Entries By Effie Felix
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I burrow into my feelings and my deepest nightmares, layers upon layers of discarded information that built up over years like soil deposits. Reflection, real reflection, is an archaeological dig. You find yourself sectioning off the area into blocks and keeping track of what sites, what points in time in your life were the most active, which had something unique about them compared to the other years. I feel old. It hurts to see how much, how many parts of me, I’ve buried all this time.Posted By Effie Felix On 04.20.2013 @ 10:15 pm
I chose the side who’d rather die. So I deserved what came next. That, when night descended, and the first shot shook the block, and the first crash of glass shattered my mind, that as the people yelled and screamed in arrhythmic war chant for release, and the raids began and the tear gas poured and we collapsed over each other, suffocating,
With every egg they’ve snatched, with every shell they’ll try to crack, poking and prodding to see just what caused all the chaos and rioting. They’ll all be empty compared to what I have in me.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.24.2012 @ 6:22 am
I see my old self, in the space where time transcends the rib cage, transforming iron bars to sun rays, the cement beneath her bare feet soft grasses, painfully recreating a world in which I have let her free.
Lying on your side, you speak to me of all the lives you’ve never lived.
The smile betrays your lines not from laughs.
I know your true intent. Don’t hope that I’ll relent.
These visits only keep written note of your dreams that I may twist and burn them and toss the ashes to the seas.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.24.2012 @ 6:12 am
One and a half seconds and he goes in to kiss me. Ha! I don’t like where this is going.
Half of me wants to be in a hot air balloon sailing the skies, soaring past mountains, adrift in the clouds, seeing the sunsets.
Spending the night with the fire overhead igniting our passage as we gaze at the towns glowing letting the stars determine our course.
With our supplies in a picnic basket we sail the world.
Pull away from me, town boy. I’ll not be held back.
Then again, come with me. And learn what it means to kiss.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.22.2012 @ 6:05 am
Don’t even use that word with me, as if I’m a whiny brat who just wants this.
No, I need it. This is a part of me, an everlasting fire fueled by conviction, determination, passion, love. This is the most sincere, dedicated part of my soul. Not, “I know what I want”, but,
I know who I am.
And there is a part of me, this innermost, most beautiful part, that cannot go without this.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.14.2012 @ 11:59 am
What a waste of words. The writer, my love– he paused, inhaled his incensed cigar– should not seek approval. But as he continued to drawl, all she could think of was how she, the tightrope walker, balanced the thread, did her tricks– and with every acrobatic feat, she turned and beamed; they loved her work, she did it exceptionally well– she didn’t write to stir the masses, or to disgruntle them, although it could happen in the process, nay: she wrote, full of love.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.11.2012 @ 1:22 pm
They poured, together, over the ancient tomes. Faces paved in a tomb. The library reeked of decay, dusty, damp.. it had been abandoned sometime, in the aftermath of the shootings. What sadness, that all those who preceded them had been denied such haunting experiences.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.10.2012 @ 9:07 pm
It came as a threat; the words, “Let him falter, or he shall see light.” For I had not been accustomed to such talk. Falter, or light? It was precisely that kind of comprehension he did not want to come to terms with. He would rather have stumbled; who was I to deny him his own desires?Posted By Effie Felix On 08.10.2012 @ 9:06 pm
My husband doesn’t love me anymore. I realize this as I send him text after text, and he doesn’t reply. I flip through text after text, waiting for him to come home. And he doesn’t– he didn’t even pack his bags. One day becomes one week and I worry. I try to call him, every day. I file a Missing Person Report. Every second threatens to choke me, to strangle me, but still I live, and two days later, I’m informed: He is alive. He is in E__________. Again, I remember: We had exchanged a few words, they hung briefly in the air. He said he had to go out. His footsteps crossed the threshold… I never saw him again. The fingers loosen their grip on the handle. Now he will never see me.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.10.2012 @ 8:58 pm
This is what they told me, when I was a child. Sit up straight, smile, and always, and very big, smile to everyone, no matter what is said. Keep your clothes clean, don’t get messy. Don’t walk with your cousins out on the street at night, this is not ladylike behavior, I don’t care what you talk about, you can say it in the house. Don’t walk on the streets alone, take your brother with you. Let the elderly have the final say. Bring the tea out to the guests. You’re going to be a beautiful bride someday! What a queen of the house you will be! Some of it I understand now, some of it will never sit well with me, but I will always find it maddening, the way I was expected to sit still and obey.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.10.2012 @ 9:13 am
