la-romantique

Kayla

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i do not kiss guns. by la-romantique, literature

untitled one by la-romantique, literature

Literature

untitled one

he kept his clothes on last night. i had slipped out of everything, despite my terror of the cold and his fondness for open windows - i undressed, sweater then sweater then shirt then jeans then socks, and i settled into his bed. he swallowed his pills standing then crawled over me into his spot, clothes and all. it's not that i was looking to have sex - it was merely for the intimate skin-on-skin factor i'd particularly needed last night. it'd been a hard day, and all i wanted was some skin-assurance, some tangible, perfect, present love - he kept his clothes on last night and i didn't ask him to strip down for my sake. i'm not the type of

the word is by la-romantique, literature

Literature

the word is

She says to herself, "This must be how it feels to be on the brink of blindness." The candle on the open windowsill in an otherwise dark bedroom, it flickers, going from bright to dim and back again in a fraction of a second, over and over, blinks on and then almost off again – over and over, back and forth, this is how it goes. Never a break, never a long stretch of lightness, just up and down and up and down again. "This must be how it feels to be on the brink of blindness." The cast-long shadow of the plastic chandelier, bent across the ceiling, also flickers. Watching, it does not only dim and brighten – the sharp black brightness di

pretty? by la-romantique, literature

Literature

pretty?

I love the pretty messes we make -- Mud-soaked shoes marking our trail across city sidewalks and warm carpet, the mist of kisses clinging to our lips like shower steam on a bathroom mirror (appearing and lingering and fading slightly, immediately re-appearing and lingering longer and fading slower, infinite), oil of fingerprints against every inch of skin and bone, sheets and blankets draping and falling and cockeyed and twisted-turning-tangled, a clash of color against the dark swirling and spinning to come to calm. Such pretty messes. I love the pretty sounds we make -- The squeal of rubber tires against asphalt, heavy nicotine sighs, o

of its own. by la-romantique, literature

Literature

of its own.

my mind betrays me; the words that my brain sends for my hands to spin out create a web that looks nothing like me, nothing my fingertips are capable of weaving. its lines and curves do not match that of my face. He has seen me, scalp to toes, dressed up and dressed down and undressed and smiling; He has seen me uncomfortable but has not seen me cry. i wonder if He will, if the part of my brain that holds the switches and triggers to my tears will consider Him safe – safe like my skinhearteyeshands do – and let Him see the point where feeling and logic collide and explode, resulting in waterfall lids and rushing river cheeks and ocean deep

thoughtspill. by la-romantique, literature

Literature

thoughtspill.

rain and lightning and storming trees, swarm of bees, tsu-na-mis, that is me, finally! finally free to throw and spin and swallow and breathe and push! push ahead, forge forward, everything's been broken-shattered-torn-down-with-a-vengeance-and-erased and i am starting again -- rebuilding i am brand new there is nothing in our way, our feet are light and itch to stir soil, to kick leaves, to jump and dance and dive in puddles, to put the pedal to the metal and heave-and-ho-push-and-go! i am a real girl (for once) (for good) he's got funk and i've got pop, we've both got poetry and we've both got hands, mine are - are they? - they

everything starts out harmless by la-romantique, literature

Literature

everything starts out harmless

If I could shrink down real small, real small like a fly, like an ant, like a grain of sand, I'd sit myself right underneath your lower lip and stick there. I would sit and observe, I'd see everything you see - every word you write, every sentence you read, every cup of coffee, every glance at your shoes or a pretty girl or every red light. I'd say everything you say - every song lyric you sing along with, every theory about every thing, every I Love You every Yes every No every Never. I'd feel every chill you feel, the cold wind that whips and chaps your lips and reddens your cheeks, I'd feel each breath you exhale as a warm breeze, a heat

please never quit playing by la-romantique, literature

lady says by la-romantique, literature

Literature

lady says

We dream of studio apartments in bustling cold dangerous cities. Two dirty mattresses on the wooden floors, the rest of the room scattered with guitars - amps - stands - easels - canvas - books - books - books - notebooks - notebooks - heavy jackets - boomboxes - stacks of CDs - and memories of our lovers: a shirt, a scarf, a sock, a song. We dream of duct-taped windows to keep out the chill; we dream of cardboard to cover windows in case of hurricanes. We dream of full ashtrays, torn-up shoes, brightly-colored hair, of clunky cars carrying us around the coast, of laughing throughout buses and trains [oh, just like we used to do]. We drea

