The Apartment

The apartment is where he wrote. Inspired by the white walls and yellow stains running down the corner of the walls. He had ripped out the carpet and rolled it up, placing it in the corner of his living room. Now, the apartment, empty, cold hard floor, rusted pipes, boarded up windows, the man was happy.

This man, like many other men who owned apartments, had a name. That name was Leonardo, and that was what people called him, especially when they were greeting him. It was very normal for people to say "hello Leonardo, how are you?" and of course he would always reply "I am myself, and how I do not know." At first this would surprise most people but then after about three times, without failure, that response was given, those people would too accept him for who he is and how he responds to greetings.

One day after a long day of perfectly taring apart his apartment, Leonardo realized why he felt the need to destroy his apartment. And then he forgot. But what he had realized was that apartment, sounds like a mixture of "apart" and "fragment". But unfortunately, he then became extremely occupied in hitting plywood with a hammer.

This plywood wouldn't break. Leonardo frowned deeply at it. The wood, splintered and dented but not split. So he frowned at it again, "break, wood, break!" the plywood stood as a whole, immune to his psychic abilities that obviously seem to work on everything except this particular piece of plywood. He then beat at it an different angles, looking for a weakness, looking for a breaking point. The wood showed no pain, but instead the dents gave it the look of an unbreakable fortress that is worn down by years of determination.

Leonardo's aspiring determination to destroy, was challenged by this inanimate object, and he scowled intently at it.

Apologies

Sorry being inactive and not consistent with my blog. I do hope by now you have read most, if not all of my posts on here but I am planning on posting more.
I am currently working on a book which I have posted a few excerpts to on here, but I also started a short story I have titled "The Apartment". Now I call it a short story though it is unfinished because I will expect that the finished work will be formidable to be read in one sitting but I will be posting all updates to that and the first 4 or 5 paragraphs should appear above this message.
I do hope you continue following my updates, I will every so often post a poem and I am considering writing a few book reviews (if you like this idea then give your Opinions in the comments below).
Anyways, Faithful Few, keep reading and I will keep writing!

Auf Weidersehen!

Mad Happenings

**original and unrevised piece**

There was a strange woman and a strange man. The woman, on all fours, barked incoherently, and people obediently kept their distance.

I walked up. "what is wrong with her?" I asked the man.

He raised his nose in his reply, "simply stick out your hand boy, she doesn't bite."

I slowly extended my trembling fingers towards her. To my surprise, after the woman was through with her barking and had noticed my feeble act, she stuck her nose forward, sniffed, and then gingerly licked my hand.

I yanked my hand back and instantly wiped the grime onto my pant leg, disgusted at what was taking place, but the man stopped me. "do not be startled!" he sounded desperate, "she likes you."

The woman crouched lower to the ground, promptly sticking out her tongue as she backed her rear next to me and looks up expectingly.

"well," said the man as he briskly departed, "she's all yours."

TO BE CONTINUED AND REVISED

Bound by silence

BOUND BY SILENCE
All in all I am bound by silence,
It is that that truly defines me.
To keep out what I can,
To let in what ever wills it,
But this silent presence,
Is not truly marked by glee.
It is not the wings of the mind,
The birth of ideas,
No, it is the unspoken truths
that take this time to haunt me.

I have been chosen,
But to be the only one chosen,
Does not make me special,
But merely lonely.
I have no hope of a simple understanding,
A knowledge or determination of learning what others find mandatory.

But this is all bound just by my silence,
It does not enhance my perfection,
It does not slow my progression.
But silence inspires each word I speak.
Silence is my link, the key to my poetry.

I am determined of one thing,
That this shall be a statement,
No questioning or demanding or retorting.
And this statement is fact,
That I am bound by my silence,
I am blessed by yours,
And It is vital to my stimulation.

I can't speak,
I am bound by silence,
Even if I did, I would be unheard,
Because I am marked by my insignificance.

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