the_sexy_quinn: (handstand)
Do you remember that stupid episode of the Brady Bunch where Marcia and Greg are fighting over something and decide to build a house of cards to settle the issue? I think Peter ended up knocking it over with a basketball and there was much whining.

I hate that show.
the_sexy_quinn: (a bit of a smile)
Two people, a minister, and a bottle of champagne.
the_sexy_quinn: (sort of pink sort of serious)
I'm an easygoing guy. I'm not all that loving or demonstrative, but if forced to say whether or not I'm evil or good, I'd say I'm nice. I simply don't live up to a lot of expectations as to how one person should interact with another. Now, just because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, that doesn't mean there isn't passion under the surface. If you push me, I'll push back. If you love me, I could love you back. If you lash out at me enough times, I'll strike back. I don't like to do any of thoes things, but if I ever have to, I will.
the_sexy_quinn: (sort of pink sort of serious)
I agree that the world isn't going to end with a bang, but I don't want it to end with a whimper. I want it to end with a scream, a raw, feral cry that rises up from the planet when every single person on it realizes just how fucked they are.
the_sexy_quinn: (Default)
The first poem I ever wrote was to my kindergarten teacher:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Marry me Miss Carter
And I'll take care of you
And buy you roses.

I think I've improved since I was five. I saw Miss Carter (now, Mrs. Boyd) at my high school graduation. She was there because, unbeknownst to me, her niece was graduating, too. Miss Carter (that's what she'll always be to me) still looked absolutely gorgeous. Of course, she's only in her 30s now because she was very young when I had her as a teacher. I asked her if she remembered the poem I'd written her. She did. I told her that poetry had become a hobby of mine since then and she asked to hear a little more. That put me on the spot but I did eventually meet up with her over the summer to share a few things with her.


May. 12th, 2008 10:42 am
the_sexy_quinn: (silhouette)

I wasn't entirely sure when I'd left the warmth of my bed, nor did I have any memory of getting dressed and going outside. But when I awoke under a tree in our garden, light filtering through the branches in a momentarily surreal assault on my eyes, I knew I'd been sleepwalking again.


May. 11th, 2008 12:44 pm
the_sexy_quinn: (silhouette)
I called Mom to wish her a happy mother's day, this morning. She sounded excited to hear from me, then started pressing me for details about where I'm living, what I'm doing for money and when am I going home to see her and Dad. Then she put Sadie on the phone as if talking to my little sister would convince me to go back. Guilt doesn't work on me. Neither does manipulation or tears/hysterics/drama.

I love my parents but they shouldn't be surprised I'm the way I am. They're the ones who raised me. And they have no right to call me a bad son. I called her for her fucking day, didn't I?
the_sexy_quinn: (silhouette)
...another one opens. Isn't that the saying? Or when God closes a door, somehow he opens a window. That's from the First Church of Maria Von Trapp, I think.

I think if one door closes, it's probably because you're standing in front of the wrong one wearing a trenchcoat with nothing on underneath and flashing the wrong homeowner.

But that only happened once.


the_sexy_quinn: (Default)
Dev Spencer Quinn

September 2011



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