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closer by la-romantique, literature

Literature

closer

There's a toy that's hit it big here in Phoenix, a doll. The doll has rosy-pink skin, it looks and feels like real skin. It's got dirty blonde hair down to its chin, her hair looks and feels just like real hair. Her limbs are proportionate, breasts neither too big nor too small. She's the opposite of a Barbie doll, she's got her flaws: her teeth aren't pearly white and in exact alignment. Freckles are placed randomly about. Her nose is just a little bigger than what's considered perfect. Protruding from her spine, feeding out from the inside to outside, there's a string with a ring at the end that you pull, and she speaks. Catch he

no modern romance. by la-romantique, literature

Literature

no modern romance.

Setting: A chair and a desk, upstage right, with a notebook and pen sitting on it. Very minimal. Characters: GIRL: Heartbroken victim of an unfaithful ex-love, desperate for answers, healing. BOY: GIRL's ex-lover. The manifestation of GIRL's memory of HIM; patient and supportive. GIRL #2: BOY's reason for leaving. AT RISE, BOY lies on HIS back, center stage, HIS head pointed toward stage Left. HIS hands are resting underneath HIS head, HIS knees bent upwards, in a Very casual position. GIRL is just a few feet away to HIS Right, staring down at an old photograph of the two of them together: the photograph is taped up the midd

september, 1999 by la-romantique, literature

Literature

september, 1999

September, 1999 I let the phone ring twice before picking it up. "Hello?" "Tim?" The voice on the other end, I concluded immediately, was a female; one I knew but couldn't pinpoint. It happens a lot. "Yeah, that's me. Who is this?" "Listen – I'm not trying to stir up trouble or anything, but... I know what's going on, Tim." She had a young voice. There was something inside of it, some sort of quality, some aspect that reminded me of Cora, but I made no connection. "What? Who is this?" "You need to stop. She's not stupid, she'll know pretty quick. And if she doesn't figure it out on h

July, 1999 by la-romantique, literature

Literature

July, 1999

July, 1999 After a show in Phoenix, Arizona, a woman with long black hair and dark eyes invited me out for drinks. I could read her, the way she scarcely dared to lift her eyes to my face unless absolutely necessary. I knew through minimal dialogue just what she was looking for. And I'm not the kind of person to turn down alcohol. We sat closely on our bar stools, making forced, idle chit-chat. We swallowed down our glasses of bravery, swallowed down our cold morning excuses, our day-after justifications. The mind has calculations and deliberations: I thought of Cora back home, in the center of the country, so far.

1 early december, 1998 by la-romantique, literature

Literature

1 early december, 1998

Early December, 1998 The first time that I met her, I was throwing up in the center stall of the ladies room of Sullivan's bar. The bartender, a gorgeous green-eyed brunette with long legs and full lips, watched me dart from my stool at the end of the bar, nearly tripping over my feet and disregarding the labels on the doors, and rush into the women's room. After a few minutes of kneeling, I heard the door open and close, and a voice said, "Do you need anything?" Assuming the woman was speaking to me, I answered into the porcelain, "I think I spilled my drink." My voice was raspy, I was pale-faced and gasping for as much air as I co

2. middle december, 1998 by la-romantique, literature

Literature

2. middle december, 1998

Mid-December, 1998 She lived alone, her apartment was warm. Earth tones, nothing gaudy, just simple. Yellow lights, a loveseat, wooden floors, books: notebooks, novels, journals with pens and pencils stuck between the pages. There were stacks of looseleaf paper in piles on end tables, and from my view, it seemed as thought every sheet had been filled. I turned to her as she closed the door, and before I could compliment her on the apartment, she said, "There's a bottle of wine and some glasses over there on the table, if you'd like a drink." I gave a small smile and a nod, and then brought back two glasses and the bottle.

3. february, 1999 by la-romantique, literature

Literature

3. february, 1999

February, 1999 We never spoke of why they were there. It was left to the imagination. I imagined she had some things to get over, I imagined she felt trapped in a case of skin. I imagined her insides felt heavy. "I walk around in a daze most of the time," she told me one night over dinner and wine. "Do you ever feel like that? Like your legs are moving all on their own? You do things, you say things without thinking. Routine. Protocol." She chuckled nervously, as if finding herself a little silly but possibly onto something. "My conscious self catches my sleepwalking self sometimes, and I realize that ninety-ni

april, 1999. by la-romantique, literature

Literature

april, 1999.

