GDT would like to thank every one who has submitted work or ideas to us. We'll try to get to all of them. We also want to encourage submissions for a special Halloween Edition of GDT. Send stories, or just anything you think fits this festive day.
Submissions
Fear
They told me that Hope was the absence of Fear
and I told them that Hope is nothing without Fear,
They told me that I should ask myself about Fear
should ask myself
What're ya afraid, little boy?
come on into the lamplight
and his nice, clean trays of
(those aren't toys don't touch them)
should ask myself
What's the matter, sweet young thing?
come on into the spotlight
| here and turn once 'round |
to show momma your nice, clean outfit for
(brand new expensive too tight)
should ask myself
What're you scared of, ya chicken?
come on under the streetlight
| here and get your scrawny |
little fists out to fight like a man
(fuckin' freak!)
should ask myself
but I'm not in the MOOD
for all this
self-Righteous
self-proclaimed
self-torture.
so don't bother on about
what I am
afraid of.
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Untitled
Walking, I see it.
In eyes, posture, in the tensing of facial muscles.
In their gaze like a cry or plea.
I see the fear,
the worry, but mostly uncertainty.
I watch this vision of pain that wanders by in their wake.
"Stop it!", I want to scream.
Stop feeling this pain that means nothing!
Live damn you!
Live to breath and love this world, this life,
Stop the pain,
it is not real.
It only exists because you put it there.
You see, because this body means nothing
if you strangle your heart.
This world has no effect
unless you create it.
It's you!
You who creates the fear, the worry, the pain!
You are the enemy,
the only enemy you ever had.
Because no one else has the power to harm you.
This body means nothing
when there is no life inside.
The dead gaze blinks indifference and self pity.
My words fall to the ground to be beat into nothingness. My words have no meaning unless you understand them. And if you understand them, you didn't need to hear them. I know not wether to laugh or to cry, but my words can mean nothing. Because in my heart, what I say can only be heard by you when you speak them to yourself.
I can tell you nothing.
I walk on, not watching these martyrs as they trudge onward to the end of their misery,
-Hanna K. Thomas
27 Apr `94
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