Oh what a calamity! Here we are, eight weeks into the new country, and yet to find our footing. It is actually quite an absurd time and we are floating around – in physical space and head space. Be patient they say. The job offer will come they say. They’ve said it for far too long now. Money is running out. Time is running out. C.A.L.A.M.I.T.Y
The State was a real chaos after that occurency. The mayor had already tuned the calamity alert on when the population decided to come out of their houses wearing the most terrible staying-home clothes to claim for help, in a total despair. It’s not new for anyone that it’s just the reflex of a bad conduct of sheerly everyone. “So they looked at each other and looked at themselves” was what Kufner thought would happen next.
The calamity of our wretched bodies. The misfortune of our fresh, unscathed flesh. The absolution of this ripping void between souls that can only be filled with harsh words that we think we deserve. We wish to wreck our bodies, these fleshy tombs that hold us down so tightly, we think the things we throw at one another are cracking anything other than our souls, we act as if we can scar one another with these miles we have stretched between our mudded feet. There is a deep scar within my being that can only be filled by your body, lying quietly on its side, weeping into the pillow beside my head. I will never be whole at this rate, we will never be whole at this rate.
Our love, the calamity of this all, the way it drowns us both and fills up our fragile lungs until they are seeping, mixing blood and water, diluting our precious fluid. We grasp one another in the depths and pull one another so tightly our flesh becomes one, we find beauty in the way we wreck one another, we find beauty in our own broken parts…….blah blah blah I don’t know.
planes crash bodies slam slam slam into the floor with great force. disaster strikes and blood rages like an angry nazi soldier, beating the prisoners of war. disaster with every bomb and blood spill urge to strike
The heart causes calamity. You’re in distress of new or old feelings. You’ll always be at a battle and most likely it will cause you calamity in one way or another.
i felt calm today when i was laying on my bed. staring at the ceiling. feeling almost motionless and dead. it scared my how calm being that still made me feel. i wasn’t sad. i was completely neutral.
Calamity. It can be subtle. It can be the misfortune of being so far from those you love most. It can be missing people who live in the same building as you. It can be missing a person you’re sitting in the same room as.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, nothing, no sign of life, none of the usual machine gun popping and warm smells… life can be so empty, like a pan full of kernels that just won’t pop and choose to burn instead… calamity has its place, but the kitchen ain’t it.
Everyone thinks they know what a calamity is, but how many of them actually deserve the description? A child, unwanted by her parents, left to find her own way and who is then condemned for her poor choices . . . the opportunity and talent that is squandered and lost because of the adults around her who fail to take the time to listen . . . the self-doubt, self-loathing and utter sadness that emerges as a result . . . .
The pots and pans were flying around the room! All the cooks were in a such a hussle to make all the food that was ordered. The dinner rush was in full swing, and John’s restaurant was alive again.
Guests for dinner; roast and vegetables in the oven. I pulled out the tray and the lot fell on the floor. Calamity? No, just shoved it back on the tray and kept smiling.
Chaos, Disorder, Ruckus. Yet the word seems to have the word ‘calm’ in it. It’s weird. It’s so ironic and holds such a contradiction. But doesn’t everything? The ying to everyones yang– i suppose everyone has one.
Calm. So calm. The sea breeze blew her hair across her face, but she didn’t mind. The ocean was a soft roar in the background. She was buried in her book. She was so into her book that she didn’t notice the runner who had stopped to admire her beauty and elegance. The look in his eyes as he so badly wanted to talk to her, to get to know her, but he didn’t want to disturb her. He was so torn.
the calamity erupted
with the ringing of our house phone
and I swear to you,
I could not describe the dread
that gripped me in the chest
as I listed to my mother’s muffled voice
and longed for just one more drop of pain
before she ripped it from me
As the waves flow over the sand and smooth the rough edges of the rocks, your lips flow over my body effortlessly, causing all my worries to go away, and all my muscles to relax.
I feel like this word is chaotic. Do you think it feels that way? Like someone pulled it’s teeth out and tripped it up as it was walked down the street? Like it got jumbled up, and now nobody truly understands it?
