Anyway, I'm in bed with her, with her bracelets. Her face is a blank, so I darken the lights. Off go her silky undergarments. The bracelets are all she has on. They glint slightly, a pleasant muffled clinking on the sheets. I have a hard-on. Which, halfway down the ladder, is what I noticed. Just great. Why now? Why didn't I get an erection when I needed one? And why was I getting so excited over two lousy bracelets? Especially under this slicker, with the world about to end.
Each of the bracelets I wear is from a long trip I've taken. One is from Nicaragua. One is from Nepal. One is from Guatemala. One is from Laos. They don't come off. I walk into a lot of very high-level boardrooms now, and I present to distinguished conferences, but these bracelets remind me of the places I've been and the people I've met.
I always have two bracelets on my right arm. One is a purple and white bracelet from a fan. I love it! I also wear a bracelet from a waterpark- I've had it on for two or three years. My mom says it's pretty nasty, actually. But you'll never see me without them ever! In magazine photos, the bracelets are sometimes airbrushed out, but viewers will always see me wearing them during scenes.
There's not really a ban on the KIA bracelet specifically. There are regulations for wearing the uniform and specifically jewelry, and Marines are not allowed to wear bracelets. This falls under that spectrum. Now, the KIA bracelet will be lumped into the same category as the POW/MIA bracelets, which are approved for wear.
James F. Amos
Were the stars out when I left the house last evening? All I could remember was the couple in the Skyline listening to Duran Duran. Stars? Who remembers stars? Come to think of it, had I even looked up at the sky recently? Had the stars been wiped out of the sky three months ago, I wouldn't have known. The only things I noticed were silver bracelets on women's wrists and popsicle sticks in potted rubber plants. There had to be something wrong with my life. I should have been born a Yugoslavian shepherd who looked up at the Big Dipper every night. No car, no car stereo, no silver bracelets, no shuffling, no dark blue tweed suits. My world foreshortened, flattening into a credit card. Seen head on, things seemed merely skewed, but from the side the view was virtually meaningless-a one-dimensional wafer. Everything about me may have been crammed in there, but it was only plastic. Indecipherable except to some machine. My first circuit must have been wearing thin. My real memories were receding into planar projection, the screen of consciousness losing all identity.
Once you start carrying your own suitcase, paying your own bills, running your own show, you've done something to yourself that makes you one of those women men like to call 'a pal' and 'a good sport,' the kind of woman they tell their troubles to. But you've cut yourself off from the orchids and the diamond bracelets, except those you buy yourself.
When she reaches down to touch his shoulder-a gesture only a few species and a million or so years removed from lifting a leg and marking him as her territory with a stream of urine-enough bracelets and bangles to lay track across the Australian Outback slide down her arm and come to a jangling stop at her wrist.
I always wondered if those WWJD bracelets worked, so I bought one the other day. Well, a few minutes later, I was on a plane and this little kid was kicking my seat repeatedly, while his sister sang along with her walkman and their mother just sat there. I almost turned around and went off, and then I caught sight of my bracelet. What would Jesus do? So I lit them on fire and sent them all to Hell.
But maybe the Charm Bracelets understood more about life than I did. From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn't waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing, I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar.
I saw a guy wearing a "What Would Jesus Do?" bracelet and a Lance Armstrong bracelet, and he went up to this blind kid and rubbed his eyes, and the kid could see. But he wasn't used to the light, 'cause it was bright, and he walked into traffic and was killed instantly. Okay, the people that are laughing right now? I'm gonna call you guys half-full. Because you're focusing on the important part of the story: the bracelets are working.
Bracelets with white symbols?" Michael made the question casual; in fact, he bent his head and concentrated on tuning his guitar, not that it needed it. Every note sounded perfect as it whispered out of the strings. "Do you remember?" "No." She felt a pure burst of something that wasn't quite panic, wasn't quite excitement. "Does that mean they have Protection?" He hesitated for about a second, just long enough for her to know he was surprised. "You mean condoms?" he asked. "Doesn't everybody?
Does everybody have their WWJD bracelets on? 'Cause I was wearing my bracelet recently, and I was in the movie theater, and this guy's cell phone went off - don't you just hate that? Then he picked it up, 'Hey, how's it going? I'm in a movie.' And I'm like, 'Hey! Get off the phone!' And he's like, 'Mind your own business.' And I almost went crazy, but then I looked at my bracelet: what would Jesus do? So I lit him on fire and sent him to Hell.
To know nothing, or little, is in the nature of some husbands. To hide, in the nature of how many women? Oh, ladies! how many of you have surreptitious milliners' bills? How many of you have gowns and bracelets which you daren't show, or which you wear trembling?--trembling, and coaxing with smiles the husband by your side, who does not know the new velvet gown from the old one, or the new bracelet from last year's, or has any notion that the ragged-looking yellow lace scarf cost forty guineas and that Madame Bobinot is writing dunning letters every week for the money!
