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Literature
Review- Eddie Izzard, June 17
Eddie Izzard knows his audience.  He actually made comments to that effect Tuesday night at the Tampa Theatre.  It's not every comedian that is comfortable going into a 30 minute comedic argument that God doesn't exist.
Obviously, his humor is not for everyone.  His breakout performance in the US was the HBO special Dress to Kill, in which he wore women's clothes, makeup, and high heels, and a good deal of his act consisted of transvestite jokes.
Now that he sports facial hair for his "Riches" character, the transvestite material has gone.  The makeup is down to a more subtle eye liner and mascara only look.  The clothes were downright manly, consisting of jeans, men's motorcycle boots, a dark shirt and a topcoat with tails.  Stylish and dramatic, yes, but still very masculine.   The humor, however, was as off the wall as ever.
Warming up with the origins of the name "Tampa" and a riff on Air Conditioning as an
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Literature
Memories Under Water
River towns are different from other towns.  As Mark Twain knew, there's a romance and a mystery to a place where boats and water fowl float through town, the surface rarely freezes even in winter, and spring thaws can mean danger as well as beauty.  When you grow up in a river town, it's a certainty that you know the phrase "100-year flood".
However, "100-year flood" isn't a as descriptive as it used to be.  Barry Drazkowski, quoted in the Chicago Tribune (see article here), says "If we look over the past 100 years, it is not normal to get so many large amounts of rain like those we've seen in such a short period of time."
In Cedar Rapids, Iowa this week, the phrase that keeps popping up is "500-year flood."   The water is rising in Iowa City as well.  Parts of downtown Rock Island, in Illinois are flooding.  In fact, there are floods all over Iowa and Wisconsin, and in portions of Illinois and Minnesota.  
Ced
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Literature
Ode to Ice Cream
Some pilgrims go to Mecca, or the Wailing Wall.  Others go to Graceland or Carnegie Hall.  My most treasured place on the planet is Whitey's Ice Cream.
I grew up in an area on the border of Iowa and Illinois called the Quad Cities.  It's actually more than four, but the point is the cities are all clumped together.  Unless you're crossing the Mississippi River to jump states,  you almost have to live there to know when you've gone from one to the next.  When I was a kid, a lot of people didn't go into the other cities very often.  We were one of those families, at least while I was in grade school.  
There was an ice cream shop right across from my school, but it wasn't Whitey's.  The Ice Creamery it was called, and it was good and convenient - every day ice cream.   Special occasions required special ice cream, and then we'd make the looong trek over to Moline and go to Whitey's.
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Literature
A Possible Future for Hybrids
How many cars does your family have?  No, this isn't a question designed for environmental guilt.  In fact, let's forget about the environment, just for now.
My family has two cars, two people.  Even so we don't have a good option for taking a road trip.  My car is eleven years old and has over 170,000 miles on it.  My husband's truck eats over $100 per tank.  You see our dilemma.  You may even have a similar one.
What if there were a better option, not only for you and me, but for everyone?
Here's what I would like to see: hybrid rental cars.  What if the rental companies had an incentive to have all hybrid models in their inventories?
It would make it easier for people to afford travel.  Business people and vacationers alike could afford more and longer trips if they didn't have to spend as much of their travel budget on gas.  No, it's probably not a cure for what's ailing our tourist
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Literature
Every Morning
He wakes me up.  A soft "Hi, Sweetheart", his hand on my hip.  It's too early to see the blue of his eyes.
  
