# Sticky  Take ten minutes and just... write



## Coburn

She sat in the bathroom stall and counted five minutes. When it passed, she stood, checked her purse, and slipped out into the crowd of women rushing to and from the trains. She kept her chin up this time; it would look worse on security cameras if she constantly checked her purse. 

_Hand light_, she thought. _Don't grip the strap too tight._

She wasn't sure anyone on the security tapes actually noticed these details. But she felt them. They felt loud and ugly to her. Each nervous tick was a siren in her mind. 

She hit the stairs and climbed up into the daylight. City smells greeted her. Pollution, food, perfume. And then city sights and city sounds. It was always a shock at first. Paradise had no busy days like this.

Three blocks left from Beverly St. Exit, one block north. A different cafe than the last time they met. She hoped it served French press. She broke free of the crowd spilling from the exit and set off at a quick pace.


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## cityofcircuits

It was in the aura. You know, that vibe that someone gives off. Intentional or not, it's felt by others in the room. It's a suffocating entrance and makes the room you're in feel like morphine.
''You'll speak when you're spoken to". 
I understood. I nodded. I sat there at the dinner table in a meditative solemn silence chasing peas around my dinner plate to pretend I wasn't bothered. My dad certainly had a way about him. He didn't care for an echo of filth or the stain of a lie to be given a chance at life. He brought to fruition the abortion of our revolutionary opinions my siblings and I had, though ill conceived beforehand, now in his presence ceasing to exist. 
My mother said nothing.


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## seasofme

_Is love a curse? Or is it an addiction? We can't live without love cause then we are going to die. Our heart let us feel what love is, we all love someone, sometimes the smallest things in life can make us happy, like; friendship, a sunshine on a rainy day and the most important thing of all: music. 

We must learn to love something or someone, if we hate a person, maybe I think maybe, is it even possible to love him or here? Maybe we can forget hate, cause if the whole world hates each other and don't accept each other, where would everyone then be? Or what would become of us? *Even the things we hate, can we love*.
_


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## Lacrimosa

I don't get the words that hide my true face. It all repeats once more. I see nothing but the pains of pasts. Faces of familiar. I don't know you at all. Tell the crow why it caws into the blue sky as I walk past your eyes. There will be no words left to express this pain again. Phase it all away, I know the blame of shame all too well. 

There you see me again, there I walk away. I will not see the colors of desparity once more, only of relief and content. The wind whispers through the rustling green leaves as I stare upon the cerulean sky, with the clutching memories of what was only a deceitful mirage. Rise through the shadowed corners of letters, the light dawns the other direction now.


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## Choice

*The Model*

shape from the shadows
a blur
shaking the curtains
lurching forward
forearm on her neck
gun at her stomach

her back hits the wall
squeak
-no air-

"Where's the painter?"
demands the man
rough jacket
soot
needs a shave

"I don't know-"
_"Where's the painter?"_
"Who the fuck are you?"

Gunshots
through the window
weight on shoulders
pushing
fingers grasping
for an anchor
thrown to the floor
dragging cloth
off the easel

reveals the man
from the shadows
face
dented
by bullet holes
eating it slowly
away

"Stay down!"

Her eyes water.


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## cityofcircuits

The fields are gone now. The ones I used to play in, hide myself in, discover all manners of little life in. Where in summer, the wheat and the weeds mingled together, standing proud to face the sun again. This was the tract of earth my Great Grandfather cared for in the early 1900's. He had come here, leaving bitterness and family in Norway, hoping for something better in this new world. A chance at a better life. A chance, had he not taken, I would not exist now. He eventually made it to those fields. Given by the U.S. government and the state of Minnesota to cultivate and naturally, pay taxes on. He met a German girl in St.Paul escaping what was left of Germany after World War 1.


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## cityofcircuits

Searching for a new house on the weekend has become a laborious and inglorious pasttime. It was never meant to become a hobby and yet here i was about to visit the umpteenth house in a month. I'm hoping my efforts of searching will come to an end soon or I may resign myself to living in an apartment for life. 
I meet the realtor who is all too eager to sell me anything her slick tongue can. This is supply and demand and so we enter the glorious new venue, house number 33. 
What impressed me the most is the seeping antiquity throughout. It put on airs and flaunted it's depth. The creaking of the wooden stairs as you climbed spoke of the ages. History exists within these floral patterned walls and lit halls. I wanted to know everything about her. This house. One day I would live here.


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## Death Persuades

Okay, I will try. At 1:41 I stop typing...

I installed an app called Ginger.IO that is supposed to help with depression... So far it's been somewhat useful, I guess... But then again it may just be a placebo due to the fact that I installed the app. We'll see how things are going in a week or two. One of the things it said was to have small goals and complete them to boost my mood, so I decided to start making a game, which I intend to not be too long. 

It's called Diviner's Sage and it's about two brothers who go to a forest in search of a man who can supposedly speak with the gods, and they went because the king is an asshole and is ruining life for everybody and they wish to enlist the gods' help in defeating him. Anyway, it's gonna turn out that the forest dude does in fact communicate with the gods but he uses salvia divinorum in order to do so...

Yeah, I smoked some salvia and felt like I could speak to higher beings  sue me? I actually have a shitton of the stuff and smoke it regularly. The vids on youtube about it are exaggerating A LOT. Not only did they take ridiculously large doses, but they did so for the high.. Which isn't all that pleasant... but if you do it in order to gain insight into something, it's very useful... At low doses... 

I also intend to buy a cat, because supposedly the purring can help people with mood disorders. Something about the frequency of the purr. Plus they are cute as heck and some of them really like to cuddle, which is something I could use at the moment seeing as how I feel lonely all the time and I seem incapable of making IRL friends. 

Anyway... This post sure turned out depressive... I still have 3 minutes to go, but I think I shall end it here. The end.


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## TootsieBear267

I'm a horrible writer and my grammar is terrible. However, I would give it a try for fun.

Sakura is an unnaturally tall and athletic tomboyish twelve-year-old girl. She repeatedly excels in all kinds of forms of athletics and sports. Everything but... Ballet! Even though she was skilled at using her very large feet and legs in kick boxing, swimming, gymnastics, basketball, and cross country. She wasn't good at using them in ballet. Even though she practiced non-stop, she couldn't managed to stand on her tippy toes like the other small footed girls. 

Two girls in particular, Emily and Ashely, were very judgmental and rude to Sakura. "Look Ashely! Sakura's attempting to do the arabesque!" They watch as Sakura attempts to stand on one leg, while trying to raise the other one in the air. For a second she thought she had was finally doing one of her favorite dance moves, but she ended up falling toward the ground. "Oh, no! That has got to hurt! haha." says Ashley as she laughs along with Emily. 

It felt horrible not only knowing she wasn't good at something, but that she was terrible at ballet. Ever since she was a little girl, she could remember wanting to be a ballet dancer. One day her family took her to the historic theater in Tokyo, Japan. Sitting in her grandfather's lap; she was amazed to see the talented ballet dancers perform amazing moves using their powerful feet and legs. She swore to herself that she would be on that very stage in the future. However, now she was feeling hopeless that her dreams would not come true. This was so wrong because Sakura never gave up in the face of challenge. It felt so horrible knowing she had to overcome this humongous barrier blocking her path. There had to be a way to become a successful ballerina.

Can someone give me a critique of what I wrote so far? I edit some of my grammar and spelling. Hopefully it's not too bad.


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## JaySH

Diligent Procrastinator said:


> Okay, I will try. At 1:41 I stop typing...
> 
> I installed an app called Ginger.IO that is supposed to help with depression... So far it's been somewhat useful, I guess... But then again it may just be a placebo due to the fact that I installed the app. We'll see how things are going in a week or two. One of the things it said was to have small goals and complete them to boost my mood, so I decided to start making a game, which I intend to not be too long.
> 
> It's called Diviner's Sage and it's about two brothers who go to a forest in search of a man who can supposedly speak with the gods, and they went because the king is an asshole and is ruining life for everybody and they wish to enlist the gods' help in defeating him. Anyway, it's gonna turn out that the forest dude does in fact communicate with the gods but he uses salvia divinorum in order to do so...
> 
> 
> I also intend to buy a cat, because supposedly the purring can help people with mood disorders. Something about the frequency of the purr. Plus they are cute as heck and some of them really like to cuddle.
> The end.


The majority is quite positive! Dude, you're getting a cat and creating a game with an interesting and pretty kick-ass backstory. Fuck yeah!


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## ThoughtfulThinker

This is something I free wrote after a dream I had... 

The Black Water

Some will say that fear and despair are a weak one's burdens. Yet no one will deny that it strives to be the basis of decision in most of us. They say no one can choose to control or be controlled.
I say that what you cannot see on the outside is fuming on the inside. I relate that it is as if what you try to avoid is firmly hanging on with your whole body on to a slippery horizontal pipe running across a large vast body of black water with inevitable depth that is lapping at you trying to pull you in and destroy you. Imagine you are trying to work yourself across the slippery pipe. The pipe representing life in general. The black water symbolizing your trials and innermost turmoil.
To me the fear and the lack of direction takes the characteristics of an actual piece of thick bloody iron trying to beat you off your slippery pipe, finally throwing you down forcefully falling into your insides, feelings, your senses, so much that you cannot breathe, see, feel anything around you for what they are. Numbingly heavy, too much to express in words. Ten million tons crushing you into the ground knocking you to your knees. You thrash around in the black water as it fills your body, blackness over taking the magnificent color inside of your precious being. You are way too prideful to ask for help. Yet you know you need it. Lost without direction in the deep abyss of your mind. The survival instincts that kick in and never really leave your personality.
The judging stares of everyone that just does not or cannot not understand. You know they will not really care anyway. They will leave you to drown in that dark lonesome engulfing black water. Why seek help if you are not truly going to be helped? If you ask me it is just stolen time and embarrassment. Although the fear of being cast away as an outsider from the people who are supposed to love you, still continues to reside deeply in your core but you never have the choice to decide. No one asks you what you want, what you feel. Let us face it there are no heroes in this world.
Try to hide yourself inside your thoughts but constantly you are going to be on the run from what you cannot deny but desperately you wish you could. The rush of anxiety that washes over, removing logic, spiking adrenaline to take control. Panic.
Pretending to conform for the sake of appreciation. Knowing the bad in the world knows no mercy and there are others out there that make your trouble look like bliss. Drowning in your constant miscommunication in your relationships, feeling like your intentions are constantly being distorted. 
The fear of want making you crazy each day driving you up and down the waves of your mind searching for memories, names, places, that may or may not exist. Trying to swim somewhere unknown not being able to even make out the pipe any longer. Constant Fear. Fear. Fear. Get away from me black waters of Fear!

Sent from my HTC Sensation 4G using Tapatalk


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## Watercolourful

She's standing at a wishing well with one hand on the bricks, and vaguely wonders what down there she'd find. The wishing well does not grant wishes, just nightmares and unraveled dreams. Her eyes are closed but she's awake and slides her fingers across its slippery surface. 

