MFRH058

We were not children but spies
And we dared to draw our dreams on the skies
Now we keep them locked away
In a little book
In a drawer by our bedsides

We litter our plates with crumbs
And we pay the bank we borrow from
But our hearts still beat
And the little book itches
But we try our best to ignore the drum

The rays slice through the blinds
As I glaze over my daily grind
I come home to fill my little book
With trite, amateur words,
An attempt to shake it out of my mind

They tell me that they know what it's all about
As they spend their Saturdays waiting for theirs to sprout
But what use is a branch
When the roots fade away
And future spies, like me, will never reach out

Type: art.poetry.original
Produced by: The Bye
Notes: My letter of rejection

MFRH057

"Haha, that's so funny! But yeah, you're right... I could really go for some cake right now."

"You crashin' the wedding, then?" I ask, trying too hard to be clever again. It's impossible to be witty in this place. This music siphons all intelligent thought from my skull.

"Nope, I'm the groom's best friend!" she answers with enthusiasm. "I've known him since kindergarten!"

"So, uh, what does he do for a living?" I finally ask.

I can't keep my eyes off that damned table. She yells something at my face, but her nasally voice is no match for the Black Eyed Peas.

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"An executive financial director!"

I excuse myself and dart straight to the table. What was I expecting? I grab one in each hand, two more to come. Maybe the bubbles will make it bearable. Goodbye, grating, scraping, solid reality. Please, please wash away now.

All four slide down my throat as I toss them back, one after the other. I cough, I sputter, I catch my breath. They aren't helping. I close my eyes, hoping to disappear. I wish for some sort of catastrophe -- an earthquake, a hurricane, anything. I want an interruption, something huge. Something to stop it all.

I sigh, pick up another glass, and stagger back to my seat.

Between sips, I concentrate waves of loathsome stares at each man and woman present. This is not for me, and it has never been. Here, my empathy is ineffective. Better unfiltered hatred than futile attempts at communication. I absolutely cannot imagine why she chose this, but here we are. First I will finish this and then I will walk among them.

I have to keep deeping breathely. My arms start to feel heavy and the floor starts to feel light. I think I am ready now, so I loosen my tie. Why are the lights so dim in here? Concentrating on my steps, I make my way to a circle of these intolerable imbeciles.

That's a phrase that I won't even try to say right now.

I approach the most expensive-looking suit I can find. There is nobody inside it. It yells over the music, "Wait, what you're saying is Monsanto's about to soar? It's a fucking bear market, man. Monsanto's not an exception. Have you even read their quarterly?"

"No, Carson, that's not the point. They just tripled R&D, and there's no reason--"

He flinches as I throw an arm around him. Don't act so shocked, dipshit. This is how I roll.

"What's up, knob-goblins?" I laugh.

Type: art.prose.original
Produced by: Jove

Title: Four

Notes: based on a false story

MFRH056

A fresh blank leaf, and it can be anything
And with each new word you chop away possible futures
And create and amputate
And the words you caught seem worthless when you glimpse the ones you could've chased
But they've got one thing going for them, they exist!
And they lie on the paper in front of you
And you (try to) write carelessly
And end up with a poem -- the only one you could have written, the only one you have
And who cares about your unwritten volumes when you've got these twelve lines, black on white
You amputate many futures
But you create one present
And it is worth many times more

Type: art.poetry.original
Produced by: Kyrie Eleisen
Notes: none.

MFRH055

I can't keep my eyes off that damned table. She yells something at my face, but her nasally voice is no match for the Black Eyed Peas.

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"An executive financial director!"

I excuse myself and dart straight to the table. What was I expecting? I grab one in each hand, two more to come. Maybe the bubbles will make it bearable. Goodbye, grating, scraping, solid reality. Please, please wash away now.

All four slide down my throat as I toss them back, one after the other. I cough, I sputter, I catch my breath. They aren't helping. I close my eyes, hoping to disappear. I wish for some sort of catastrophe -- an earthquake, a hurricane, anything. I want an interruption, something huge. Something to stop it all.

I sigh, pick up another glass, and stagger back to my seat.

Between sips, I concentrate waves of loathsome stares at each man and woman present. This is not for me, and it has never been. Here, my empathy is ineffective. Better unfiltered hatred than futile attempts at communication. I absolutely cannot imagine why she chose this, but here we are. First I will finish this and then I will walk among them.

I have to keep deeping breathely.

Type: art.prose.original
Produced by: Jove

Title: Three

Notes: based on a false story

MFRH054

01. Heart Insurance
02. Je ne crois pas au soleil

Type: art.aural.original
Produced by: The Wugs
Title: Heart Insurance / Je ne crois pas au soleil. A-side is original. B-side is a translated cover of a song by The Magnetic Fields.
Notes: Songs written, performed by Caitie F.

MFRH053

Type: art.visual.original
Produced by: The Power of Grayskull
Notes: Stands proudly

MFRH052

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"An executive financial director!"

I excuse myself and dart straight to the table. What was I expecting? I grab one in each hand, two more to come. Maybe the bubbles will make it bearable. Goodbye, grating, scraping, solid reality. Please, please wash away now.

All four slide down my throat as I toss them back, one after the other. I cough, I sputter, I catch my breath. They aren't helping. I close my eyes, hoping to disappear. I wish for some sort of catastrophe -- an earthquake, a hurricane, anything. I want an interruption, something huge. Something to stop it all.

I sigh, pick up another glass, and stagger back to my seat.

Type: art.prose.original
Produced by: Jove

Title: Two

Notes: based on a false story

MFRH051

I excuse myself and dart straight to the table. What was I expecting? I grab one in each hand, two more to come. Maybe the bubbles will make it bearable. Goodbye, grating, scraping, solid reality. Please, please wash away now.

Type: art.prose.original
Produced by: Jove

Title: One

Notes: based on a false story

MFRH050

01. Say What You Will
02. UVB-76

Type: art.aural.original
Produced by: The Wugs
Title: Say What You Will / UVB-76
Notes: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UVB-76

MFRH049

01. Up to Us
02. Hurts So Bad

Type: art.aural.original
Produced by: The Wugs
Title: Up to Us / Hurts So Bad
Notes: A single. The B-side is a cover of a song by the band Twa Toots.