April, 1999 "It was short-lived," I said, pouring the two shot glasses full again and making sure that we had enough limes. We were leaning against the back of the sofa of our new apartment – we found a deal on a one-bedroom in Council Bluffs, Iowa, which was within a decent distance from her new bartending job at Jacob's. We sat there, relishing in our biggest purchase; boxes we hadn't unloaded surrounding us, forming our maze, our barricades. My brown leather chair was the only other piece of furniture: though it didn't match the couch, I fought to have it placed by the window. I lugged that chair around with me everywhere: i

may, 1999. by la-romantique, literature

Literature

may, 1999.

May, 1999 "Already?!" she exclaimed when I told her I'd be going on tour for a while. "I mean, you told me you'd been setting dates, but I didn't know it'd be so soon." "I gotta take your songs on the road, babe. Show them off." I flashed her a reassuring smile. "Really, it won't be very long. Just a month or so, the middle of June to early August." She let out a deep, exaggerated, damsel-in-distress sigh, plopping down on the couch. "And what will I be doing while you're out showing me off?" I grinned. "Bringing home the bacon, calling me daily, fighting off the boys. ... Or, you could always come with us."

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You Know the Dance by tiredpanda, literature

Literature

You Know the Dance

When I saw the war coming I ran Dear Lord did I run The clashing cymbals and blaring horns of battle were sounds and feelings that would make that make m y m i n d e x p l o d e and with each breath I realized nothing.

Deviation Spotlight

everything starts out harmless by la-romantique, literature

Literature

everything starts out harmless

la-romantique

About la-romantique

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Artist

United States
Deviant for 18 years
www.myspace.com/kickaboutheart
She / Her

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My Bio

Current Residence: pleasant hill, california
Favourite genre of music: indie/folk rock, shoegaze, eighties, some post-hardcore.
Favourite photographer: terena. ;]
MP3 player of choice: my iPod.
Shell of choice: flowy skirts and dirty shoes and polka dots and hearts and ribbons and bows and barettes.
Personal Quote: "loneliness is pornography to them, but to us, it is an art." - michael grace.

Favourite Movies

anything awkward, anything beautiful, anything awkwardly beautiful.

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

anything awkward, anything beautiful, anything awkwardly beautiful.

Favourite Games

life as a stage play.

Tools of the Trade

a paper and pen.

Other Interests

writing, reading, music, art / beauty, wishing, listening.

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la-romantique

Dec 26, 2006

i'm the storm coming.

0 min read

rain and lightning and storming trees, swarm of bees, tsu-na-mis, that is me, finally! finally free to throw and spin and swallow and breathe and push!  push ahead, forge forward, everything's been broken-shattered-torn-down-with-a-vengeance-and-erased and i am starting again -- rebuilding i am brand new there is nothing in our way, our feet our light and itch to stir soil, to kick leaves, to jump and dance and dive in puddles, to put the pedal to the metal and heave-and-ho-push-and-go! i am a real girl (for once) (for good) he's got funk and i've got pop, we've both got poetry and we've both got hands, mine are - are they? - they

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la-romantique

Aug 9, 2006

the weight is too heavy!

0 min read

The weight of the world    is love. Under the burden    of solitude, under the burden    of dissatisfaction    the weight, the weight we carry    is love. Who can deny?    In dreams it touches    the body, in thought    constructs a miracle,    in imagination anguishes    till born in human-- looks out of the heart    burning with purity-- for the burden of life    is love, but we carry the weight    wearily, and so must rest in the arms of love    at last, must rest in the arms    of love. No rest    without love, no sleep    without dreams of love--    be mad or chill obsessed with ange

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la-romantique

May 21, 2006

at every occasion, oh, i'm ready for a funeral.

0 min read

please, let's make it work tonight.

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Profile Comments 45

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sparksthatring

Jul 15, 2008

Hiiii, Kayla's amazing!
I made myself an account and I'm going to be lurking around your page from time to time from here on out.

This comment is about four months late..but uhh..
thanks for the kind comments!! Cursive and Tilly are both amazing live. I think their energy and commitment contribute more to photos than my photography skills. Thanks again.

Thanks for the favorite.

werqe

Mar 16, 2006

thank you once again for faving my pic

werqe

Mar 14, 2006

thanks for the favourite!