"Wishing well," she whispers and behind her closed eyes she can already taste the salt of swirling seas. Abandoned long ago, people stopped chasing the dark depths of this chasm for wishes to bloom with thorny stems and man-eating love. Fantasy forgotten, they never came back.

"Wishing well, I don't ask for wisdom," the voice she whispered with clear as song and she thought the purity was undeserved. She heard it as it echoed back from the well's empty centre. The night was cold but there was no shiver and the silence had settled in long ago.

"Wishing well," she said again and the words felt delicate on her tongue, she could see the monsters chase each other by the time the sun had set.

She could hear it in the distance, the melody had begun to play and it beckoned her to dance away the night.

"Wishing well," she whispered, "Monster of the night, I ask of you for your wishes and your sins, the nightmares that you hide within please grant me fantasies unheard of yet... wishing well, please, for my life has been most uncontent, I haven't lived adventure yet, I'm tired of being so unsatisfied...

Wishing well, please, you've brought me to my knees,"

And indeed she gripped on tightly to the brick.

"Wishing well I want one simple wish."

She stood to her feet, took the rope into her hands and lifted one foot to rest atop the bricks. She pulled herself up, and her eyes, she shut, and with one last glimpse she closed her eyes.

"Wishing well, please, I ask for broken dreams, I surrender to your humble black and white..."

She raised shaking hands and no one would understand why then she pressed them together over her head.

"Wishing well, goodnight. I don't want just one plight. The well where the thorned roses bloom, all my life I was aching for my doom and now your world of adventure will be mine."

With a single glimpse at the blackness within, she bent her knees and into the well she dove.


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## TheIsrafil

Liro and I had been quite unsure until now what the Ancients thought of us; we didn't have anything, any quality that ever really made us special. We weren't unique. We lived our lives under the Dome just like the others, we worked for the HiveMind and provided the sustenance She needed. We weren't in a particularly bad financial state, so we weren't required to pay off any debts...

So why had we hated our lives so much?

The Ancients, the bodies working for the Hivemind, we hated them. And, because every feeling we felt was mixed into the pool of thought which was contributed to by all of the two-billion citizens under the Dome, swirling and coursing through the Hivemind only to be reverberated to those who felt those feelings, She hated us, too. No, *they* hated us. The Ancients. For the last 5,000 years, all they've ever done is breed humans and impregnate the strong ones with more Ancients until the babies started using their own mothers as sustenance and killed them. That was the way humans could pass onto the Second Being; it was how their souls were transferred to their new, immortal bodies to live forever. It was the highest blessing anybody could be offered.

And now it was my turn.

"Ela," Liro had said to me one day as he practically fell onto the couch after a long day providing the HiveMind with its nourishment, "please, we need to go." "Go?" I wiped my soapy hands with a dishtowel. "Go where?" "Anywhere out of the Dome. I can't take it anymore. Going to that damned nursery to weed out the sickest babies, or the oldest elders, so we can produce the fuel the Ancients need. It's too much. Please..." He grasped his head with his hands, "They know how much I hate Them...They know everything about you and me and if They see me acting on my lust for freedom..." He sucked in a breath. "Please don't kill me."

I felt a moment of vertigo. It was almost like a cartoon, how Liro had been sitting on the couch and I had lurked behind him with a kitchen knife to end his alarming burst of anguish, and he had somehow predicted--or felt--my desire to silence his rebellious cry. Everybody feels it, Liro. Everybody knows the desire to break free. And in due time, I will. But for now, let the Hive believe that I have not decided to act upon my desire. Let them think that I show my surrender by doing my duty to kill you, the rebel.

"Stop." I only utter one word. He leans back onto the soft, plush couch. "I know you love--" he trails off. Tears have filled my eyes. I try to throw every fiber of my desire to agree with him on my face. I _do_ agree with him. And he understands.

He knows I'm only one good deed away from impregnation. The Second Life. Where I can be free.

"I want to kill the HiveMind."

He gives me permission to give one last act of kindness to the Them.


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## Plasternoid

I can't wait for Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire to come out. The first screenshots released recently look pretty much as I expected them to, which isn't a bad thing. X and Y 3d graphics sharpening the look of the already beautiful Hoenn region is more than what it takes for a soon to be epic installment of the series. I hope they introduce a few Pokemon from generations 4, 5, and 6 into the main storyline. Not many- just a handful- just enough to equal the number of generations 1 and 2 Pokemon already in the established pre Elite 4 Hoenn Pokedex. As for new mega evolution, some great ones in my opinion would be Mega Sharpedo, Mega Camerupt, Mega Milotic, Mega Shiftry, Mega Ludicolo, Mega Walrein, Mega Tropius, Mega Haiyama, and maybe even Mega Gallade to compliment X and y's Mega Gardevoir.


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## FakeLefty

Do not be afraid, my child
Do not fear the fires of life
Just like how the strongest of steel are forged from the hottest of fires
The strongest of men rise from the most hellish of adversities.
And those who live through the punishments of life
Grow strong enough to carry the world on their shoulders.
So do not be afraid, my child
For you shall run through the fires
And emerge as a hero.


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## Azure Bass

There's a fire burning. But what does that fire mean? Is it a passion? Destruction? It is a topic of discussion for the two men from the pop fiction in the child series of that popular TV show. While it doesn't matter what the name of that show is, it does illustrate a concept called creative execution.

So what is creative execution? The way we do things while seeking to produce. The why is to produce. That means that if we are destroying something, we are not aiming to create. Destruction and creation are on two sides of the spectrum that define the cyclical nature of how things work. We live and we die. Speaking of which, there's a funny story about a phoenix that has yet to be discussed in this post.

So about this phoenix. Even though it's been expressed through several different creations, not destructions, it always comes back and has its' glory time and time again. Even as a little bird, born through its' ashes as the man with the glasses had cusped it in the presence of the renowned wizard. IT's all so cliche', yet it's done so well that nobody who appreciated seemed to care about that!

So if all the systems are cliche', and the people that create them are not, doesn't it stand to reason that peoples' development are the key to greater creative expression? I mean come on now! If you have a team of people with an undermining philosophy about each other, how much work is going to get done? What about if there's a team of people who are great but don't get along? How about if they get their push; much like the work of the super heroes after a plot twist sends them in separate directions from the castle in the sky?

Anyway, people can go in any direction they choose. I mean look at the way we developed! Our Motivations are as diverse as we are. So we add something different. But as long as we're not going in our directions from ourselves we don't add anything legitimate to the table. Like if everyone is standing on the sidelines now, and five years later, everyone is still standing on the same sidelines, having gone no where; as opposed to going in all different directions and ending up together again for a respite. A reunion. 

Say, speaking of reunions, the man, woman and the dog with a gun on its' back made for a great story about it. So did the four apes as they recognized their own strengths and leveraged them to take down the big hunka scales. What a wrestling match that was..

All of this is a great example of creative expression. As it stands, though, will it withstand the test of time? That's for the forum owners to decide. The story can be created and unmade, it's up to those who do persuade! Persuade through self for development, others for service! Either way, everyone grows! Not just in body but mind!


\
Edit: Thanks for the exercise @justanotherperson! You definitely aren't just another person to me. :happy:


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## Watercolourful

She punctuates her sentences with lavender and iron pain.
I always wished that I could wish, I dreamed of dreaming and swirling and dancing, of painting, of seeing but not always believing.
The world was always in my grasp but I didn't know if I could take it.
Spiralling, wearing the air as a sash, or a gown, or a choker. I like the choker best.
I never wanted dresses. I just wanted to want them. The long hair was a bit of a mystery to me.
Just another expectation, and maybe I'd survive if I fulfilled it.
There's just nothing /glamourous/ about being pretty.
Oh, and her eyeballs taste good on my tongue. They dissolve like pearls and I take what she spent so long collecting, I harvest her world of what's long and yellow, own it because there's no harm in stealing from a theif.
And oh, she says, oh, you are imperfect.
I half wink at her because that's my charm. I smile in the shape of my lifeline and hope I can wrap it around her like the world twists around my wrist.
God, I love the thorns, but I hate the pain. Love the blood, hate the stain. The pain of the wings that sprout from my back but I don't think I'd have the guts to do it.
You wouldn't believe me if you knew how I'm nothing, just afraid.
She had a magic wand and sometimes she'd wave it before me and I'd smiIiIiIiIiIiIile because maybe I could sell the lie later that
I
regret
my
mask
and maybe I'll make enough to buy a pair of hands to hold, just for the night.
The fire doesn't flicker, it dances in her eyes and she might step into it to feel the burn but I'd do it to feel the 
rush.
I am so, so clever. I love the glimmering wink you spared me, the glamour is almost too much.
What ever will I do without you?
Would I rather hate the world
or hate myself?
I'll choose the world. I've got experience, I'm not too bad at it and it'd be a shame to hate such natural, effortless beauty, right?
Am I a narcissist or a wannabe?
Probably both, that's what I'm starting to think, and I never really thought much of anyone else before. Everything is me
myself
I
sometimes I pretend I'm someone else
sometimes I pretend it's because if I were someone else I'd love to know me
mostly I acknowledge it's because of all this goddamn skin
if it wouldn't hurt to peel it back
i'd walk around without it
everyone's so naked anyway
i don't think they'd notice
i don't think they know the difference between exposure of the inside and exposure of what's without 
i think they're all ridiculous
maybe they're all out to get me
Maybe they're all out to get her.
Not that it matters, I have what only she would want. Years of memories and observation. It's in my mouth and I can't shape the liquid into the words I want to say.
If we're playing a game of thieves, I guess you've won, my lady. 
I could never see as much as I can say.


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## Watercolourful

Azure Bass said:


> \
> Edit: Thanks for the exercise @justanotherperson! You definitely aren't just another person to me. :happy:


Thank you so much :'D I'm glad you enjoyed it! The things you wrote of are so intriguing.


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## WickerDeer

I am tired and my eyes are sore. The pain feels like many little lotus flowers sliding beneath my eyelids. 

My mouth feels like the raw carnage, the reality of death, decomposition, a broadening grave for myself.

My spine is like a snake who has been stretched too thin.

Can I have the albatross stretch across my back, like a cross? To support me? 

If I fail to breath, will lavender take my place, creating oxygen and sweetness instead of carbon monoxide (dioxide--I am so smart) and heat?

Are plants warm? I've never thought of them that way because they have so much water, and seem cooler than myself. But they must release heat just like everything, though on a warm day they may avoid it. They feed off it even.

Ah--what is that sick beating in my chest? It's like a frantic bird who's afraid of shitting in his own nest, but can't get out because there are knifes blocking the tunnel to the outside.