     He hands me my pill.  When I've got it in my mouth a plastic cup appears to help me wash it down.  Since the surgery, he supports my head with the other hand as I drink.
     "You going?" I mumble.
     I don't know why I ask, the answer is always yes, always as he sets the cup aside.
     Then he kisses me.  His lips are soft and taste of coffee, or toothpaste.
     "I love you," I always make sure to tell him.  Sometimes if I'm not really awake I tell him twice.
     "I love you, too" he replies, turning to leave.
     "Have a good day," I say.
     If I'm awake enough, I add, "Have fun teaching the castle
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Literature
Letter to a friend
Dear Paul,
It's Christmas time, and I miss you.  As I do every year.  As I do each time I have to sit through someone else doing "your" scene.
I think you would be flattered to know I hate to see others saying your lines, mimicking the gesture that you perfected.
My other memories of you are hazy.  I remember a voice -- deep and full of sharp rocks to cut oneself on, but also friendly and often at the edge of laughter.
I remember the angular way you held you cigarette as you sat by the bar.
I remember jutting knees that divided long legs as knots on sticks.
I remember how vulnerable you looked with your head shaved.  I wonder now if it really was just for that role.
I can pull these bits and pieces of memory in to my mind and try to assemble them into a jigsaw of loose fitting information.
But it won't bring you back.   And it won't let me say the goodbye I should have said then.
Within my scraps of memories, there is one that is f
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Stewart Copeland and Sting by ceebab Stewart Copeland and Sting :iconceebab:ceebab 9 11 Stewart Copeland by ceebab Stewart Copeland :iconceebab:ceebab 1 1 Sting by ceebab Sting :iconceebab:ceebab 8 4 The Police by ceebab The Police :iconceebab:ceebab 6 2 Canyon view by ceebab Canyon view :iconceebab:ceebab 2 6
Literature
Of Dads and Daffodils, part 2
Room 204
     "So what is it this time?  Brain tumor?  Epilepsy?  What's your story this time, Pop?"  I wish I could stop pacing around the room, but I'm afraid if I stop moving I'll explode.  He isn't answering so I look at his fat, red face and wait.
"Well, actually, it's kind of funny…."  (This I doubt very much.)  "I guess I ate too much of your mother's barley soup, and , well, what I thought was a heart attack was really, uh, gas."  He laughed.
Trying to contain myself, I look around the room.  It's exactly the same as every other room in this hospital.  I should know, I've seen enough of them.  They all have those dull orange curtains with the nasty yellow swirls, which were bright and almost psychedelic when I was a kid.  The bedspread is the same pattern, but must be a different material, because they fade into a burnt orange and the yellow gets really pale and almost pretty.
I notice the director's assistant has sent another flower arrangement,
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Literature
Of Dads and Daffodils
Room 201
What I want to know is how he got old so fast.  Eight months ago was the last time I was home and he still looked like he was in his late 30's to early 40's.  Now all of a sudden my father looks his age, 52.
     Even if Mom hadn't told me, I would've known something was wrong the second I walked in the room.  He was watching the Waltons, for Christ's sake.  He hates the Waltons.  It's still on, something about John-boy's girlfriend stealing something, I don't know.  It's just something to look at so I can avoid looking at the lines on his face that seem to crack and splinter into more lines every time he speaks.
     Only that's another thing, he's not, much.  Speaking, that is.  Usually you can't shut him up, always joking and teasing me about something or other.  At first, I tried to force him to talk, but all I got were mumbles and yes/no answers.  I ended up rambling aobut the camping trip the Waltons' place reminded me of, the one where I didn't want to get up in
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Sunset by ceebab Sunset :iconceebab:ceebab 3 15
Literature
untitled
It's not easy to fall on your knees & say Lord help me please
Leaving pride and self esteem in a mound of sin
Groveling, desperate as a junkie
At an altar of addiction to hope
Weak and whinin voices cry through the darkness
Mentally screaming the whispered word
"Help" like a kicked dog
A faint squeak
From a speck of nothing
Asking for the gift of recognition
From the universe
A faceless God listens
He that created us to suffer
He hears the pleading need
Hopefully He grants us a slice of Peace
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Literature
Mission statement
Kindness is strength.
Strength is everything.
Strength is compassion and patience, for yourself and others.
Strength is having the courage to let people know who you really are.
     It is easier to close a door, than to open one.
Strength is knowing who you are and what's important to you, while
     being aware that other people's opinions are as valid as yours.  
     (Even if you don't agree, they may have something to teach.)
Strength is knowing that there is always more you can learn, and that
     mistakes and failures can make you stronger.
Strength is choosing your battles and standing up for your beliefs and
     yourself.
Strength is being honest, with others and yourself, keeping in mind that
     some truths are too cruel to bear.  
     Silence is better than a lie.
Strength is li
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Literature
Laughing At Nothing
We spent a thousand nights strumming on guitars, coming up with silly songs and ways to get along. I always knew what I was doing every weekend back then; Agustín's house was always open to our very close-knitted bipolar group for tequila shots and couch lounging. We went out if we got antsy, stayed in if sleep won over.
This was the only way Juan and I went with the flow, following everyone but still within our little bubble of fun. There is no other way to describe the void we made, big enough so that we could both fit in, engulfed by huge ticklish soapy walls. These were transparent enough for people to see us and believe we were there with them – truth was, we just focused on each other's laughter all night long.
We were there once again, playing guitar and screaming blurred lyrics into the air, oblivious to the fact that everyone had traded the cold night sky for a food-promising kitchen. I lit up a cigarette and laughed at nothing. Back then, with him, even nonentities were sprin
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Literature
Love again
I was going to tell you something.
But then you smiled sheepishly at my frown; and some kids shouted, distracting me.
You talk about politics, articulately, and joke about your professor, the one with the vest, while taking a sip from my take-away tea. I start wondering how it came to be, that I always wear the earrings you like, that I never laugh at Star Trek anymore, and your favourite colour suddenly is green (like mine).
I succumb to studying the part of your hair that sticks up at the back, and stealing a bite from your blueberry muffin.
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Journal
Another Year, Another Novel
It happens once a year. The gathering of many an insane writer or amateur author. All seeking just one thing - the completion of 50,000 words written in a month.
Insane? Yes. Challenging? For some. Unachievable? NO!
In the wonderful world of "NaNoWriMo" ANYHTING is possible.
Watch as writers from all across the globe battle their inner-editors to pump out 1,667 words a day in a mass effort to cross the finish line by November 30th.
Join with like-minded people as literature explodes in a flurry of typing and scrawling, jotting out characters, plots, conflicts and more and participate in the annual ritual of excessive coffee intake and sleep-deprivation.
If 'Write a Novel!' is on your 'to-do' list then here is your chance!
Packed with fun giveaways, regional meets, kick-off parties and the awesome "Thank God It's Over!" party at the end of it you just won't want to say 'no'!
Where will you be on October 31st at midnight, when t
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Literature
It Really Hurt
Inspiration hit me; a concussion followed!
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Literature
Six Word Story - Pursuit
Fleeing, transvestite detective hot on heels
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Literature
Autopsy Report
Cause of death:  asphyxiation by foot.
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Literature
True Love
She kissed me.
I soiled myself.
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Literature
Touching Horses
In my oldest memory, I am awkward on my legs, traveling through dense grass with difficulty, anchored by my father's hand. When we reached them, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms. The animals looming close, he took my hand in his and he pressed our fingers into the warm skin.
“Horse,” he said.
“Horse,” I echoed, naming the experience of my father’s arms as much as the silk and heat of the animal’s copper coat. “Horse.”
*
I am twenty-two, and I’ve been alone for two years now. Five years ago my brother left, three years ago my mother died, and two years ago my father died. Death is something that still feels new to me. We used to bury the horses together, digging the deep holes near wherever they’d finally fallen, filling them in with dirt and manure to speed the transition from flesh and blood and bone to soil. We stood around these mounds of earth in silence. My parents’ funerals were like this; the quiet of shared sadness.
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Literature
Footprint, sand
Hey. I just found this picture of you.
Okay, I didn't just find it. I found it months ago, but that was years after the last time I saw you, a decade after I burned or tore or otherwise trashed all the others. Yanked them from glossy frames.
So, you know, all things relative to the history of us, I basically just found the goddamn picture.
You'll remember it, because you liked it, and we never liked the same pictures of you. I liked your smile, could study for full minutes your crooked front tooth, your slightly large nose. You hated your imperfect face. You liked the pictures where your perfect hair hid it, where your perfect body was all that showed.
Don't interrupt me. Christ. Is it ever my turn to talk?
I was saying, this picture - you'll remember it. I took it on that vacation. I took the camera from you and took it. You always had the camera, you or some fellow tourist, so that we could both be in the shot. God. How many pictures did you take of me? I don't have any of them. I kn
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Wishlist

