andrea you're a big fan of dirty tricks
manipulation is your middle name
still i lie innocently in your shadow
awaiting the day you say you need me
you throw no stohes, only sticks
but the hurt is just the same
i can't hide in the darkness forever
i know
still, i wait to slip out quietly
meggie to go through it is to realize that there is only one way, and that is the way you are facing. go in backwards, it doesn't work, unless you pull 000304
Brad They have a lot of resonance with me when they are painted red. 000310
BoofPixie had a red front door as a child. and a blue house. red carpet. beautiful red carpet. 000311
silentbob The Door Remorse Chose

A Bobby Evers Absurdity

Remorse, the 10 foot man with the heart of black, closed the door. Although he did not remember opening it or why he was there in the first place, he feared. Feared what was going on and what was to come. He could have sworn he was fingered with the feeling of death perpetrating him like a stalker of fear.
He looked in front of him. The longest corridor he’d ever seen stood there. He was speechless and confusion settled in. Remorse decided to go the way he came. He turned around only to find more corridors. And lining both walls was an array of doors. Each door was different and no two doors were exactly alike. Some doors were white, some blue, some black, brown, red. Some had gold knobs, some had handles, some were to push, others to pull. Some were tall like his back. Others were short like that of Remorse’s attention span.
He thought of the golden summers up at the old creek, how he and his cousins would jump off the dock the entire day. And they’d sit around the fire in the woods at night, telling stories until sleep took them. He shuddered in realization as he discovered these were not his memories. Someone else had been here. Someone else had been there before him. And now those memories, for some reason, were left behind, remaining in the hall. Would his memories stick there as well? Then he remembered nothing. He discovered he couldn’t remember anything. Only what had happened not 10 minutes ago when he closed that door that was now a corridor. Remorse wasn’t entirely sure his name was Remorse.
He decided to follow the hall where it lead until he found a door he liked. So he turned around to start there. But then he found that he was no longer in the middle of a corridor. He was at one end of a corridor. Somehow (probably the same somehow that stole the door) the corridor behind him had changed into a window.
Remorse thought about the time he brought a small child back from the dead. The child had been kicked in the head by a horse. His neck broken, his teeth chipped. And there was no life left in him. So Remorse told him the story of Galaj, the warrior in search of the golden city of Until. How Galaj was dying but then remembered his quest. So he revived himself. The story seemed to have some effect on the boy. He stood up and began to thank Remorse but Remorse had disappeared like different traces of wind.
Remorse shuddered. This wasn’t one of his memories either. This maddening corridor was doing things to his mind. The ghosts, the past of itself were having a strange effect upon him. He didn’t like it.
Then Remorse looked through the window. He didn’t see inanimate objects. He didn’t see people. He didn’t see a way out. He didn’t see death. He didn’t see life. Remorse saw sorrow, pain, insensitivity , loneliness, regret, qualm, shunned, rejected, unsuccessfulness, interposing, harshness, haste, fastidiousness, and denial.
Remorse saw unanswered letters. Saw forgotten situations, and grave treatment. Remorse saw songs about death to come, somber greetings, and mournful good-byes. He didn’t know what it was. But yet it seemed right next to him, so familiar somehow. He turned away from the window. He tried to remember a time in his life. He tried to remember any time in his experience of living a mournful goodbye or a somber hello. Then he realized that the plate glass window had just revealed his soul to him.
He began pacing down the corridor. He ran until running was as common and as taken for granted as breathing. He ran unintentionally and because he could. He ran because he was.
Doors cascaded before his open eyes and past his large ears. His boots clacked against the hardwood floor. Then Remorse stopped. He stopped because out of any of the other doors there, he saw one that appealed to him, that caught his eye for some reason or another. And he acted upon that. It was the first time he had ever really acted upon impulse in life. He was going to open this door. It was the most daring and amazing thing he had ever done. What lay beyond this door? There was no way for him to know. Yet because the door appealed to him he was going to open it. The grim reaper with his masterful scythe could be awaiting him and he didn’t even care. Because he wanted to open the door. He craved it. He could taste it. Taste it like juices of meat flowing beneath his tongue and between his degraded teeth. He could taste it and he acted on it.
Remorse leaned forward. He grasped the silvery knob in his shaking sweaty hand. The wooden door was white with emeralds around the handle. Beneath it ruby light spread out of the opening at the bottom in an array of crimson carnage. Remorse made a cry in his throat, one of nervousness, anxiety, and childish excitement. Perspiration seeped down his macilent face, running off him in a waterfall of salt expression.
Suddenly Remorse remembered the time he visited France. A hypercar in its electric track ripped through the sky. Buzz music, the latest craze, filled the streets. Protesters marched through the cities, affronting the third world war. The only thing on the radio was news about the cure for AIDS, and the downfall of the Internet.
Remorse shook these thoughts from his brain. These ghost ideas were maddening. He knew nothing of Internet, or radio, or Buzz. Remorse stood where he stood quite serenely and suddenly fulfilled his destiny and opened the very door that caught his eye.
He stepped forward. Blue space ricocheted the atmosphere. Cat-calls of madness rang through and through. Electric wires of nothing spun a web of fury. Of lies. Then this universe gripped Remorse and he tumbled into the nothing. He fell and fell until there was nothing left of him.