Ha! Who needs these? I’ve seen them standing in defiance, the other day– She was instructing yet again at the chalkboard, Peanuts-drawling, the words blending into whines and mwa mwa mwaas, the subject must always precede the verb and there is a distinction between subject and predicate, a prep-prep-preposition is a special group of– And so on. One day, they had enough. We were past this stage of structured grammar, past being told how we should think about this or that short story– they were students with a mission, and I was bound to join them. In the middle of the debate between semicolon vs. comma, they punctured the run-on sentence by standing on their chairs, declaring, “WE’RE DONE WITH THE RULES! SYSTEM BE DAMNED! WE’RE FREEING OUR TONGUES!” One by one, the students joined, slamming their books on the ground and standing on their chairs. The teacher frazzled into a frenzied curly Q. For indeed, they meant that too much rule-following would lead to our thoughts in mental prisons. Enough was enough. And it was the 60s, and we believed in expression. Manners meant nothing when we couldn’t be free.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.10.2012 @ 8:43 am
I was sure I’d been here before. I looked around, at the graffitied walls, the tin trash cans, the piles of junk along the edges of the alley; ahead, apartment buildings loomed in the distance, threaded with clothing lines with many out to dry. A familiar humid breeze blows through– at this hour, the sun begins to set, casting a reddish-purple halo over everything. Suddenly, it came to me; I remembered the assault.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.08.2012 @ 7:57 am
A man walks up to a woman in a headscarf and pulls it off. He begins kicking her, careless about the hits. She tries to push him away and run but he throws a punch to her jaw. He claws at her shirt and tears it. He leaves her beaten and bruised. ‘How do you like that, terrorist?’ he snarled. ‘That’s for your six-foot beard husband killing ma dad.’ She’d been widowed since her husband died in a car crash four years before the wars began. And people say she’s dangerous.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.07.2012 @ 4:48 pm
I’ve seen it before, at the edge of the horizon. In the corner of my eye, just before I awaken, at the edge of the land, there is a beacon. It gleams and emits a wavering light and when I see it, a soft music begins to sound and life itself becomes weightless. The crash on the shore loses its slap, the crunch of feet on leaves loses its weight. I have yet to reach this object, my dear, to see its outlines, to log a sensory experience within my dream’s confines — he paused, to light his pipe– but I know that regardless of what it, or whom, it may be, my mind sees it as my key to happiness.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.05.2012 @ 2:13 am
Nothing’s a secret anymore, he said. And she had to agree– nothing could be. They can hack into anything you own and steal everything you own. They can see you on Skype if you’re not careful, and access your phone and your documents and your posts and information travels faster on Facebook than it does a game of Telephone. Governments can no longer carry out secret operations or censor their people– cause for celebration. It is more difficult for people to hide, or even to want to.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.04.2012 @ 3:03 am
Don’t worry about it, he said. I’m sure we’ll get there sooner or later. But what about the others? She inquired. If they don’t receive word of it, they will surely be killed. ‘Tis a secret they shall soon discover, he laughed cruelly, and turned his cap low to exit the streets undetected.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.04.2012 @ 2:18 am
If we let them find us, they would certainly enjoy it. First, they would rip up the floorboards. They would block the cellar entrance, and we would be unable to escape. They would drag Papa up by the scuff of his shirt and then hold his head at gunpoint. Ask him what he was doing playing mouse under there, he would hold his chin high and not say anything. The captain would hit him with the butt of his gun, and they would toss him around, then they would grab Oliver and shoot him in back. Then the captain would tell the soldiers to take Mama and load her in back with Papa and Oliver. I’ve heard stories… before my sisters and I would be next, they’d have this look in their eye and he’d tell them to “Do what you want with them.” It happened to my cousin Clara. That’s when we had to hide. When we became this old house’s best kept secret. This is why we hold still in the day, barely moving like mice poised to run at the first sign of trouble. That’s why we cannot be found. So we keep our family together.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.03.2012 @ 8:29 pm
There was no escape, of course. Every route, every thread led to the center of the web, and now they were trapped, and for the time being, they had to wait. Wait until they would come for them to taunt and jest, to play meek to their jeering and mocking, in hopes that when they found the singular, narrow moment a slivered window of opportunity, they would be able to catch the schemers off guard and unravel the plots’ threads, one by one.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.02.2012 @ 2:03 am