I do not know what this words mean. That’s sad. But it doesn’t matter. I wish I knew what it meant. Ah well. I shall look it up later. You know, I’ve never even HEARD of this word before, I think. Phooey. Anyways… It’s a brand new word for me.
The wave washed over the beach, the shrubs, the condos, the hotels. Most everyone was evacuated already, and very few were injured, but it was still a calamity. The newsman told me so. That was the calamity of the day, the giant wave. It wasn’t even a tsunami, just a giant wave, but that was still somehow more important than my own personal crisis.
Everything was going black. My eyes giving out, trapped in a world of monsters in a pitch black abyss. This was all my fault, but even if I could help myself, ther was no avoiding this calamity.
Maybe its the way his hair hides his face, or the way his tattoos pop out of his skin. Either way, he’s never trusted–never accepted. He looks like a walking disaster–someone that can’t be trusted. You can say he intimidates people, just by the way he looks at them. The way he talks, its like no one else. I don’t think he means to be this way, however. For some reason, despite all the presumptions made about him, I can’t imagine that he was the perpetrator. To cause a disaster such as this. He couldn’t have done it. We were too in love.
Calamity is an interesting phenomenon. I wish I could tell you more about it but alas I can’t as I don’t fully understand the meaning of it. I guess you could say calamity really calms me down if you know what I mean.
its a calamity i tell you. those kids have no idea what they just did. wrecking my lawn like that. hooligins i tell you! all of them.. what are these young folks thinking when they go chopping up my lawn. THE NOISE I TELL YOU! just the noise of it
it was a calamity in the fact that the reds were almost brown
things touched each other so intensely that everything was one
and that was the calamity
that individualism
that identity,
and idiosyncrasies
were lost in the sea of melting reds, and almost browns
almost anything
except singular,
and proud
In the calamity that in sued, I tried to break free from the holds of my capture. When I finally did, I ran freely through the streets, laughing at the people crying and the buildings burning. This was my kind of world. Then suddenly I taken down and bitten, the flesh tearing off of my arm. And I looked up into the gnarled face of the first zombie.
Oh the calamity this and other things shall bring. A broken string is just a broken string, but can represent many a thing. Oh the calamity that one shall face when meeting all the world’s disgrace.
There is no way to describe a cat fight except with the word calamity. Broken claws lay in the dust on the ground. Their blood makes mud. Two felines sit, hissing at each other from a distance. They lick their wounds, each one declaring itself the winner.
Oh the horror. I do not know where to startbdescribing what I saw today at that horrible place. It was unfathomable what had just happened, that levelmof destruction unforeseen…
“it’s all a mess, an absolute mess,” he blustered. anxiously, he smoothed down the ends of his white moustache, which were damp with sweat.
his assistant, a young, plump thing with mousy brown hair, shushed him. “there, now,” she said placidly, “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
micah said, “no, it won’t.”
the assistant glared beadily at him, the sort of look you gave dogs before you smacked them with a rolled-up newspaper. the mayor, however, had not seemed to hear him speak. his attention had been caught by something outside his window. micah looked out, but they were on the fourth floor and he could see nothing but sky.
before either micah or his assistant could stop him, the mayor had waddled to the window.
“I don’t think that’s a good–” said micah.
the end of his sentence was swallowed by, in quick succession: the sound of a gunshot; glass breaking and raining down into the office; and the mayor toppling to the ground like a felled tree, a bullet in his forehead.
He looked around. Just for a second. Everything was in slow motion. The screaming kids. The fighting. The angry husbands. The weary eyed housewives. How did we get this way, he thought. How in the world did we get like this?
Oh what a calamity! Here we are, eight weeks into the new country, and yet to find our footing. It is actually quite an absurd time and we are floating around – in physical space and head space. Be patient they say. The job offer will come they say. They’ve said it for far too long now. Money is running out. Time is running out. C.A.L.A.M.I.T.Y
The State was a real chaos after that occurency. The mayor had already tuned the calamity alert on when the population decided to come out of their houses wearing the most terrible staying-home clothes to claim for help, in a total despair. It’s not new for anyone that it’s just the reflex of a bad conduct of sheerly everyone. “So they looked at each other and looked at themselves” was what Kufner thought would happen next.
