i want to hollow out the broken shards of myself that lurk behind my skin you scraped the insides of me with your dirty fingernails and then blamed me for bleeding.
My Cleopatra girl, who dies and dies again, with flesh as white as pearls, who under death will always strain. And who am I, your love, clown as fool as the rest, a raven to a dove, who yet is asp upon your breast
the ethereal sounds again as i am crosslegged on the top bunk back leaned against the concrete wall painted white in the fifties, now an ivory cream. there is a bourdon in the back solid, firm, like the cheap mattress on which i am perched, freshman. and above it undulates a great many unplaceable sounds: a woman’s voice (not yours, though faint and trembling like when you first sang for me) not the wind but an echo of the wind and the sound i imagine stars make; and in the room, the sound of lake ice and fever. trying to meditate but really half-asleep never one for it before, but you brought a reality i couldn’t process in my endless processing, the spiraling that leads me wash my hands that leads me count the breaths count the lights in the rooms where i sit and scribble an A test but think only of what it is you’re feeling for him, in love with you and you with me and me with him and you with him and you with death and me with all of it.
The exasperation was palpable across fired FBI director James Comey’s face on Thursday morning as he traipsed through the ordeal of sitting in a government building for reasons other than obtaining a boating license. “To be honest, I’d rather eat radioactive waste by myself than dine with President Trump,” Comey said, clearing his throat into the microphone.
Early Thursday morning a UW-Police officer discovered a SOAR student wandering the halls of the labyrinthine Humanities Building.
Prospective business major Nick Rinaldi arrived at freshmen orientation sporting a two-piece suit, enabling him to meet roughly half of the Wisconsin School of Business’ graduation requirements. In accordance with School of Business bylaws, Rinaldi was immediately sent to meet with Dean François Ortalo-Magné by his SOAR advisor upon checking in. “When I received word about [Rinaldi’s] appearance, I knew I had to have him come to my office right away,” Ortalo-Magné said. While the majority of SOAR attendees donned shorts and other typical summer garb, Rinaldi stood out in his outfit which featured black Cole Haan dress shoes and a shiny blue tie.
Madison-based startup company Squared revealed a cutting-edge innovation Monday which promises to disrupt the automotive industry on a scale unforeseen since Henry Ford unveiled the Model T in 1908.
In a story that continues to develop amid controversy, local bar owner Ray Blando has been overheard referring to popular hip-hop tracks as “black people music.” Students on the scene report that he continued to say, “Future and Migos bring an atmosphere that, while lit, could bring a far more inclusive party environment to our establishment, and that’s something we are not yet comfortable with.” These reports have contributed to significant backlash from students and Madison residents alike.
Peter Pan, permanently age 10, was picked up by police around 3:30 a.m. Saturday outside a U.S. Naval facility in Maryland and charged with first degree criminal trespassing. Pan, notorious for his agelessness and care-free attitude, has racked up an astounding number of charges in the 32 years since he left Neverland.
Your lips were the color of lilacs when you told me we met in the summer I dont remember when you said we fell in love -those were the next lyrics in the song But i pretended that you said right away Now i cant look at lilacs anymore Because all i see is your lips
This the third and final installment of our ongoing mystery series. In the second installment of “Nowhere,” Hannah runs to Cade’s apartment after Levi says that Cade was not with them when they walked on the lake the night before.
The thing is- a really awful thing happened, but listening to the way air moves through your lungs as I lay on your chest makes everything still for a moment. I would rather listen to the blood move through your veins than do most things. My time is yours even when it’s not. -maybe that’s tragedy; I don’t know. Maybe it’s tragedy to think that I don’t want to think about what happened; but I do want to remember your lips. And the way they felt on mine before they were bruised.
This past week, a large number of UW-Madison students faced multiple daunting midterms, projects and other highly weighted assignments.
In a slightly annoyed state Monday night, area-man Luke Bauer reached into his pocket and discovered that, yet again, his Bose earbuds had twisted themselves into an intricate knot. The incident—which really wasn’t a big deal—caused Bauer to sigh heavily and yank on random parts of the wire. “The entire sight was pretty relatable,” said local witness George Hartin.
It may soon be legal to hunt big game from helicopters as a result of the recent Senate overturn of Obama-era hunting restrictions on national wildlife refuges in Alaska.
You shine so bright, they force you into a shadow, growing into a sunflower without the sun to turn to, girl, you got the magic You are surrounded by skeptics who weren’t present witness to your blossom, they doubt it’s occurrence, they doubt you. I feel your anger, the nonchalant way of going about expecting nothing from the people that interact with the day. No one will let you down without your permission. I get why you write, why you obsess, why you get mad, that you love so hard and so much, it drags you down like a responsibility. So you stopped carrying your heart in your hands. I know most times you leave it at home, perhaps in your closet, so no one will know you have one, too. You hide your soft so no one try to shape you into something you are not. You don’t want anyone to accidentally step on it and then feel bad for not accepting their “sorry.” To you that word is flimsy, can’t even take being thrown in a trashcan. Helga, I know how bad waking up can be, when no one is there to say good morning, or there when you get back home, or there when your world is screaming novels at you. And I get that sometimes loneliness is not a choice, it’s the only option when no one chooses you back. Please write until everything you have to say is able to be read and I’ll read it. Helga you are so beautiful, and loving yourself is only half the battle, sometimes it’s the full war. Thank you for the Saturday mornings, for those 20 minutes it wasn’t so bad to be alone.
That’s all she wrote I’m looking at you and thinking about how the pen That pen there That you have in your mouth Will be wet Now From the moisture on your tongue And that pen That pen right there Will also be hot With each Heavy breath that you exhale And that pen Yeah baby that Wet Pen you have in your mouth Right There- Will have bite marks on it Where you’ve clenched your jaw and bitten down With each crescendo of your lungs As air touches your wet lips And your eyes blink like forbidden fruit -- ughh honey your mouth could write the sweetest poetry That pen That pen there Signs my life away
It’s not home. But wasn’t it once? Wasn’t it ours before we were told who we were? Didn’t we exist before we were given these names? There must have been a time before Ma lost her tongue to shame.
I found an article the other day about a situation in Melbourne last year on how the city had identified all trees with a different number and email address, so that citizens could send emails to city officials about complaints, a way to improve the city life.
Late last night,somewhere between 2:00 and 5:00 a.m., an interesting monument was discovered outside Gordon Dining Hall: a statue of former Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein.
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Solutions by The State News