William Makepeace Thackeray
After the abrupt death of my mother, Jane, on Sept. 5, 1991, of a disease called amyloidosis, my dad took up golf at 57. He and my mother had always played tennis - a couples' game of mixed doubles and tennis bracelets and Love-Love. But in mourning, Dad turned Job-like to golf, a game of frustration and golf widows and solitary hours on the range.
Wait, we can not break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides, and you will play golf, and eat hot h'ors d'ourves. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They said do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller. And for all of these reasons I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground.
In my view, it is an error to think about 'alternatives to prison' if what we mean by that is 'electronic bracelets, ' through which people are subject to computer-monitored house arrest, or granting fuller surveillance and disciplinary powers and technologies to other state agencies, such as welfare and mental health, through 'transcarceration' policies... We need to decrease, not increase, the means by which the state, in its multifarious networks of authority, controls human lives and selectively incapacitates people who, no less than others, have the potential to contribute to the improvement of hte human condition.
Dabbling in the sandbox gives Rabbit a small headache. Over at the pavilion the rubber thump of Roofball and the click of checkers call to his memory, and the forgotten smell of that narrow plastic ribbon you braid bracelets and whistlechains out of and of glue and of the sweat on the handles on athletic equipment is blown down by a breeze laced with children's murmuring. He feels the truth: the thing that has left his life has left irrevocably; no search would recover it. No flight would reach it. It was here, beneath the town, in these smells and these voices, forever behind him. The fullness ends when we give Nature her ransom, when we make children for her. Then she is through with us, and we become, first inside, and then outside, junk. Flower stalks.
22'S ON THAT BENT TRUCK, 22 ON THAT BEN TUCK COST 22 FOR THAT BRICK CUT, GOT 22 ON MY MENS UP YEAH WE COOL BUT I'VE BEEN FUCKED OLD NEWS, MAN I OLD SCHOOL, NEVER ROCK YOU LOOK AT MY GOLD JEWELS FAR FROM GO BUT HOLD TOOLS SO DON'T MOVE, BLACK GLOVE AND THAT 9 OH GET HIT WITH THAT RHINO, LET MIND GO, YOU BE A WHINO LAID OUT, I'M IN GRIND MODE, DON'T WORRY BOUT WHAT I SIGN FOR MY JEWELRY BOX LIKE A TIME SHOW BOUT A HUNDRED ROCKS ON MY TIME SHOW YOUNG SEAN PAUL, BAD BOY IN THIS GANG LAND WE IN ALL JUST TO MAINTAIN, I'M CHIEFING HARD LIKE BANG BANG WHEN IN YOUR CAR, THAT GAME CHANGE HOPPIN OUT OF THAT MAYBACH, I PUSH BUTTONS LIKE PLAYBACKS WRIST SLOPPY GET ASAP TAKE THAT, TAKE THAT NEVER LIKE THAT FAKE SHIT, THAT BITCH SHIT, THAT SNAKE SHIT I'M RICH BITCH AND I'M WASTED BIG 50'S ON THEM LACES, BIG WRIST AND THEM BRACELETS ALL IN YOUR GRIP WITH NO BRACES I'M WHO THEY FEEL SO EMBRACE IT
Ah, my dear friend Hassim, seems our paths cross once again, how fortunate for this humble Sheik.' As Abdullah spoke in his usual self deprecating manner I realized that a favor was on the tip of his tongue and that I was about to be offered a quid-pro-quo. We were sitting crossed legged on large fat pillows with gold fringe. The tent was large with partitions dividing living, sleeping and cooking space. It was made from heavy cotton canvas erected on thick poles in the center giving the structure a peaked circus tent appearance. The women serving us were young, wearing harem pants low on their hips with cropped gauze tops made from sheer silk. Their exposed midriffs were flat and toned, their belly buttons were decorated in precious stones that glittered in the torch light as they moved. They were bare footed with stacks of gold ankle bracelets making the only sound we heard as they kept our glasses filled with fresh sweet tea and our communal serving trays piled high with dates and sugar incrusted sweets of undetermined origin. Abdullah took no notice of these women, his nonchalance intrigued me as I was obviously having trouble keeping my mind focused on the discussion at hand, this was all part of the Arab way, when it came to negotiation they had no peers. 'So my dear friend, tell me, the region is on fire is there a solution?' I spoke in a deliberate and flat tone, little emotion just concern, one friend to another. 'We were shocked by the American response in Egypt and Libya, never had we seen them move so fast with such efficiency. The fall of Gadaffi was unexpected and Mubarak's fate stunned us; he had been a staunch supporter of the US in this region we fully expected the Obama administration to prop him up one more time, as they had done so many times in the past.' I looked carefully at Abdullah,