I guess I am just sad. I am sad because things. I am sad because things. Sad things. Sad because of things. Sad things. Sings. Sings because of things. Sings because of sad things. Sings because of trapped things. Sings because trapped things need to fly away. Sings because I want to throw up and let it out. Sings because I want to shed this skin and let it out. Sings because I need to feel once again, along that knife lined passage. And I need to feel myself again. *inhales* 

Singing is nice. Sad things are sad. My eyes are still sore. Maybe they can become nests for free birds, instead of the heart. Look, I really miss you okay?


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## Synful

Shhhh. No need for words. Listen and watch. 

There are things without voices that wish to speak to us. Those things can be loud or they can be soft - but they do not pause to see if you notice. They are content in their own comings and goings and have done so for countless millennia. 

Before eyes were made to see them they were here. Those spirits animating the sky, the wind, the force, the consciousness behind life. 

If you are still you can sense them...or _it_...he or she or whatever name you wish to use. 

If you ever stood in the black-green of a thick woods and opened your being - if you ever _felt_ something that had no word attached to it....well then you know. 

It has memory, it is wisdom in motion...

but what good are all the descriptions? The point is to see and experience for yourself and your eyes!....yes your eyes would tell me if you understood

how rare to find another soul who hears that near silent song

(yikes that's not much for 10 minutes...nice exercise though)


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## AriesLilith

Even if there is afterlife and reincarnation, relationships of this lifetime ends with this lifetime - our relationship with our partners, families, friends... Maybe our bond can still last, but what is relationship and specific memories of this lifetime, and our ways of life of this lifetime ends with the lifetime itself. This is why they are so precious - "yuen" (in Cantonese), what's the equivalent word in English or Portuguese? Fate or not, being able to form the relationships I have formed is a rare precious thing.

I wish that time would go on forever. Yet if time is to be freezed, then there would be no future. Yet it's in the future that lies the new memories we can make together, to develop new memories and further the bonds.
Yet to think that things will end - to let other things happen and make room for new things to be created. This reminds me of how fragile these precious things are.

Yet life is o beautiful... And I'm glad to be a lucky one who is lucky enough to be able to experience and know this.


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## kiwig0ld

8:13 I started typing. Listening to a new album I didn't buy. I'm waiting for the weedshop to open. I haven't slept in a little over 24 hours but my eyes are wide open. 2nd cup of coffee I'm on my second cigarette 27's to be exact. I have 100 pages to go and i'm only now gaining my flow. indica to ease my mind at 9 will be right in time. MONEY IS THE ANTHEM. I'm getting delirious. No matte rhow serious this is I lived through it so it's still fun. reading... reading... reading... should I cop the eighth or just a gram? When did I start smoking again? doesn't matter by the time I hit Grandma's age I'll have already have been in heaven for awhile. Wow. I actually will have to buy this album. (i was going to anyway but it's really good) SOUL! There are more things in heaven and earth, than are drempt of in your philosophy. I read it but it wasn't until I typed it out that I understood what it meant. I agree but fuck you for pointing that out to me. breathe. 1 minute left. these kids have no idea who i am. these parents have no idea. what am i doing here? they should have never let me out. 15 seconcds... whats happening.


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## Octavarium

So I'm starting this writing thing which isn't a very original thing to say, and I was going to make a comment about time and how much you can get done in ten minutes but a few other people said that. Can you ever truly come up with something original? What if you did? No one understood who she really was. The gift of originality, far from being the thing that would bring her the artistic success she so desperately craved, led to isolation. No one could understand her pronouncements. She was ahead of her time. Timeless, without time, without a physical form that would ground her in the very reality she had spent so many hours trying to escape. She soon found that she wanted to be understood, to just be normal. Why did everybody else get to be normal? Why did she have to suffer like this. She must have been an Enneagram type 4, which I'm not but that is the nature of the character I've created. I can't help wondering what people will think when they read this. I'm taking the risk of publishing my thoughts for the whole internet to read. What if someone found it. Can our own minds be used against us? If someone, somewhere, knew what is in the depths of our minds, could they use our minds against us? Could they use our deepest fears, desires, to manipulate us? How persuasive could they be if they knew exactly what would convince us? I'm not sure if I should actually post this because it isn't particularly original but I'm going to make myself do it because not doing it would be cowardly. A writer is someone who communicates, uses the medium of words to get their ideas out, yet there is always this desire to remain hidden, for no one to discover our secret thoughts and feelings. So many assumptions could be made about us. It probably reveals our true selves, if there is even such a thing as a "true self". Buddhists would argue that there isn't. But maybe we're not who we think we are. Maybe you are the chosen one, you always thought you were just an average person, just trying to get on with life. You never wanted power and you always hated how everyone thought they were so special, but why did they choose you? Why did it have to be you and not the character I wrote about earlier in this piece? Why not any of the other billions of people on the earth, each trying to be something, each hoping they can rise above, those who want success or fame or power or even just to be loved, to have one person who thinks they are special. Are they really special? Looking down from space, where all the joys and disappointments seem so irrelevant.


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## magnisarara

it's rare but my mind is blank today. I can't hear my thoughts which are usually very loud and demanding of my attention. I've just woken up from a nap...bliss. I'm listening to some sort of music that's turning my brain to mush... I wish clouds were actually fluffy and could support the weight of humans, i was very disappointed in second grade science when we learned it was just water. oh wow already 5 minutes have passed! I have such a short attention span I was staring at the bug on my wall. 
I was reading a book earlier, it was called "Boy" by Roald Dahl. it was a strange coincidence in the book while i was reading it... at the age of 6 I barely remember this time period but I do remember one event. I was standing outside our house, and an older girl came down the hill with her arms crossed without touching the handle bars, I was in awe...
And I remembering thinking that one day I would be like her, ride my bike down that hill with my arms folded.
So back to this autobio of roald dahl... he mentions a moment in his life when he was about 7... he walked home from school while he watched a boy wearing a cap and trousers , back peddling down a hill with his arms folded, no handle bars and he mentioned how graceful the boy was. And if anyone had asked him , what are your ambitions in life, it would have been that he ride down a hill with his arms folded like that. It was a weird coincidence but made the book more interesting. Times up..


----------



## Tzara

A while back I was talking to an INTP friend and then he "casually mentioned" that he will *kill everyone* one day.

I asked back, "will you kill me too?"

And he smiled at me;
said, "Yes." very strictly.
And continued,
- Yes, I will kill you too. But dont worry, you are last. 
I replied, "Alright, I'm ok with that" and smiled back
- And after I finish with you, I'll kill myself.

At that moment I realized, I felt all the pain he felt. The agony that humanity left him to rot in..
The deep darkness that stalks his soul. We werent humans to him, we werent conscious beings filled with emotion and life, we were dull torture machines. We were the sickness earth endured for years. We were the foundation of the disease that parasited off his life. Leeched off the very existence of his happiness.

And I realized there was no way to refill the hole life left on him. The emptiness that caused him to act. He wasn't evil or bad or unhealthy. No, he was lost, dark and forgotten. Chained.. to nothing. The only way to end the suffering, without running away to escape his fears, escaping from himself, was to face the terror. To destroy everything that made him feel. To vanquish everything, obliterate the emptiness into the emptiness...

The question to him was simple; to feel again, or not to...


Optional Note: listen to this in a low volume while reading


----------



## Watercolourful

Less useful to myself than I am to others. She lived her life to hear you breathe. It's getting dull now that the storm's gone. No one really realized that most people's default expression isn't a smile, but somehow they picture those happy faces when they think of peace. Guess they never knew the flat line well enough.

The way it stirs is almost a tingling sensation if you want to be honest. It's not as strong as I'd wwant it but there's nothing else to be happy about here. Thanks for nothing.

He's kind of stupid but it's none of my business, I guess.

I kind of resent you for meaning so much to me. I might have cried if you'd ignored me that first time, but you didn't and I really loved you for those few weeks before you got tired of me, even if I did think you were somewhat cruel. Your selflessness was something to aspire to even though you have always and still do show it by destroying everything in your way. 

Just... thank you. And I have him to thank too, I'm sorry if I didn't voice that enough. You were the only person I ever knew who... understood, even if that does sound cheesy.

You're gone, though, and I knew you were going, but you didn't invite me to keep in touch expecially with your way of ignoring me and just... I don't even know if it was passive aggressive but you left me and I had enough strength to keep myself going but I just wish that you had valued your own words as much as I had. But if he's the one who brought us together then I suppose it makes sense that he would pull us apart. I just wonder why sometimes, and I knew the light he inspired me with was just what I observed and not what he cast on me.

I'm sorry. I can't really handle this anymore. Thank you for everything. What's left of you still constellates through me with all the stars I already have. Thanks for the opportunity, if for nothing else. For those few weeks you were my best friend, and I think I understand now why you don't care for me anymore.


----------



## Lacrimosa

Can one rise above the rocky abyss when alone? Managing the loss of words is trying. Deriving pain in eyes. The skin comes in contact with metallic taste. Ruby flows free in darkness. Clear liquid stings of salt and wounds. There are no words for what hides inside. Cowering in the glass case, misunderstood, isolated. In what ways can the written language cure the lost strength of man? Fight the urge, the pain that laughs your name. Desire of acceptance sinks in line, no smiles are held in pasts' time. Rise above to rhythms of seering retribution, follow what the heart has always admired. Goodbye. There was never a chance to become one with the likes of your denial.


----------



## FakeLefty

An edit to my previous writing:

_There's an old man__
Who sits alone at the park bench
His never speaks
But his eyes tell a story of a broken man

When asked what is wrong
He only stares at you
For words can never fully describe the pain
All the goodbyes he had to say
All the losses he had to suffer
All the scars on his heart
That he has collected throughout his life

He is forever haunted my nightmares
The visions
The bloodied letter from a brother who would never return from the war
The tears he saw on his lover's face as she was torn away from him 
As she became the victim of a tyrant's paranoia
A childhood friend, who lost hope and took his own life.

Words would never describe his loneliness
And the brokenness he feels
So all he can do is stare
As he slowly withers away._


----------



## Golden Rose

Waiting is never easy.
Time seems to slow down and laugh at your misery.
Polluting the air with a thick concoction of uncertainty and frustration.
The mind wanders and the heart wonders, do they not?
At times you stop worrying, you play with the dreams you carefully pick out of the shelf.
A gorgeous rush of endorphins, your own personal narcotic.
But misery loves company and bleakness feeds on your flights of anticipation.
Bittersweet like a colorless flower, feeding on faded sunlight.
A forgotten catalyst for brimming energy

_Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock_, echoes in your head.
Until your clutch is over.


----------



## Rift

Do you hear the echo in the wind? 

to channel these dreams in which you live

day after day, it's just a memory

twisted and faint... there's always something you've forgotten

changed, edited, blocked out

mother's face, father's skin

your own sweat... tears

really, what words am I supposed to put down

we do this dance... and you expect it to be natural?

come from some place earnest, honest, real

is this my authentic voice

or just a reactionary tone

a calculated thought

pushed out before I really had the time to consider it

is that the truth to you?

subjective glances we share

the timer wages a war

more than one I started three minutes ago

soft white

blanca suave

its on a shelf

near the desk

was I supposed to concentrate during this test?

