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    <title>tentative's New Writeups</title>
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    <updated>2009-11-28T13:52:14Z</updated>
<entry><title>you cannot meet again unless you part (idea)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/you+cannot+meet+again+unless+you+part"/><id>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/you+cannot+meet+again+unless+you+part</id><author><name>tentative</name><uri>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative</uri></author><published>2009-11-28T13:52:14Z</published><updated>2009-11-28T13:52:14Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
We were sitting on a bridge, he and I. Well, not exactly on the bridge. More under it. But not on the sidewalk. We'd climbed onto the supports and were sitting &lt;a href=&quot;/title/I+can+see+your+house+from+here&quot;&gt;perched over&lt;/a&gt; the people who jogged and strolled below. One arm of mine was resting on his neck, the other pressed against where I sat, legs dangling down across the walkway. Him with his head against my shoulder, legs locked around a pole in case I moved. He leaned on me, eyes closed, as I &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Doing+nothing+together&quot;&gt;watched&lt;/a&gt; the world, the swans on the water, the couple on the grass where they played like children. Felt his hair on my neck and &lt;a href=&quot;/title/I+am+in+love+with+so+much+more+than+your+body+heat%252C+but+let%2527s+start+there&quot;&gt;the heat of his body&lt;/a&gt; against mine.
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
When the others came there were raised eyebrows, as he refused to move and I refused to ask him to. 
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Are you two..? Um. Uh. &lt;a href=&quot;/title/More+than+friends&quot;&gt;Are you?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
And when he left&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>these arms, this heart, this body, sleep here (idea)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/these+arms%252C+this+heart%252C+this+body%252C+sleep+here"/><id>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/these+arms%252C+this+heart%252C+this+body%252C+sleep+here</id><author><name>tentative</name><uri>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative</uri></author><published>2009-11-28T03:37:31Z</published><updated>2009-11-28T03:37:31Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;/title/Watching+them+together&quot;&gt;Together&lt;/a&gt;, they were in the sunroom, a large, light-filled room at the top of her house. It was positioned so that it caught both the &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Eighteen+seconds+before+sunrise&quot;&gt;sunrise&lt;/a&gt; and the sunset; it looked down into the valley and across the hills to the distant mountains. If you stood in that corner there looking through that window at night you could see the flickering lights of the town down yonder. Over there you got a full view of the stables and adjoining paddocks, by standing here with binoculars you could &lt;a href=&quot;/title/The+boys+did+not+know+it.+They+were+just+being+beautiful%252C+and+I+got+to+watch.&quot;&gt;watch the ducks&lt;/a&gt; on the dam. 
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
The room was white-washed and decked out with furniture most suitable for a beach house; light wicker chairs and soft-colored cushions, small tables with magazines in drawers, and a gramophone on a stand with rows of records alongside it. Bamboo blinds stood quietly by the windows, ready to be pulled down at a moment's notice, which would render the room&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>Friesian (essay)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/Friesian"/><id>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/Friesian</id><author><name>tentative</name><uri>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative</uri></author><published>2009-11-27T10:12:09Z</published><updated>2009-11-27T10:12:09Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
The most beautiful, graceful, gentle horse in the world, and also the one you've probably seen a lot of. They're average to tall (14.2 to 17 &lt;a href=&quot;/title/hands&quot;&gt;hh&lt;/a&gt;), with a rounded nose characteristic of most &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Spanish&quot;&gt;Spanish&lt;/a&gt; breeds. They have small heads and a body that is dependent on their breeding, while mostly they are of a stocky build the more modern, sport-designed Friesians are lighter-boned. 
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
You'll know a Friesian most instantly from their hair. To be classed &lt;a href=&quot;/title/pedigree&quot;&gt;pedigree&lt;/a&gt; standard, a Friesian must have no white markings, and must be perfectly black. Occasionally they will be chestnut, but this is frowned on and won't be accepted as a true Friesian. A Friesian will never have his hair cut, which includes his mane, forelock, tail and fetlocks. The hair on the fetlocks is called &quot;feathers&quot; in the business.