The Completion.
squirrel Knock knock. 001112
Barrett Go away! We don't want any! 001112
amy "Plumber" 001112
squirrel Plumber who? 001114
moonshine So funny that you knock on the doors you uprighted and locked. 010115
pie salesman plumber peach.these are the last two pies we have. 010115
squirrel Good one pie! A-door-able! 010119
Sintina "Where ever god closes a door,
somewhere he opens a window"
Or sometimes he throws you out
the window cause he's tired of
waiting for you to see the big
fat opprotunity he put right in
front of your face,
after slamming the door, of course.
Meara Laura lives upstairs. Every single day I hear her slam her front door, thump down the stairs, and bang on my door. Sometimes I answer the door and pretend I'm glad to see her. Sometimes I answer the door and say I don't feel like hanging out. Sometimes I just ignore her and she goes away. I like to be alone. I enjoy solitude. Laura disrupts my peace and quiet. She annoys me. It would be different if it was Stephen or Julie or Marissa. I am always glad to see them. But it is not them. It is HER. Shh... 010418
carden sometimes they jump out in the middle of the night and smack you in the face 010426
d ! Phi! the golden mean..

found in a nautilus shell
Miner Too easy to break in this flat, I have 3 under my confirmed kills so far. 010530
Alexander Beetle Knock first, THEN enter.
What in blazes is so hard about that?!
Aimee wait wait wait... was it enter and then knock?? :) 010730
The Truth A door is just another wall until you open it. 010810
eris But a door has so many more possibilities than a wall. With a door you know that there is something there.
Walls are unbending barriers. Doors open
to something new.
calypso calling The door was open and I dared to pass through... I left the room that held all you ever knew... I ventured out, you stayed within... I'm learning more than you can comprehend... And yet, to you, I'm wrong. 020103
silent storm I opened the door leading to the unknown. Neither of us had ever been there before. It was pure bliss to think that you wanted to walk through it with me. And undying agony knowing that i was wrong. Now the door is closed. I'll never go back. 020104
mahayana the greek letter D [delta], is a triangle as in india, it was similarly described as "the letter of the vulva" and also as the holy Door [of birth]

[[delta delta delta]] seize my hand on into the correspondence of the vulva therein we shall be cleansed & rebirthed as if all else that has come ahead of us surely not matters [[delta delta delta]]

fail to remember not the doors you have previously walked in the course of, for they have created us jointly, but rather, take great console in the safety & solace in knowing that our triangle is one of the most structurally sound designs in all of our life’s lives
letters to peter My heart stops and my breath pauses every time I hear it slam. It scares me to think that he's leaving again without saying goodbye, like so many times before...the sound still resonates while I choke on my breath. It echoes on and on even when he was never there at all. Sometimes I run out the door and slam it just so I wouldn't have to hear him do it to me again. Control. And sometimes...I know it's bad, but I do it hoping to make him feel the way that I feel at his every departure. Is it an easy way out? 020616
Mahayana standstilling awkward moments perceive sound [.bang.]
sheleftagain sheslammedagain sheleftagain [&nowimgone]

::consumed once again::
morphine. there is one right here.

the only.
story of eau come to my house.
i will give you candy.
carrie that's what i want, i hope you're not lying 040805
belly fire if your lover is sleeping on the other side of the door from where you sit weeping, do you muffle your sobs into the carpet, or do you go to him?

can you tell him that while you were packing away 7 years of memories into a box in the spare room, you came upon a picture of you remember him? Not the dad that stood in front of your new recruit class in his Inspector uniform this morning, wearing dress pants 2 sizes too large. Not the dad who is beating eaten. Not Cancer Dad.

tomorrow morning when your lover wakes up and finds you sleeping curled up on the other side of the door, might he see the picture of your healthy father of 5 years ago...maybe less, maybe 4 years ago...and put together the pieces of why you never came to bed at all? Might he assume that your legs gave way at the threshold?

and later that afternoon, will he find the box of best friend memories packed away and not need to ask why you stayed up in a fever to finish emptying frames, pulling apart photo albums and packing them in a box marked "kat"?

it's not just a bedroom door, a front door, elevator door, car is a door that I find myself on one side of, needing to be on the other. Here is fear and sadness, there is the sweet-smelling sleep of my lover wound 'round me.
what's it to you?
who go