I've already failed

by typing so much

so little

lacking the structure

of type; types found here
the in and out
of community
ever needed a place
but separated
by the uniformed stance
we're supposed to take
born in fiber
in skin
in predisposed sin
authenticity, is the name
in which you say
is the root of the soul
ego, person, self
a higher meaning
than what?
great deeds
or half slated truths
drawn up as the most
attractive headline
click bait
as we call it now
one thought
patriotism
the waving flag
theocracy
taxes, debt

there's no great thoughts to be had

recycled, regurgitated
truncated feeds
feeds of my head
it's not exactly
what the dormouse
said


----------



## LucasM

Damn it. This sure is not working. The curser likes to blink. Tirelessly.

No blink ? Yes blink?

10 minutes
No love.


----------



## LucasM

.
.
..
...
.....
........
.............
.....................
..................................
.......................................................
.........................................................................................
................................................................................................................................................
.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

One little miscount and the tower falls down.
10 minutes


----------



## LucasM

.......................................,.....................,,,.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
13? Minutes

And I most likely miscounted. Was it 20? Or was it 30? Trust.


----------



## LucasM

I
U
We
The
Power
Of the un
Iverse is har
Nessed in the power o
F the tiny . and the power of many

Spaces count


----------



## Lacrimosa

Each change brings new light. Tired in agony, more words that cascade in shadows. Dripping of senile delusion, don't try to hide. Hurt, pained, expressed in lonesome. Living in fears of what burdens a clouded mind. My heart's shedding tears, breaking in hate, sorrow, and disgust. Putrid regret never seems to let go. Paranoia overcomes us all. It's vicious gaze and choking teeth snarl and snide as the heartbeat quickens and the room spins fast as light. No, nothing will make me at ease, there's always some seed in my head that will dig and dig until the darkness of night fights a deathly battle with my soul's might.

Fall into the croon of musical symphonies. Transcending to beats in harmony, crawling into the abyssal dreamlands. Farther one flies above. Trees smile, as I drift along the Moon, stars, and clouds within the wind. Fly, fly to the spacial world. A star for a grinning hand. Walk to the spirits of time's past as they guide to life's alternate night. Wander and wander till day's bygone is disappeared. Broken no longer, patched by the seeds of spiritual love.


----------



## cityofcircuits

Two of the scrubbiest of the scrubs I've ever laid eyes on are sitting next to me. Sure McDonald's isn't an institution of top class individuals and ranks up there close to Wal-Mart in terms of questionable patrons of ill repute. Yet here I am, stuck listening to these minions of vile fashion sense, hissing away about girls that don't like them.
Who has sexy blue eyes and isn't at all surprised?
This guy.
Even though they seem to lack any redeeming qualities, I know, someday they.will.breeeeeeeeeeeeed.
It's a type of infestation. That immaturity will mingle with hormones, one thing will lead to another, and the human race continues on.


----------



## Watercolourful

I am made of whispers.
I am the piano in the distance.
I wonder if life can be explained in short sentences.
You didn't last very long.
I think words are funny things.
A long time ago someone dreamt something.
Someone worked hard today.
I appreciate what you said.
She's not insincere, just polite.
Something weird happened to respect.
Everything connects.
She's standing at the pier.
You've been gone a while.
These short sentences can't write me.
I see the world in technicolour.
What's so bad about the rain?
Paint is thicker than blood.
Secrets dripped from her lips.
Someone bought you a present.
He's invisible and we like it that way.
Life isn't a closed eyes walk.
There's no books on that shelf.
What a waste of time.
The only imagery for optimism is the sun.
Everything is a joke.
Less matters than you'd expect.
Life is flux.
I heard your name yesterday.
Breezes are too short to enjoy.
I won't last ten minutes.
I waited forever.
Less isn't more, it's less.
We're all liars.
This irrelevance is agonizing.
Let's have a sadness competition.
You forgot where your birthmark is.
Bitter is as valid as sweet.
No one cares about your cat.
You have no reason to trust her.
Reputation is an encyclopedia.
Shallow isn't shallow when you're short.
I think I hate you.
This is not poetry.


----------



## baby blue me

10 minutes. Sometimes 600 seconds feel fast; sometimes very slow; sometimes every minutes and seconds count; there are times when we tend to just waste this amount of time. 

It brings me to the thought on the importance of time. Sometimes I waste 10 minutes at work. The hours between Time in and Time out tends to be insignificant. Is this because I don't like my job? How do I know? I can help people. Time flies so fast at work. They say the indication that you don't like your job is if you go to work with a heavy heart, if time gets slow, and if you feel bad after. I don't. 

Having though of the importance of time, I'm thinking about the importance of life. I was walking yesterday morning, the sun is yet to go up and I review what I know of life. I thought what's important is to be happy. Then I thought life is about succeeding. I try to gauge why everyone of us exists. They say it's to praise God. That's too uncertain I thought and self centered for God. Then I concluded that no one really knows why we all live.

Are these things worth my 10 minutes? What is my reason for living?

I read about how everything is interconnected. I wonder how my actions impact life as a whole. I wonder how some people were to greatly influence the world when others merely live through it. I wonder why we are who we are. I believe it's because we are not not who we are so we just need to deal with it/this/these.

Time is almost up. Is this what I really wanted to do with my 10 minutes? Is what I do really what I want to do with life? When 10 minutes is up, I click post and carry on. If my life is up, what happens next?

Upon clicking POST QUICK REPLY, my internet died. Ahhh unexpected occurences...


----------



## baby blue me

cityofcircuits said:


> Two of the scrubbiest of the scrubs I've ever laid eyes on are sitting next to me. Sure McDonald's isn't an institution of top class individuals and ranks up there close to Wal-Mart in terms of questionable patrons of ill repute. Yet here I am, stuck listening to these minions of vile fashion sense, hissing away about girls that don't like them.
> Who has sexy blue eyes and isn't at all surprised?
> This guy.
> Even though they seem to lack any redeeming qualities, I know, someday they.will.breeeeeeeeeeeeed.
> It's a type of infestation. That immaturity will mingle with hormones, one thing will lead to another, and the human race continues on.


I thought of the same. How could they breed when they need a lot of improvement to do? The lack of education perhaps. Which makes me think that the quality of education is really manipulated by them too, unconsciously. How could students learn from inefficient teachers? These teachers are one of them.

The race continues on, indeed.


----------



## Nyctophilia

Oh ok, I'll give this a shot.

So here I am sitting here at 6:30 in the morning awake wondering why the hell am I awake? I'm tired, I could use the sleep, but no I just have to be on here like a zombie because my body is just like nah I don't like you you're a bitch. Ok fine be that way body, I have my cat and she loves me, and she's also very fluffy so deal with it. God I love cats so much. If I could adopt every cat in the world I totally would. The world needs way more cats and corgis. Can we just replace every people that sucks with a corgi? It would make things so much nicer and happier.

Now I think I have something in my eye oh this is just fandamntastic now I'm tired and my eye hurts. I'm half tempted on popping something to help me get back to sleep but neh I'll probably just feel super groggy and I have work later. I honestly just- oh nevermind my cat decided to leave me no that's cool too I didn't love you anyways. Actually no I did baby come back I can change please oh god Booboo why would you do this I need to hug your fluff don't leave me yep you left me well the hell with you too, that's it I'm buying a husky. I was thinking corgi but huskys are just so amazingly majestic. If I didn't live in Virginia I'd get a fox but 99.9% sure it's illegal so oh well, could probably just chain Foxy up in my back yard to make up for it.

Speaking of yards I need to cut my grass. I don't want to cut the grass. I'm tempted on just burning it all down so I don't have to deal with it anymore, besides it's not like anyone looks at the back yard anyways. Yeah I think I might do that, after I attempt to sleep more. God I fucking love Twix bars, I decided to splurge and bought myself some for the first time in forever and still have some and dear god this is so delicious it's like I'm having wonderful wafery sex in my mouth. I'm not going to indulge in this too much since I don't want to end up like the typical fat American rolling around in my stupid little cart with my diabeetus, but dear god I feel like I should be playing slow sensual music while eating this.

Oh and now Booboo's back yeah you would come back once food comes out wouldn't you, no it's cool I see how it is. One day I'm going to open up a can of your chicken flavored catfood and before you eat it I'll beat you too it to show you just how fun it is to have someone go after your food. But I still love you, and I think it's been 10 minutes so I'm going to hunt for some pancakes. If we don't have any then oh well Twix breakfast it is, sweet zombie Jesus have mercy.


----------



## owlhead

hi... ..


----------



## Watercolourful

Just give up on your stand and wishes and start living with your eyes open for once. My vision isn't nearly perfect enough. I am so, so angry. You can twist yourself into so many shapes and I don't get what's so good about being a pretzel. Wow, I hate you.

I haven't talked to you in over a month. Which one of us is the liar? I knew I didn't care but you didn't believe me. I guess it can only hurt you in the end if it even occurs to you that we haven't talked in like, ten years when we get there. I want the world to just take a deep breath and quit rushing everything. I cannot wait to grow up. It's so exhilarating how my hair blows in the wind as the earth spins.

And you say you tried. You're a loser.

My tone is /spiteful/, you say? Hilarious! I am spiteful! Me! Not my tone! Not my face! You're a coward, it's hilarious! I will NEVER devour you.

You're so pathetic, the crimson rushing to your cheeks with such sweet, sickening valour, such a fool. You can't die if you're dead!

Love is so fickle and you cannot do it freely. It will wax and wane and you will loathe it for the questions or leads you to ask. Did you just say you cry yourself to sleep?

HA. Did you expect sympathy?

I am not a person, darling. I am RAGE, FURY, VENGEANCE! I am the poison dripping from your lips and you said, you said you /love/ me.


----------



## Aquaponics

Mother and Father are with me, on the lawn, the grass is green. Oh the sky is so blue and the air so warm, and Mother is wearing her most beautiful summer dress, Father is smiling. The cotton is high, looking like clouds, my sister is playing tennis with her friend. Hot morning, the flow of the day has something sensual, how Mother laughs and Father looks at the fields, it follows a rhythm, the birds singing and the grass swaying... I hear my sister laughing and the sun is suddenly so bright, Mother stands up with such a tender smile on her bloody lips, her dress splattered with red. She goes to meet Father sides, and he takes her hand. They look at the river near the house, peaceful, enjoying the steadiness of the summer heat. Father is wearing his black sailor suit, blood dripping from the sleeves, with gold buttons that reflect the sunlight. Mother looks behind her shoulder to meet my gaze, her eyes gleaming with love and mystery... Like she carried in her something old and deep others would not ever catch a glimpse.

-David, would you like to dance? She asks me, giggling. There is blood on her cheek.


