knew her feet would callous eventually, so she continued advancing further toward her unknown destination with the apple still in hand.

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