There was the kinetic blast, the upheave, the punch and kick, the solar flare, the cosmic whirling whorl. So many techniques, such a wide palette, like the writer who unrolls their tool belt of figurative language to pick and choose their precise favorite appliques, being acutely fine-tuned in their selectivity. And such magic, in the discovery of each! To find that we were capable of evolving with these abilities– to revel in them freely, to feel yourself fitting into this new skin. It had the sort of newfound love and pleasure that one can only find in acquiring, that being born with it couldn’t possibly be enough.Posted By Effie Felix On 08.01.2012 @ 2:16 am
It had been two months and six days since they last heard from her. They understood why she packed and left- the crops had failed, the raiders kept coming by more frequently and they had been eyeing her.. they wanted her next. Her aunt and uncle watched her leave, met her gaze with hollow sockets for all that they had lost. They would have preferred that she stay, that she tend to the mess with them– but these days constricted one’s throat, pressed one against a wall, suffocated. It was only for the time being, they said to themselves– just until tensions die down, and then she can come back. But they knew she would be unable to return.Posted By Effie Felix On 07.31.2012 @ 2:40 am
I wonder why we have to kill and why I’m still alive why no one hasn’t killed me yet because I am wasting space here and they don’t like my caramel skin or the words that evaporate from my lips as I continue to face. The days recede into darkness no intellectual light to grace the fetid silvery outlines of what otherwise would have been promising.Posted By Effie Felix On 06.17.2011 @ 12:42 pm
This is the most awfully ironic word I’ve received thus far.
Because that’s where he likes to go for burgers and he just texted now and I don’t want to deal with him and his pot and his beer friends I just want to lie quietly in a ball and take that route out of existence because I can’t seem to find anyone I want to be with and life’s so terribly ironic sometimes and life stretches out in an an endless trek of loneliness and I don’t see why it’s worth embarking on.
I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish I had a torch for my heart. Or that someone could set me on fire with one.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.25.2011 @ 8:05 pm
I’m tunneling underground and my nose sniffles as it prods through the dirt and I carry a torch because I need to see the way and the goggles protect my eyes and the mask my lungs but I would honestly love to see light again. The earth crumbles in my hands and it feels good, it feels right, but while my eyes have adjusted themselves to darkness, I miss the days where I felt the sun on my back and the wind in my hair and smelled the scent of ease in the summer breeze.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.18.2011 @ 4:56 pm
Candy and the man won’t leave me alone. He lets syrup ooze from his fingertips and impish face with gumdrops gleaming in the gaps between his sugar coated teeth. And frankly, I just want to get away, because I don’t trust the shadow behind this mask, this corn husk wisp of shriveled gray shadow, and I’m so wrought by it that my curiosity has waned and I am tired of new faces and attempts by them to sugar coat mine too and frankly, for the time being, I would like to be alone.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.16.2011 @ 5:08 pm
I want to drown in my sorrows and spiral into an eternal vortex of misery, laced with drips of this drink I can’t stop downing that never seems to stop. Where does the time go? STOP ME NOW before I rush back to the bookshelf and fill my arms until they’re slashed with paper cuts and people think I cut flesh for a hobby, STOP ME before I down too many papers and the policeman will have to pull me over for abuse of the book, I’ve read too much officer. The read will kill me at this rate. Dostoevsky, pull me up, pull me back into this inverted plasma miasma look at all the colors fizzle into curling q’s and frizbees, the delirium is just intoxicating and I’ll get drunk on the smell of print until I die with your self-created projection of creative incarnation in my arms. Wheee.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.15.2011 @ 2:21 am
Holy Sylvia Plath. I want to go to Russia. I wonder how many people have thought about that too and written that down. We’re all so obsessed with originality? No, not really. Those are hipsters. The others are trying to fit in with the wolf pack? The more you try to generalize, the more we end up being incorrect. I could go for some vodka. Not really though.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.15.2011 @ 2:17 am
They glowed in the sunlight.
Two cherry pepper plants, the dew glistened on the red ripeness like new love. And we wondered why you left. We wondered why you left us like that, leaving a trail of shimmer in your wake. Since then this place has been dull and grey and you should come back. Growing this garden won’t do us any good if you’re not here to tend it with me. Come back.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.12.2011 @ 7:20 pm
The rebel plugged his console into what the hell is going on entered data statistics programming the numbers load like catfish multiplying on the river screen of data that unfolds before him this is it ten more seconds and we’ll finally have crashed the system and suddenly the door blasts open and they fire bullets in the air like it’s nobody’s business and you’re all alone with a blank page because the story canceled itself out of existence.Posted By Effie Felix On 05.10.2011 @ 3:05 pm