----------



## Golden Rose

I wish I could crystallize a dream and let it guide you through the night
Like shiny drops of hope dancing in a starry sky
Because you make my heart sparkle *♥*


----------



## Lacrimosa

Torn between ice and fire. There's much to hide, much to writhe. Pain in liberation. Hide and fly, lie and cry. Fading into the invincible binds, mending the broken pieces laid by the sleighted blue hand. How those words left such a scar. The touch of gold, made dull. Tricked past deceit, no time of optimism. For every light, black dims once more. Mark what's in line cascading towards fellow feasible tears. Rain once more, oh dear meddling, soul storm.


----------



## Calmwolf

A letter to you: It's a pity you don't know me; but no, we are not strangers. We are long-lost soul mates, we are the friends who whisper secrets to each other in the dead of night. I am the calm winds, you are the gentle rain, together we are the weather dance that can so choose to destroy the world if we wish to. But outside personas lie and there is only so much serenity that a person can take before the façade is shattered by the deafening silence. friend, my only hope is that you never shun this side of me, but I am a selfish creature that also hopes beyond reason that you see through the veil of my deception. You are the only catalyst of my will to empower the world, the only one who recognizes my self worth, and ironically, one of the many who fails to see the true chaos lingering beneath the mask. Here is an unspoken plea for you to see, no, _accept,_ my chaotic tranquility. Love, your reflection.


----------



## spanky

The room was dim, I felt the words, heard their foriegn sound, from my tongue. Uncertainty and surprise, alight with concern. His handsomeness did nothing for me, yet the feel of what wasn't real...hmmmm. I picked up the bag that looked like the ones my mother makes and sat up. I was sitting, hands shaking. Alone.

I walked along the path, tracing my hands along the rails. The darkness ebbed at the edges of my vision as if a shroud for what was just beyond. I followed the boards clearly placed with care and walked for what seemed like hours. I wasn't alone, I could feel another there, just the sense the ease of comfort. The scene changed; I was at the end of one trail, the beginning of another. 

He was there, made a comment about my parking job and led me along the new path. We talked and laughed, I remember not one of the conversations. The feel changed almost hurried and I was supposed to follow.

It was a crowed corridor. The voices were loud chatter around me on all sides. People moved left and right as if they knew which direction they wanted to go. I was watching them, thinking about how loud it was here, and how much I disliked crowds. It was then I felt him approaching and move in just behind me. I leaned into the feeling, him, the crowd noise disappeared and all I could focus on was the feeling. It was as if he was entwined behind me, I turned and he was gone. Like me, gone. It hasn't faded.


----------



## WickerDeer

I feel this sort of emptiness...like an alley. Like a crawlspace. Can you see the blue sky from the base of this space? And do you imagine what it's like to be covered in tiny delicate feathers at the top of a tree peeking out from the high roofs surrounding it?

Do you feel like throwing up sometimes? Shouldn't you be disgusted by that? But instead you consider the possible relationships between the bacteria in the water, because that's ideal, right? 

You are reminded of the river that flows through town...that little alley which you wondered about perspective with. No...perspective doesn't exist like that as that point with those silly lines, because the surface of the dirt and all the chaos distorts it.

The creek you left your watch at one night. "I don't want to know what time it is. I don't care...I just want to be here with you."

He picked it up for you and gave it back. Such a slap in the face, it seemed. 

Maybe he will become an elderly man who likes to eat sausages. Maybe indeed.

And now you wonder things that seem unrelated...crawdads...do they live there? You know the stories about them...the silly story that crawdads were left out in the sun so they're red. you've found them as you walked along side a traintrack. You know how to fish for them with pieces of meat on a hanger.

But You don't even know what you're feeling right now, do you? Or thinking?

Edit: No, not really.


----------



## Donkey D Kong

It was 2pm on Charlie's first day of school. He was a freshman in high school, very unknowing of the world around him and the world he was stepping into. He was a rather exuberant child, who spoke with a calming tone that the ladies would swoon over. His self-confidence was only matched by his intelligence, which he was ever so proud of. He was rather manipulative and knew what girls wanted to hear. However, his greatest strength would become his weakness when he saw her; a shy brunette girl that he would develop a strong infatuation of. He saw her as a prize he must have.

Fast forward a few weeks later, he walked up to her desk and introduced himself, "My name is Charlie" he said, followed by a cheesy pickup-line. She ignored his pleads and went back to her novel. Aggravated by this, he spent the rest of the week trying to win her over. After attempting over and over again, she allowed him a date. He was thrilled by this race of sudden feelings he had that he'd never felt before, even though he claimed so many women in middle school. His excitement was hidden, however, by his poker face that he wears to make sure no woman sees through him.

They go on their date, and it was an event like no other. His self-confidence was shot, for once, and he was nervous about the future. He knew he wouldn't be able to manipulate this woman, so he had to find common ground with her instead. He looked her in the eyes and calmly asked, "what would you like to do?". She smiled at him and told him that she would like to see a movie. He decided on a horror film because those are his personal favorite. As they were standing in line, the sun set and the air became chilly, so he held her hand, and she smiled again. He was liking this feeling, and for more reasons than simply feeling like he owned another woman. They made it to the movie, sitting down eating his popcorn he decided to be smooth and put his arm around her. She reluctantly accepted it and blushed from the stimulus of having another person show compassion to her. As they left the theater, she hugged him and said her goodbye as she drove away in the car she was leaving in. Excited by this date, he went home and planned for the next one.

He died of auto-erotic asphyxiation that night and was found in a Bugs Bunny suit.


----------



## VioletTru

Today, I ate a pear. Wait --not just any pear. A pear with brown leaves, slightly tattered at the edges.

What I initially failed to realize was that that pear was actually a house, belonging to an elderly housefly with leg arthritis. So, imagine my surprise when I chomped on the pear, started to choke profusely, and spat out a pile of insect guts, along with what looked to be a miniature cane made out of mahogany.

And do you know what the fly said to me? "Get off my lawn." He then shook his fist in the air and crawled back into his edible lair.

So I set down the pear, walked away slowly, and decided to find something else to quell my disagreeable stomach.


----------



## ENTrePreneur

You know,

I thought it was different.

I thought it was different.

I thought it was different.

I thought you were going to teach me.​
I thought you were going to teach me how to be happy.

I thought I knew what it meant to feel again.

I thought you quenched my fl_a_*m*e

I


​thought


you were going to add the word "Happy" to my extensive dictionary​
that has far too many unimportant words in it​
and far from enough of the important ones.



Apparently I thought too hard.

I was right all along.


----------



## baby blue me

ENTrePreneur said:


> You know,
> 
> I thought it was different.
> 
> I thought it was different.
> 
> I thought it was different.
> 
> I thought you were going to teach me.​
> I thought you were going to teach me how to be happy.
> 
> I thought I knew what it meant to feel again.
> 
> I thought you quenched my fl_a_*m*e
> 
> I
> 
> 
> ​thought
> 
> 
> you were going to add the word "Happy" to my extensive dictionary​
> that has far too many unimportant words in it​
> and far from enough of the important ones.
> 
> 
> 
> Apparently I thought too hard.
> 
> I was right all along.


I can relate. I wonder how this affects you, an ENTP. 
As for me, I try to distance myself from anything that has to do with this (happiness, relationships, and the like). I'm not amongst those who would try again and again. I may be wrong but I'm not risking my emotional investments. How do you usually react to these kind of situations, if you don't mind my asking?


----------



## ENTrePreneur

baby blue me said:


> I can relate. I wonder how this affects you, an ENTP.
> As for me, I try to distance myself from anything that has to do with this (happiness, relationships, and the like). I'm not amongst those who would try again and again. I may be wrong but I'm not risking my emotional investments. How do you usually react to these kind of situations, if you don't mind my asking?


Refer to my signature.

Or this post:


* *






ENTrePreneur said:


> Please don't come near to me.
> 
> I don't trust you.
> 
> Or rather... I don't trust myself.
> 
> Like a flame, I'm warm and beautiful from a distance.
> 
> But I burn those who get too close.​
> Trust me. I don't mean to.
> 
> I don't WANT to live distant from the rest of the world.
> 
> 
> But it's been proven time and time again that I am not capable of getting close without burning.​
> I wish I could change it. Truly I do.
> 
> 
> But...
> 
> In a strange way...
> 
> I enjoy my fiery nature.
> ​My flaming passion.
> 
> 
> My burning shame.​
> My determination.
> 
> 
> My pride.
> ​And everything else that makes me me.
> 
> I am a flame.
> 
> I am alone.
> 
> I must remain so to protect those I care about.
> 
> You may laugh,
> 
> or mock,
> 
> or disbelieve.​
> But this has been proven
> 
> Time​And Time​And Time
> And Time​And Time
> Again.
> 
> So forgive me if I ignore your ignorance.
> 
> This is me.
> 
> The extrovert
> 
> who was alone.​





If neither of these answer it for you, PM me and I'll try to explain better. The reason I don't try to explain first is that... well... I'm not good at explaining my thoughts to other people. :/ I've tried many times. Without fail I have been misunderstood at least 80% of the time.


----------



## Xzcouter

Woah I never a thread like this existed until Draki showed me her comment about her making the mistake of sticking to 10 mins f her thought process but she also found out that you could go over well why call it 10 mins and just write down your thoughts why not just call it " write down all the thoughts as you can". Well I see how this could be a problem though as peopl ecould keep on writing and writing and writing...I looked at the time oh wow it has only been 1 min this is gonna be fun...hmm what to think well then what about the thing that just popped up on my bottom right corner - a steam notification hmmmm how could I prove to you it popped up though well you just have to trust me then I guess well you can't really know if I am not human over the internet anyways so might aswell right? anyways steam...hmmmm steaam I have alot of games there I love to play games and collect them. why collect? because its like pokemon you catch them all but necessarily use them all. Ughh I hate these spelling mistakes I have to fix them once I finish this rant? thought process write down? ...discussion inside my head? oh whatever anyways where were we? Oh yes! Pokemon! hmm what is there to speak about pokemon that has not been spoken yet hmm Pokemon promotes Darwin's theory of evolution due to all pokemon (except Arceus who is basically god) came from Mew...hmmm the fact that Pokemon can get really dark at times. Welp this are just food for thought. 'Food for thought' that statement is really weird I always wondered are some statements just really food for thought I mean do thoughts even eat well just thinking here hmmm so if thoughts eat they reproduce and give you more thoughts to think about hmm that is actually a good thing to think about so right now my thoughts are having babies and making think of more things that is AWESOME. Oh my phone just vibrated I wonder how these things vibrate hmm does it have a motor with just spins aimlessly causing the phone to move hmm I wonder why I even kept my phone on vibrate I am at home well oh well too lazy to change it now. I am proud to be lazy but I prefer to call it Energy conserving I mean why spend time on moving a box when you can just do it later right? or maybe even better have somebody move it for you ! Genius right? Well I wonder what to write next hmmm what about the fact the I love Fanta? nah that would just bore you I guess oh wow it has only been 9 mins well then lets continue.
Pumpkins , Orange , Fanta, Soft Drinks , Coca Cola , Black , Racism hmm Africa? I don't know welp that has been 10 mins of my thoughts