The calamity of our wretched bodies. The misfortune of our fresh, unscathed flesh. The absolution of this ripping void between souls that can only be filled with harsh words that we think we deserve. We wish to wreck our bodies, these fleshy tombs that hold us down so tightly, we think the things we throw at one another are cracking anything other than our souls, we act as if we can scar one another with these miles we have stretched between our mudded feet. There is a deep scar within my being that can only be filled by your body, lying quietly on its side, weeping into the pillow beside my head. I will never be whole at this rate, we will never be whole at this rate.
Our love, the calamity of this all, the way it drowns us both and fills up our fragile lungs until they are seeping, mixing blood and water, diluting our precious fluid. We grasp one another in the depths and pull one another so tightly our flesh becomes one, we find beauty in the way we wreck one another, we find beauty in our own broken parts…….blah blah blah I don’t know.
Jayne…
The man they call Jayne…
planes crash bodies slam slam slam into the floor with great force. disaster strikes and blood rages like an angry nazi soldier, beating the prisoners of war. disaster with every bomb and blood spill urge to strike
The heart causes calamity. You’re in distress of new or old feelings. You’ll always be at a battle and most likely it will cause you calamity in one way or another.
i felt calm today when i was laying on my bed. staring at the ceiling. feeling almost motionless and dead. it scared my how calm being that still made me feel. i wasn’t sad. i was completely neutral.
Calamity. It can be subtle. It can be the misfortune of being so far from those you love most. It can be missing people who live in the same building as you. It can be missing a person you’re sitting in the same room as.
The calamity at the same of the other feelings (bad for somebody) is the very path to knowledge and inner peace. The way to transcend (…)
Waiting, waiting, waiting, nothing, no sign of life, none of the usual machine gun popping and warm smells… life can be so empty, like a pan full of kernels that just won’t pop and choose to burn instead… calamity has its place, but the kitchen ain’t it.
Everyone thinks they know what a calamity is, but how many of them actually deserve the description? A child, unwanted by her parents, left to find her own way and who is then condemned for her poor choices . . . the opportunity and talent that is squandered and lost because of the adults around her who fail to take the time to listen . . . the self-doubt, self-loathing and utter sadness that emerges as a result . . . .
That, my friend, is a true calamity.
Monstrosity. Wells of emotion emploding. Inside is a chaotic mess of undiscovered thoughts and hidden anger. What is happening to my sanity?
The pots and pans were flying around the room! All the cooks were in a such a hussle to make all the food that was ordered. The dinner rush was in full swing, and John’s restaurant was alive again.
Guests for dinner; roast and vegetables in the oven. I pulled out the tray and the lot fell on the floor. Calamity? No, just shoved it back on the tray and kept smiling.
when you found me here
there was nothing left for us
but calamity
Chaos, Disorder, Ruckus. Yet the word seems to have the word ‘calm’ in it. It’s weird. It’s so ironic and holds such a contradiction. But doesn’t everything? The ying to everyones yang– i suppose everyone has one.
Calm. So calm. The sea breeze blew her hair across her face, but she didn’t mind. The ocean was a soft roar in the background. She was buried in her book. She was so into her book that she didn’t notice the runner who had stopped to admire her beauty and elegance. The look in his eyes as he so badly wanted to talk to her, to get to know her, but he didn’t want to disturb her. He was so torn.
the calamity erupted
with the ringing of our house phone
and I swear to you,
I could not describe the dread
that gripped me in the chest
as I listed to my mother’s muffled voice
and longed for just one more drop of pain
before she ripped it from me
Sunlight woke her as she came to life. The steering wheel of the car through her sister’s chest was all that she saw.
As the waves flow over the sand and smooth the rough edges of the rocks, your lips flow over my body effortlessly, causing all my worries to go away, and all my muscles to relax.
I feel like this word is chaotic. Do you think it feels that way? Like someone pulled it’s teeth out and tripped it up as it was walked down the street? Like it got jumbled up, and now nobody truly understands it?
