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Simlife

A story of insanity and lots and lots of woohoo.

Name:
maquekenzie
External Services:
  • maquekenzie@livejournal.com
This is my legacy (and my only) journal! I try to post once a week or so. I'm a beginning legacy writer, so I'm still figuring things out -- like how to get proper screenshots, fix them up so they look nice, use CC and all of that. :)

But, anyway, about me:

*|My name is Mackenzie! (thus, maquekenzie!)
*|I'm a college student at a midwestern college, majoring in English.
*|I roleplay white wolf games.
*|I write and read poetry. Just for kicks and to fill this space up a bit more, below is one of my favorite poems and a poem I wrote. Cool.

My Favorite Poem
"Love Song: I and Thou" -- Alan Dugan

Nothing is plumb, level or square:
the studs are bowed, the joists
are shaky by nature, no piece fits
any other piece without a gap
or pinch, and bent nails
dance all over the surfacing
like maggots. By Christ
I am no carpenter. I built
the roof for myself, the walls
for myself, the floors
for myself, and got
hung up in it myself. I
danced with a purple thumb
at this house-warming, drunk
with my prime whiskey: rage.
Oh I spat rage's nails
into the frame-up of my work:
It held. It settled plumb.
level, solid, square and true
for that one great moment. Then
it screamed and went on through,
skewing as wrong the other way.
God damned it. This is hell,
but I planned it I sawed it
I nailed it and I
will live in it until it kills me.
I can nail my left palm
to the left-hand cross-piece but
I can't do everything myself.
I need a hand to nail the right,
a help, a love, a you, a wife.

My Poem

"Apartment 6B"

It is the crashing steel that peels
our eyelashes apart more than
the bruised yellow light; sounds
of six-hundred used condoms,

malformed aluminum soda cans,
mossy pizza slices, plastic bottles
with scant remnants of Pantene
all being emptied into the toothless

maw of the garbage beast. Chewing
is the sound of our dawn; it opens
our dilated eyes to the spiked crown
atop the distant hospitals and libraries.

It creates megalomaniac kings of buildings
we shall soon step into and disturbingly
find a drab gray. From here, where lives
belonging to our neighbors are compacted

into impenetrable chunks below,
the horizon appears infinite—skeletal trees,
vacant parking lots, forsaken streets,
slumbering apartment complexes

backlit by the sun. You and I
are the gods of this place, reigning
from our screened window. No
others dare, as we do, to claw

toward the bitter, oxygen-less air,
to cling hopelessly to their lives
six stories up. No others dare,
as we do, to allow the frigid drafts

of morning to create those minute
hills on their empty flesh, to bathe
themselves in that tenuous sunlight,
to view loneliness and turn their faces.

---

There, I bored everyone to death. If you're sticking around still, check out my legacies.

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