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
Friesians are gentle in nature, and although their blackness, hair and stocky body makes them seem large and imposing, they are actually very docile and willing horses. Despite this, they&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>lately I can't speak words fail me why won't this end (poetry)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/lately+I+can%2527t+speak+words+fail+me+why+won%2527t+this+end"/><id>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/lately+I+can%2527t+speak+words+fail+me+why+won%2527t+this+end</id><author><name>tentative</name><uri>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative</uri></author><published>2009-11-26T14:37:01Z</published><updated>2009-11-26T14:37:01Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;/title/around+three+a.m.%252C+things+broke&quot;&gt;lately&lt;/a&gt; i cant speak&lt;br&gt;
only noises.&lt;br&gt;
strangled&lt;br&gt;
choked &lt;a href=&quot;/title/There+are+many+things+that+I+would+like+to+say+to+you+but+I+don%2527t+know+how&quot;&gt;out&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;
mess.&lt;br&gt;
words fail me.&lt;br&gt;
they just&lt;br&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;/title/Has+no+one+told+you+he%2527s+not+breathing%253F&quot;&gt;dont&lt;/a&gt; work&lt;br&gt;
incomplete&lt;br&gt;
monosyllabic&lt;br&gt;
sentences.&lt;br&gt;
useless describing&lt;br&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;/title/ignore+the+signs+that+I+am+dying&quot;&gt;pain&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;
when&lt;br&gt;
why wont&lt;br&gt;
make this end
&lt;/p&gt;



&lt;p align=&quot;right&quot;&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;/title/THE+IRON+NODER+CHALLENGE+2%253A+ELECTRIC+BOOGALOO&quot;&gt;26&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content>
</entry><entry><title>Emily. Emily. Emily. Delete. (person)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/Emily.+Emily.+Emily.+Delete."/><id>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/Emily.+Emily.+Emily.+Delete.</id><author><name>tentative</name><uri>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative</uri></author><published>2009-11-26T13:44:36Z</published><updated>2009-11-26T13:44:36Z</updated>
<content type="html"> &lt;p&gt;
Things were strewn across a normally clean apartment; it seemed as though someone had broken in. It wasn't like that, though. A vase lay smashed in the hall, &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Hello+broken+thing%252C+may+I+sketch+your+smash+pattern%253F&quot;&gt;pieces scattered&lt;/a&gt; across the carpet. Magazines had been sent flying across the the lounge from a hand that had dashed them aside. The light of the computer was the only soft glow that illuminated &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Sadness+is+just+a+crack+in+my+life+that+I+fall+into%252C+sometimes&quot;&gt;the chaos&lt;/a&gt;. 
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
The figure hunched at the desk shuddered, shoulders shaking and hands pushed into thick hair, holding a head that was too full of emotion. A smiling blond girl wearing a black dress and a thick beaded necklace stared out of the screen, her arm around another. Emily. &lt;a href=&quot;/title/You+cannot+be+in+love+with+every+beautiful+thing+you+see&quot;&gt;Pretty&lt;/a&gt; laughing happy graceful Emily. Emily who would always come running in times of trouble, Emily who could be depended on, Emily. 
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
Emily who shared all those dark thoughts, Emily&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>Smile Like You Mean It (essay)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/Smile+Like+You+Mean+It"/><id>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative/writeups/Smile+Like+You+Mean+It</id><author><name>tentative</name><uri>http://www.everything2.org:80/user/tentative</uri></author><published>2009-11-26T02:26:28Z</published><updated>2009-11-26T02:26:28Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
This song is by &lt;a href=&quot;/title/The+Killers&quot;&gt;The Killers&lt;/a&gt;, it was released on &lt;a href=&quot;/title/May+2%252C+2005&quot;&gt;May 2, 2005&lt;/a&gt;, was featured on their first album, &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Hot+Fuss&quot;&gt;Hot Fuss&lt;/a&gt;, and since then it became their third single in the US and fourth single in the UK. It also reached number 11 on the UK single chart, and number 15 in the &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Billboard+US+Modern+Rock+Chart&quot;&gt;Billboard US Modern Rock Chart&lt;/a&gt;. In Australia, it reached number 39 on &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Triple+J%2592s+Hottest+100+of+2004&quot;&gt;Triple J's Hottest 100 of 2004&lt;/a&gt;.
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
The meaning of the song can be easily construed to fit whatever current situation you are in: 
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;
Save some face, you know you've only got one&lt;br&gt;
Change your ways while you're young&lt;br&gt;
Boy, one day you'll be a man&lt;br&gt;
Oh girl, he'll help you understand
&lt;/em&gt;
&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
The first two lines could be telling you to think seriously about the way you act, think about your reputation and how people see you, and decide if that &lt;a href=&quot;/title/left+everything+on+his+desk+and+walked+out+into+the+bright+sunlight&quot;&gt;is what you really want&lt;/a&gt;, and the second two lines could be taken as a completely separate statement, that you'll&amp;hellip;</content>
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