MORE?! OK THEN!
I noticed that this page is 18 of 18 hmm 18 the age where teenagers enter adulthood. Why do we call it adult 'hood' I mean why a hood isn't better if it is adultage hmmm but that sounds weird too..adultery...NO that is something WORST ...you know cause its bad and considered a sin in many religions. I wonder if there is a religion out there that doesn't consider adultery bad hmmm if not is there a planet out there with the same exact earth and same exact species but has a religion for adultery only...What am I thinking time to change the topic hmmm Oh speaking of universes have you ever thought of how insignificant we are if the universe is truly infinite I mean if there is infinite matter so shouldn't there be infinite probabilities of how a planet is I mean couldn't there a planet made of pure oil with lets say a steel core or a planet that has weird creatures made of sulphur like the creepers in minecraft. Hmm now that got me wondering will there ever be a planet that is not a sphere maybe a flat planet that will certainly be very interesting I mean at the edge your world literally turns upside down. Down I always wondered about that word 'down' I mean the image formed on our retina is supposedly upside down and the brain just makes it right side up but I mean how do we know maybe everything is really just upside down and we don't know cause that is what we perceive as right side up. hmmm its getting really late I better get some sleep...in another hour or so but I better stop this rant? ughh not this again. well from now one I would call this a mind babble . so i better stop this mind babble somewhere so that I can do something else hmmm probably in 3 minutes. minutes..time. Time is relevant to your position adn your speed. before the universe there was no time. if there was no time then how could things come into existence cause there is no time to do anything hmmmm. Wellp that has only been 2 minutes I guess thats the end of this rant...I MEAN MIND BABBLE!


----------



## mikan

Xzcouter said:


> Woah I never a thread like this existed until Draki showed me her comment about her making the mistake of sticking to 10 mins f her thought process but she also found out that you could go over well why call it 10 mins and just write down your thoughts why not just call it " write down all the thoughts as you can". Well I see how this could be a problem though as peopl ecould keep on writing and writing and writing...I looked at the time oh wow it has only been 1 min this is gonna be fun...hmm what to think well then what about the thing that just popped up on my bottom right corner - a steam notification hmmmm how could I prove to you it popped up though well you just have to trust me then I guess well you can't really know if I am not human over the internet anyways so might aswell right? anyways steam...hmmmm steaam I have alot of games there I love to play games and collect them. why collect? because its like pokemon you catch them all but necessarily use them all. Ughh I hate these spelling mistakes I have to fix them once I finish this rant? thought process write down? ...discussion inside my head? oh whatever anyways where were we? Oh yes! Pokemon! hmm what is there to speak about pokemon that has not been spoken yet hmm Pokemon promotes Darwin's theory of evolution due to all pokemon (except Arceus who is basically god) came from Mew...hmmm the fact that Pokemon can get really dark at times. Welp this are just food for thought. 'Food for thought' that statement is really weird I always wondered are some statements just really food for thought I mean do thoughts even eat well just thinking here hmmm so if thoughts eat they reproduce and give you more thoughts to think about hmm that is actually a good thing to think about so right now my thoughts are having babies and making think of more things that is AWESOME. Oh my phone just vibrated I wonder how these things vibrate hmm does it have a motor with just spins aimlessly causing the phone to move hmm I wonder why I even kept my phone on vibrate I am at home well oh well too lazy to change it now. I am proud to be lazy but I prefer to call it Energy conserving I mean why spend time on moving a box when you can just do it later right? or maybe even better have somebody move it for you ! Genius right? Well I wonder what to write next hmmm what about the fact the I love Fanta? nah that would just bore you I guess oh wow it has only been 9 mins well then lets continue.
> Pumpkins , Orange , Fanta, Soft Drinks , Coca Cola , Black , Racism hmm Africa? I don't know welp that has been 10 mins of my thoughts
> 
> MORE?! OK THEN!
> I noticed that this page is 18 of 18 hmm 18 the age where teenagers enter adulthood. Why do we call it adult 'hood' I mean why a hood isn't better if it is adultage hmmm but that sounds weird too..adultery...NO that is something WORST ...you know cause its bad and considered a sin in many religions. I wonder if there is a religion out there that doesn't consider adultery bad hmmm if not is there a planet out there with the same exact earth and same exact species but has a religion for adultery only...What am I thinking time to change the topic hmmm Oh speaking of universes have you ever thought of how insignificant we are if the universe is truly infinite I mean if there is infinite matter so shouldn't there be infinite probabilities of how a planet is I mean couldn't there a planet made of pure oil with lets say a steel core or a planet that has weird creatures made of sulphur like the creepers in minecraft. Hmm now that got me wondering will there ever be a planet that is not a sphere maybe a flat planet that will certainly be very interesting I mean at the edge your world literally turns upside down. Down I always wondered about that word 'down' I mean the image formed on our retina is supposedly upside down and the brain just makes it right side up but I mean how do we know maybe everything is really just upside down and we don't know cause that is what we perceive as right side up. hmmm its getting really late I better get some sleep...in another hour or so but I better stop this rant? ughh not this again. well from now one I would call this a mind babble . so i better stop this mind babble somewhere so that I can do something else hmmm probably in 3 minutes. minutes..time. Time is relevant to your position adn your speed. before the universe there was no time. if there was no time then how could things come into existence cause there is no time to do anything hmmmm. Wellp that has only been 2 minutes I guess thats the end of this rant...I MEAN MIND BABBLE!


Stop. Just stop it.


----------



## mikan

Theres this girl I met at the station. I knew she was blind, but I couldn't tell exactly, as she was holding a jar of sweet candy while catching up to the last train. I tried to follow her, but as soon as I almost thought I would reach her, she disappeared; like an autumn leaf. and since that day, I could not stop thinking about her, the candy jar and the station. She was all I could reach; a beauty I couldn't believe existed. Days passed, months and years. Nothing new here and there. Little did I know, that the last train that day had crashed, and the girl did not survive. Remorse, guilt and misery is what I've known since. Had the blind girl known about the colors of the sweet candy she held that day.
I sang a song, about a love that wasn't written for me.


(Ni users [or not] Feel free to interpret, this is random things I came up this moment mashed up all together that I gave no thought on while writing, nonsense you could say, I'm not a Ni user anyway)


----------



## mikan

Whatever made me feel the way I felt that moment can not be put into words. Words stand weak against what I had felt. Happiness? No. Sadness? Far from it. This is where I ended my last stop, it was when I realized how precious life was, it was just like the day I departed from the life lounge; hoping for a happy little life like my fellow peers who had departed the same day, but on different routes. I stand there, gazing at the dazzling stars above me. "_Is this really it?_" I exclaim. An icy cold sigh escapes my lips, "What a dull life." Laughter felt like chokes. I stare at the sky once more. "...that's the Libra, right there." I point out, breathing the last dozes of oxygen. "It must be watching me, me dying under its beautiful skies." I felt warm tears running down my cheeks. "Cruel and yet... so beautiful." That is when I died, a sweet, choking death.


(Again, no idea what I wrote. Feel free to interpret if you like.)


----------



## mikan

I looked into the mirror. This is a mirror, and this is me in a mirror. "_What am I?_" Am I mirror's reflection? Or am I me? Who knows. I ask myself again "What am I?" My breathes are shallow, my body trembling. I look into my eyes. My exhausted, tired eyes, eyes that have seen enough tragedies, one after another. I look into my wounded, scarred skin that have known pain everyday. I look into my face, a dull, cold terrified expression. "Is this what I have become?" I touch the mirror. "A savage beast."


----------



## Candy007

Today I felt like my whole world is crushing down, breaking into pieces all in 30 seconds. 30 seconds of pure panic and horror. My brother just came to tell me that my mom is crying upstairs. I left everything and ran to her. She was recently diagnosed with uterine adenomyosis and I have no fucking idea what that is, even if I googled it but my mind was away and I didn't get anything;

She was crying because she fears it might be cancer, her doctor said; "Let's just hope the laboratory results won't announce something bad". I tried to make her feel better and calm her down even if my heart is terribly aching. She's the only person I have left in this world, would she go too? Will I have to lose her to a disease the same way I lost my father? Oh my god I can't bear the thought of this. I'll keep on hoping for the best..the results are out on Wednesday.
I feel so alone in this world, and the only comfortable place is my room..Now those negative thoughts will haunt me at night. The last thing I need right now is this, I'm still trying to get over my depression, and now this? thiiis? Damn it.
I'll lose myself if I lose her, God please don't take her away from me..don't


----------



## Imaginary Friend

The clouds are covering the sun like a blanket was placed over my head. 

People are living and dying right; and for 17 years on Earth, I'm still breathing.
I whisper under my loud breath that it's sometimes all right to feel dead.

I'm not dead, so life marches on. 
I will trip and scratch my knees, but life will keep on marching. 
Death isn't chasing me; it's pushing me towards life. 

My time to die is not now. It is later. 
Later can be in 24 years or 24 hours. 

I hopped out of bed, and here I am —
smoothing out my hair and tapping my fingers on the desk. 
The future frightens and excites me, but here I am...

I'm in the moment, and that's okay.


----------



## Candy007

I want to disappear yet I want to be found, I build up walls around me yet I want somebody brave enough to break them. 
I think I'm sane yet everything feels like I'm going insane. 
Is is bad to be good or is it good to be bad? 
Just leave me alone to figure out how to survive in this world, like always, I'll weep on my pillow at night and I'll get up stronger than yesterday. 
Tomorrow is yet to come and it is my biggest fear. 
Why can't I just be myself? Be happy? Is that too much to ask?
Will my wishes ever be granted or am I always going to live in a dream?
They tell me I'll forever be with you, but everyone has a meaning for _forever_
Sometimes it means until death, and sometimes it's just a meaningless word, like so many others.


----------



## Intricate Mystic

A Tall Tale by I.M.

As I was sitting engrossed in a gripping novel, I heard a loud thump outside of my window. Peering through the blinds, I spotted a bright pink blob of fur on the ground and a similar blob in light blue nearby. As the blobs recovered their senses and started to move I realized they were cats! Such an extraordinary scene required further investigation so I raced outside into the bright sun of an early summer day. By the time I got to the place of such a curious scene, the cats had disappeared, much to my disappointment. I did notice some hints of shadows passing over the grass here and there, though. I looked up at the sky, wondering what the shadows were from. To my surprise I saw a multitude of cats flying around my neighborhood with tiny furry wings that barely seemed large enough to keep them aloft. (The cats were a bit on the pudgy end of the spectrum, so that didn't help matters any.) There were yellow cats, purple cats, green cats...every color of the rainbow could be found looping about in the sky. "What are they all doing here?", I wondered. "It's a cat-topia!". While I was contemplating the whirring balls of fur flying in criss-crossing paths I spotted out of the corner of my eye a large colorful presence. She was a large witch dressed in a multicolored gown with striped stockings and polka-dotted boots. She first flew around the outer perimeter of the swirling cats, then in smaller and smaller circles, herding the cats into a smaller and more densely packed swarming mass. Tighter and tighter they became until they seemed to merge into a dotted ball of furry color. As the ball of cats became denser it started getting smaller. I noticed that the witch seemed to be shrinking in size, as well. All of a sudden, the cats shrank to a tiny dot and "poof!" it disappeared and the witch along with it. Was I dreaming or was this real? Shaking my head, I returned to the house and curled up again with my book.