I do not know what this words mean. That’s sad. But it doesn’t matter. I wish I knew what it meant. Ah well. I shall look it up later. You know, I’ve never even HEARD of this word before, I think. Phooey. Anyways… It’s a brand new word for me.
peeling skin.
tough love.
you’re part of this destruction;
you’re the calamity.
The wave washed over the beach, the shrubs, the condos, the hotels. Most everyone was evacuated already, and very few were injured, but it was still a calamity. The newsman told me so. That was the calamity of the day, the giant wave. It wasn’t even a tsunami, just a giant wave, but that was still somehow more important than my own personal crisis.
Everything was going black. My eyes giving out, trapped in a world of monsters in a pitch black abyss. This was all my fault, but even if I could help myself, ther was no avoiding this calamity.
Maybe its the way his hair hides his face, or the way his tattoos pop out of his skin. Either way, he’s never trusted–never accepted. He looks like a walking disaster–someone that can’t be trusted. You can say he intimidates people, just by the way he looks at them. The way he talks, its like no one else. I don’t think he means to be this way, however. For some reason, despite all the presumptions made about him, I can’t imagine that he was the perpetrator. To cause a disaster such as this. He couldn’t have done it. We were too in love.
Calamity is an interesting phenomenon. I wish I could tell you more about it but alas I can’t as I don’t fully understand the meaning of it. I guess you could say calamity really calms me down if you know what I mean.
its a calamity i tell you. those kids have no idea what they just did. wrecking my lawn like that. hooligins i tell you! all of them.. what are these young folks thinking when they go chopping up my lawn. THE NOISE I TELL YOU! just the noise of it
it was a calamity in the fact that the reds were almost brown
things touched each other so intensely that everything was one
and that was the calamity
that individualism
that identity,
and idiosyncrasies
were lost in the sea of melting reds, and almost browns
almost anything
except singular,
and proud
In the calamity that in sued, I tried to break free from the holds of my capture. When I finally did, I ran freely through the streets, laughing at the people crying and the buildings burning. This was my kind of world. Then suddenly I taken down and bitten, the flesh tearing off of my arm. And I looked up into the gnarled face of the first zombie.
clamidia? clamydia? calamity? clamy? calim me? claim me…
chaos and confusion and caution and calmation. which isnt a real word..
claim me.
Oh the calamity this and other things shall bring. A broken string is just a broken string, but can represent many a thing. Oh the calamity that one shall face when meeting all the world’s disgrace.
I don’t know what to write about, means disaster, but looks like calm?
There is no way to describe a cat fight except with the word calamity. Broken claws lay in the dust on the ground. Their blood makes mud. Two felines sit, hissing at each other from a distance. They lick their wounds, each one declaring itself the winner.
Oh the horror. I do not know where to startbdescribing what I saw today at that horrible place. It was unfathomable what had just happened, that levelmof destruction unforeseen…
A problem.
“it’s all a mess, an absolute mess,” he blustered. anxiously, he smoothed down the ends of his white moustache, which were damp with sweat.
his assistant, a young, plump thing with mousy brown hair, shushed him. “there, now,” she said placidly, “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
micah said, “no, it won’t.”
the assistant glared beadily at him, the sort of look you gave dogs before you smacked them with a rolled-up newspaper. the mayor, however, had not seemed to hear him speak. his attention had been caught by something outside his window. micah looked out, but they were on the fourth floor and he could see nothing but sky.
before either micah or his assistant could stop him, the mayor had waddled to the window.
“I don’t think that’s a good–” said micah.
the end of his sentence was swallowed by, in quick succession: the sound of a gunshot; glass breaking and raining down into the office; and the mayor toppling to the ground like a felled tree, a bullet in his forehead.
Calamity is the chaos, the danger, the thrill that comes with disaster, destruction and mayhem.
He looked around. Just for a second. Everything was in slow motion. The screaming kids. The fighting. The angry husbands. The weary eyed housewives. How did we get this way, he thought. How in the world did we get like this?