let it snow... by firejay let it snow... :iconfirejay:firejay 74 34 art is my escape by forever-simplicity art is my escape :iconforever-simplicity:forever-simplicity 9 14

Activity


deviantID

ceebab
Chris
United States
Current Residence: Florida
Favourite genre of music: 80's new wave
Favourite photographer: my dad
Operating System: OS2
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Wallpaper of choice: pic of my favorite cat curled up on my husband
Interests
  • Listening to: Hallelujah - Drew Holcomb & the Neighbors
  • Reading: I Shouldn't Even Be Doing This - Bob Newhart
  • Playing: Plants Vs. Zombies
Don't have a lot of free time, so not here a whole lot anymore.

If I delete your pieces from my collections, no offense.  Just too huge and unmanageable.

Might post a few things at some point, who knows.

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:iconmackwrites:
mackwrites Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2009
Thank you for the fave, it does mean a lot to me, especially because I felt proud of that piece! haha :)
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:iconsamuran:
Samuran Featured By Owner Feb 1, 2009
Hi there,

Samuran's moved to a new account: =lifemachine
Hope to see you around!
Best regards,

Sam / lifemachine
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:iconanitya:
Anitya Featured By Owner Dec 12, 2008
thank you..:flowerpot:
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:iconmuka:
Muka Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2008
Thank you :)
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:iconnitah:
nitah Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2008  Professional Traditional Artist
:love:
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:iconatefehaban:
atefehaban Featured By Owner Oct 2, 2008
:hug: for the fave
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:iconnitah:
nitah Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2008  Professional Traditional Artist
thank you! :heart:
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:icongrugster:
grugster Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2008  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the recent :+fav: ! I'm glad you like my phots. :hug:
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:iconkariliimatainen:
KariLiimatainen Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2008  Hobbyist Photographer
:thanks: for the support ..!! :rose:
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Rufus-Jr Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2008
Thanks for the fav.
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