-The End-


----------



## WickerDeer

I love he sun. I love how many colors come from light. It may seem simple--but I can't really judge that, having eyes. I love the way that light filters through moving leaves. But it's also the atmosphere, and it's elegant clues to spacial geography...or should I say some geometry.

I have often wished I had a better vocabulary, but not enough to actually improve it.

I just want to feel what suck means. I love inhaling. 

The last time I had a dream, it was about dating! Yes dating! I was on a date--at one point there was an issue with possible illnesses brought from Brazil or perhaps another South/central American country but there was still some feeling of dating. How long it's been since I felt the awkward discomfort of a date--I had started to romanticize it until I had my mediocre dream about dating. 

Something so sweet and simple about having a similar intention maybe? Or just a companion which you can assume you can assume their motivations? The man in my dreams, did I wrong him by thinking of him so superficially? Did I neglect to probe his deeper wealth, thus invalidating him to some forgotten fleeting memories rooted in subconscious?

I think the thing I miss the most about the dream was that there was some acceptance. My mind wanted to focus on the adventure and the danger--the possibility of where we would go, or what could happen (bad mostly).

And I'm sick of this. Sick of talking about my fears. I love knowing that the ocean is deep and wide. I love how it has such unexplored depths. I love how the fine white lacing crashes on black rocks. And I love how I can sit with it, completely alone, and feel as if I am next to my sister. 

The moon--goodness--the moon. How can you share the most personal thing with another? What kind of aphrodisiac is that? That my moon can become tangled in yours, and that I can become part of yours? The moon--I should talk to her. I should lay in the sweet comfort of the calm earth, forgotten by most everyone but still standing on it's own. I need you. But I also need to feel and taste the fleeting permanence of the sand.


----------



## DemonAbyss10

Doing this to waste a little time before heading to my morning class I guess.

----------
"Finally! It's done!" A old man swathed in red robes yelled to himself as he stepped back from his work. The room he was in was filled with old tomes, books, and various other trinkets and devices of arcane designs. Sitting in the center of the room was his latest creation. An advanced magic circle enveloped a stone dais, with an archway made of a silvery-gold metal on top nearly teen feet high. "They thought I was mad! I will show them, I will show the Mages College just how wrong they are!" He walked on up to the top of the dais and stood in front of the arch. "The divines will acknowledge me!" The old man pulled a rainbow-hued gem out of his robes and inserted it within a receptacle on the arch. Arcane words were uttered and a portal started to form within the archway, giving of a pale green light in the dark stone room. On through the portal he had stepped, without fear and regret.

"Hmph! I thought the realm of the divine would be more... extravagent. He found himself within a pure white area aside from a circular, grey forum encircling his entry point. Seated among the top where what appeared to be forms that gave off various colours of light, but had no real shape.
"What doth thy desire?" A yellow-white form glowed brightly, a deep echoing boom of a voice reverbated about the forum, the old man flinching for a moment.
"Power, power to make my dreams reality!" The old man seemed sprightly, fearless.
A pink form answered, "Should we really give in to humanities hubris?"
"Wisdom and might... I say we give him true insight into reality." The yellow form stated.
"But I want power! I want to..."
The old man was cut off by a response from the form in black. It approached where the old mage stood, and the mage had become overcome with a sense of dread. "You want to rule. You want to show the world that you are serious" Its form seemed to spread around where he stood, slowly enveloping the mage. "You shall be rewarded as we deem fit, you shall have knowledge of the fabric of reality." The form completely enveloped the old man, screaming and pleading. It then all came to an end and the old man was no longer there.

A knock echoed into the wizards keep, then the doors opened. A representative from the Mages College entered the work area, noticed a figure writhing about on the ground. "Um.. Magister Davvid? I am here on behalf of the Mages College. We have decided to recognize you for you work in the field of planar travel and would like to present you with a reward and honors." As he spoke those words, the figure stood up and looked at the representative. It was the old mage, driven to complete insanity by the knowledge he was given, no longer able to even comprehend what was going on.
"Nuts?... No... Pain?! Yes PAIN!" He then uttered an incantation, fire consuming himself and his lab, destroying himself and everything he worked on and accomplishments.


----------



## DAPHNE XO

At last, a worthy opponent - only they're not an opponent.

Constant themes of battle, of pride, of power, of control. Who wins?

They do. 

Of course they do. You know it, they know it. So why even bother fighting it? Is the challenge worth it?
Perhaps, or maybe they're just a worthy opponent. But they're not the enemy.

My mind's tail-spinning into chaos, and they desperately want to win. So why fight it?
Choice is yours, and you better choose soon. 

Doesn't really matter though because either way, you've lost.

Fuck.

Or have you? Perhaps not.


----------



## prplchknz

One time I was told to write for 10 minutes straight, so why not? I really don’t know why I’m doing this I don’t have any fiction or real writing skills in my head. I was just thinking that maybe if I resist the urge to look at the timer oh it’s killing me it’s killing me. Said the girl to the frog that she was sure was stalking her. The frog though really a toad, would hop away across the yard every time she looked at him. She wanted to kiss him, but toads are skittish. Like a lot of people looking for romance. Which is good you think there’s too many people now? Imagine the world if everyone was brimming with confidence romantically and sexually? Oh lordy, lordy, lordy, it be bad. So really the idea that we need to be confident in love, no. No we don’t. Look we don’t have enough resources. Though you probably should talk to her, just because. I’m glad if you’ve found someone, so I watched bones and there was an episode I watched today. (I’m on season 6) where sweets was in the ring store getting a ring for daisy. And he found out how much it was and my brother who got married shortly after he graduated college took my grandma’s engagement ring got it reset and resized and proposed to his now wife with it. I wanted to make wife, wives, but he is not a polygamist. I don’t really know if I’m doing this right. Sorry. I have love on the brain, maybe I need a boyfriend, oh but how do I get one? I don’t think should reproduce, ok so that’s out. Maybe I should just bake a cake, I like people who like cakes. Unless they’re assholes. Well anyways I’m not really sure about this life thing, I mean it’s not. No I’m not suicidal I’m just not sure about it. Like I don’t know if it’s good or bad, maybe it just is. Oh so I was getting water, and there’s this vine I always think of,
So this person comes up to the fridge where the water thing is, and then we see “inside” and this Hispanic worker is all like “come on guys she needs water” and the pour a pitcher of water through the fridge water hole. Oh I can’t describe it, but I think of that. A lot of things make me smile. Though people don’t smile enough they find reasons to feel bad, as do I. We just need to smile at little things.


----------



## EmpireConquered

When you write you need a clear mind, that's what my friend told me. That writing reflects your inner consciousness, left it bare for people to see. Except that sometimes things are too shameful to write and vulnerability is not exactly the most comfortable state to be in. But write I will, writing is like an addiction- like solving those sudoku puzzles except the only puzzle you're solving is yourself.

From time to time I would feel depressed, as if I never really belonged in a world where people laughs loudly for things I don't exactly care about. Antisocial I would be- arrogant selfish is the word they'll use to describe me. But one wouldn't really love someone whom they don't feel they belong with, when the love comes not as a natural response but as a coercion and all is false. Hypocrisy is the rule they play by and Im disgusted, life was not a charade I'm planning to play for their entertainment.

Independent is my desire and so I shall be.


----------



## Queen Qualia

It's not right. It's ethereal. That's what i want. And I go and get what I want.

I type to the beat of my soul, my heart is too simple for that.

It's all gonna break in my face but I don't care I just wanna wear it to be the beat of the rhythm of the music and the sound of the heat on the street as the people fly by with their faces, all seem to sneer because I am not walking to their beat.

Diamonds twirls as I sip my latte and I stop then, reality of my stomach or something. The world has just switched on me. Everybody. The shadows are back. Bravery has faded, and I'm on the outside looking in. I see them all working. I'm not working, I'm watching. They yawn because I am not thinking to their beat...

I get up and head into the blue... the lights flash as the dubstep fires away and their sequins all flash, like their lives will flash in the drowning flood of alcohol and self-hate. I step quietly away searching as they all fall to the beat; the beat of their collective soul a master that wants to crush them into the ground with a titanium fist.

Time to run for my life.

A gray box... I'm stuck in all the 6 walls of my cube... Running to my beat, but I can't get anywhere, I rock-climb from corner to corner a mile at a time. I need orange juice. An orchard grows in the corner but as I crawl closer it disappears into another corner. The lights fade to black.

It's just black now. Black rubber tar, I rub it between my fingers and toes, but it flies into my nose and my eyes and I'm tarred.

But the feathers fall like snow on Gandalf's body. Soon I'm covered and my face melts through them and I consume it all.
The frost bites at the kites that fly too high, plummeting into the ocean they pay their debts to the Banker of the earth. Washing up years later on the riverbank, an epic unfolds. Strange amphibians of blue and green crawl closer from their steamy jungle floor and bring me to the big kahoona. It's all dark and blue and green until the pig's head of flies appears and hands me a piece of purple fruit. I eat it and die.

