Facebook & google+ status updates part XVIII

From WIP:

"I'll find work in computers."

"Computers."

"It's a poor magician who needs to make a living from magic," he said with a pompous sniff.

"I've never seen a kosher death before," the Detective said. He gave the crime scene one last look and stood up. "I still haven't."

Our desire to be pithy often outweighs our desire to speak the truth.

One can live without friends; one should not live without enemies.

"If we were to pause and truly think, we would drown the world in tears."

"If we truly thought, we'd realize that is logically impossible."

They broke up a week later; he never knew why.

A poet cannot hide in the way a writer hides. Where the writer traffics in lies, the poet must dance with truth.

From WIP:

“Even if we break up some day, we’d be friends.”

“You don’t know that.” He looked back with a snap, his anger a sharp sting to my nose.

“I won’t let you not be my friend,” I said, my voice flat even to my ears.

Bryce blinked a few times. “I’ve never been threatened with friendship before,” he said finally.

“Well, now you have.” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

There are too many platitudes in the world. Excluding this one.

I’d like to be a superhero. I wouldn't need any powers, I'd just like to retcon my own past, to make it more dramatic, and edit out all the parts that don’t make sense anymore.

"I don't like filthy things," he said.
And: "You are too clean to be clean."

He spoke in a voice like death underfed.

"Of course my men don't use guns," the Detective said to Internal Affairs. "Tasers are much more entertaining."

"Loving you should be a sin." ... As pick-up lines went it left much to be desired.

Knowing how to turn water into wine wasn't the trick; the trick was not doing it to oneself all the time to make the world more bearable.

His voice sings snow wet;

a sloppy kiss – jagged to

touch embracing dark

"I want you to try imaging anyone loving you as much as I hate you. True hate runs far deeper than true love ever could."

A palm sliced apart by a knife, blood spilling all over the counter to pool in odd corners. "I changed my life line for you," he says, as if that made all the sense in the world. "We can be together now. I've fixed my money line and we're going to be rich."

And his smile seems to think that's all you cared about at all.

From WIP:

Sam walked beside me: that the snow fell through her and her feet left no imprint didn't stop her from trying to seem human. "I could help you."
"Pardon?"
"You saved my life."
"You're a ghost. I don't think life is the word you're looking for."
She said nothing for a long moment; I had the sinking feeling she'd somehow forgot she was dead.

From WIP:

"Werewolves are scary because they're not stupid, and I'm less-stupid than they are."
"Sometimes."
I ignored that. "It's what make me scary, and it's all your fault." He ignored that in turn. "A thinking monster is scarier than any other kind, no matter how many claws and teeth they have."
"And less scary because they have a conscience," he said gently.

From WIP:
I picked Maddie up in my arms and ran, skidding on ice and snow as I hit the end of the road. Sprinting down streets in the dead of winter was stupid, but not quite as stupid as having technically kidnapped a magician and destroyed her father's house in the process. We do what makes sense at only when we look back to we realize it made no sense at all. I wasn't looking forward to having to explain this to Bryce at all.

The earth is wet with snow and sin

A life half-lived welcomes you in.

From WIP:
We saw the cracks in each other's armour and neither of us mentioned them. Sometimes love is silence.

Some weeks have more Mondays in them than others.

What kind of culture gives three days for mourning, including the funeral? Saying: this was enough. Saying: you should stop your public sorrow now. Saying: the funeral is over, the grieving is done. I do not know, even though I live in it. We give maternity leave of weeks. Birth given weeks, death given days, as if one was, somehow, not the equal of the other.

Does anyone else think it's finally time for MechaPope?