The audience claps, laughter follows as the curtain closes and Monty Python sings a lullabye in a minstrel costume.



~~~

yeah. I don't write. ;P


----------



## Moya

Some day I'll have to come to terms with the fact that I will never escape the skin I was placed in.
Never. Fanciful daydreams aside, I am what I was made, and what I make of myself, and what others make of me, and what I make. And what I make is ultimately the most important out of those categories, for if I don't leave my mark on the world, my existence will have been in vain. So I need to find a surefire, consistent way to access the state of Creation.
Creation is a state that incorporates every color of the self, every shade imaginable, into something tangible and real - or not. Self-serving or projected outwards, something for others to consume, a piece of yourself to share, the bits of yourself you don't hide. Something for people to love. Something for people to despise. Art can be despicable, sometimes because it makes you feel _too many things_ and you're not comfortable with that.
But the one thing Creation should never be is forced, molded; it is your clay. Fuck what anyone else says, that shit is yours, that's your metaphorical Play Doh and no one should ever have the right to impose their will on your art, on your soul, on the things that are sacred and unique to you. Mold your concepts into the tallest of mountains, the bluest of skies, the vastest of oceans, and the longest of roads. Never let anyone infringe upon your individuality.
It's so easy to give yourself away, regardless of how selfish and narcissistic you are. (I am.) You can take pieces of yourself, little shards, like broken stained glass. Like the outermost layer of something complex and fascinating, but stripping every layer down until all that's left is the core, and it's vulnerable and that's all you'll have left of yourself. That's something you can never, ever get back. You must lock your skin away in precious glass trinket boxes else thieves may want to pick away at it, take it for themselves, enraptured by how the light inside shines through and gilds you (and even the blindest of men can see that).


----------



## 66393

I'm sort of buzzed right now, not something I usually partake in. I feel disconnected from my body, it's funny. I feel like my soul is a few steps back from my physical being. I am confused how I am properly typing this message. I'm listening to music right now. I feel the sound waves pulsating from my chin to the top of my head. It's quite beautiful to hear single notes meld together forming vibrant chords. Music doesn't even need words put to it; words are limitations on what the listener may take out of the song in my opinion. When you hear a chord progression, the feeling it may give everyone is so broad.

I can't even feel the keyboard I am writing on. And my eyes feel as if they are being tugged down by a string. But the puppeteer controlling the strings on my eyes is tugging oh so gently, merely coaxing me to go to sleep. I am a rebel in nature, so I will fight the feeling of tiredness as long as I can with the tainted willpower I am currently operating under. 

I feel so in sync with the inanimate objects around me, but so out of sync with myself. I guess we can only have one or the other at a time. Some people may call me stupid for being on drugs right now, but the chemistry of my brain has only changed. Our brain releases chemicals while we are sober which cause us to perceive the world as we do. So, in essence, being sober is pretty much another form being drugged, a drug we are all acclimated to. Okay, I think my ten minutes are up. I'd love to keep going, but I'm going to play piano and watch the notes lift away to oblivion.


----------



## JaySH

Castruccio said:


> Yo yo yo wassup wassup give up the rock, this my rap track son
> I like glazed honey buns
> they don't give me the runs
> I eat that shit for funs
> and don't even need the tums
> I also liked skittles
> even when I was little
> when I was just a kiddo
> playin' with my little playdough
> Readin' the works of Plato
> republic in yo Aristotle
> water bottle gotta waddle
> to the bathroom, no time to dawdle
> like my dreidel, but I ain't Jewish
> In my shtetl, homie you wish
> I celebrated Diwali, whatever that is
> this just practice
> phonies can't match this
> They jealous of my fat tits
> but I ain't female, buy it up, retail,
> capitalism for cronies, homies
> I'll deck y'all in y'all's domies
> phonies, ponies, i'm the sickest
> slickest
> dickest
> prickest
> pocket fulla posey
> but you ain't fallin down in ashes
> this ain't the black plague
> homie this ice age
> we crossin' the Bering Strait
> a new world we'll populate
> we'll multiply and we'll mate
> 'till Columbus delivers us to our fate.
> 
> Word to ya moms.


I'll see yo rap and I raise you fiddy
Sorry ass rhymes jus' like p-diddy 
you ain't got shit to give me
you came in yappin yapping
All I see is gums flappin' flappin' 
thinkin' you might win's the sad thang
Cause that shit ain't gonna happen

Really thought I had more
but realized what the fuck for
you'll read this and be buttsore
Crying big ass tears galore
pathetic
I said it
and shred it
you bet it
you'll get it
but instead it
gets you 
know credit
made yo bed it
Was ready
til you wet it
Just Don't let it
Make you 
fuckin' regret it


I came to win
and win I will
They say fightin's a sin
...................
..................
SO I AIM TO THRILL

Pssst...all in fun man...

------------------------
i actually wrote this right after the quoted post but it never posted....just went to post something new and saw the "restore ..." So, clicked it and said...meh..why not. It sucks but, hey, made me smile.


----------



## Max

Alright, here goes:

 I seen her standing there at the corner, lost and disheveled looking. I approached her with a smile; she told me her name was Maria, I told her mine was Kris. She smiled at me and she told me about herself. I was fascinated. She was delighted that someone had taken time out of their busy schedule to comfort her, and inspire her to do better. We began to visit each other more often, becoming closer and closer with each passing day. We shared many secrets, desires, plans and beliefs. But the one important thing she didn't tell me was...

... That she was a fucking dominatrix! The bitch screwed me over! DAMN!

I'm sitting here, barely able to move, telling you this story because I have nothing better to do. She has me tied to the bed, hands and legs bolted, gasping for a breath. Man, she's like a female sadomasochistic Quagmire! The harder she shoves her fingers down my throat, the harder I wanna puke.

But, it also arouses me.

Fuck.

What if I make a massive mess and it goes viral?! 

DUN DUUUNN DUUUUUN!!


----------



## ParetoCaretheStare

You are in control of the symbols that I choose to interpret because you're the creator of them, depicting your own self. Because you are making sure of my reaction to your creation, you must have been the creator of me for my reactions to have been such pliable clay models. I realize the experiences which we bring must be balanced for this to occur, and this somehow construes everything. I want to fade away as well. But you won't! Why this has to last so long for me is impossible to comprehend in peace. Somehow this tension creates such disillusionment to my world that mind-numbing paralysis deceives my body and I entrap myself further into the cave of intentional ignorance. It's an enthralling place to be, especially since it's closer to you. The sad leaves of this book float around somewhere in space-blown bubbles and I don't know how! Anymore, especially with this guilt that I am now forced to carry with me on a daily and hourly, secondly basis. Really, where does God or where do They draw the line anymore? Why must I be a fool in this purgatory of lies and sadistic humor? I'm even let you choose what to believe in for me, that's how much I'm afraid I fall in love, and that's how much I've fallen in love with you. It's worse than some kind of spider bite glance, this is an infection which cannot be eliminated and the more walls of hatred I build against ever seeing you again the more fearful I get that I'll just be suffocated slowly again, but this time threatened with a sly arrow. But that would only happen if I ever attempt to leave, so I plan to not ever do so! I am officially writing this ahead of the potential for us to ever even have anything that deep so that the destiny will be entirely yours. I cannot be the holder of my own life anymore and the more time goes by the more afraid I become that I'm actually weaker than the day before. It takes so much effort for me to go about my day but for some reason it's been far too simple for me to randomly start dreaming about you, ever since. I know the idea of this world being so cruel but all I want to do is replace that substance with something so much purer it disgusts me to know that the others would be so aware! This farm. It's not too late and let's go already.


----------



## Amine

Watercolourful said:


> Set a timer for ten minutes, feel free to go over if you're on a roll, and just start writing. Anything. Let it flow out.


Let just flow out? Hm, this should be interesting. Here goes:

*

Fuck, shit. Fuck fuck shit. FUck, ass. Whore, bitch, cunt. MOther fucker. Cunt. Ass. Ass. Whore. Bitch fuck ass shit. Cunt. Piece of shit. Fucking bitch. Whore. Cunt. Shit. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Whore. Cunt. Fuck. Whore. Fucking cunt of whore. Whore cunt. Fucking bitch cunt whore ass whore fucker bitch cunt mother fucker whore whore whore whore whore fuck bitch bitch whore shit fucker mother fuck piece of shit bitch fuck ass whore cunt fuck whore bitch fuck whore cunt fuck whore fucker fucking fuck fucking fucker bitch dick shit poop ass bitch shithead fucker shit ass bitch bitch cunt bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fucker shit fuck fucker. Fucking fuck fucker fuck. Fucker fucker. Fucking bitch ass bitch cunt bitch shit fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fucking fucker. Shit . I hate you. Fuck. FUCKKKK. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. SHIT. SHIIIIIIIT. Ass. Jesus. Cunt. Mother fucker. fucking cock. Shit. Cock shit. AIUFK. Fucker. Fucking shit ass mother fucker fuck. Bitch mother fucker. Fucking hell. Rotten hell. Fucking rot in hell fuck. Fucker fuck fucking fuck. Shitty fucking fucker. Yeah. Ok. Yeah. Right. I think I got that out of my system. Ok. Let's see now what should I write about. Well, fucking yeah. Ok. Fuck. One thing is I couldn't write all the racist or otherwise discriminatory words that came to mind. I had to pause whenever that happened. It happened a lot. Is that bad. I think that's pretty ... fuck. I think it's fine. I dunno. Can't control my mind. There's a lot of noise. This is just what it is like. I dunno. Fucking yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Ok I gotta start making sense. Can't let that shit happen again. What should I talk about. I gotta think a coherent thought here. Trying to let this flow. Ok. My dishwasher is open over there. Yeah. I still gotta finish my milk. My stomach is kinda hungry. Fuck. Words. Yeah. I have a pet rabbit. She is white and has spots. She isn't an albino. Fuck. No OK I can't cuss anymore. Mouse. Keys. Room. Existence. I am here. I am god. I am nothing. I am everything. I am hell. I am forever. FOREVER!!!!!! Forever is a long time. Forever is forever. Clouds and shit. Yeah. I like things. I like liking things. It's good. Sometimes I feel good. Good is good. It's ok. Life is yeah. Fuckin o shit fuck SHIT SHIT! Fuck. No. Ok time to write. Yes. More thoughts. Let's see... things. Yes, things. More things. Snakes and badgers and eels and fun. Yes, more. More is good.

*

10 minutes.


----------



## Adena

I live in sadness for no reason. I should be happy, and I am. Well, I'm happy for the people around me: I have the most wonderful parents, amazing sisters, and loveable friends. I've never experienced death, cruelty, abuse or neglect. I was never poor, I always have plenty of food on my plate. Basically, I have everything I could ever wish for, there's no reason for me to be sad. My life is practically perfect in every single way, and that's exactly the problem: I feel it's too good to be true. I'm constantly on the lookout for things that can go terribly wrong; I don't know, I might be raped at any moment - 1 in every 5 women gets her body violated, and there's a 20% that's going to be me, or someone close to me. I could one day get a phone call from someone, saying my family has been badly hurt in a car accident, maybe even lost their lives. I used to have nightmares about family members dying in an airplane crash. 

Life is too short, too fragile. No one close to me has died yet, and that's making me anxious. I don't want to get older, because as you get older everyone around you dies. One day, I'm about to lose my loved ones, and I can't imagine how I'd survive without any of them. In the reality I exist in, I'm fortunate to not live in the area of my country that is a warzone. Actually, I am so fortunate to have this joyful life, I'm just afraid of the moment that god will pop my bubble of pink, fluffy dreams and I'll get sucked into the real world. Beheading, cutting, blood and guts. I read about the death of people I could know, people I should know, and people from my own. I feel so bad for them, and I cry. Sometimes, I cry without a reason. I have a strong feeling that something awful will happen to me, and now it's just a matter of time. The clock goes _tick tock, tick tock,_ and it's waiting to break.
~~~~~~
that felt good, I should try writing a diary.


----------



## chickadee213

The quiet is loud and it's eating my mind.
I wouldn't mind if you'd say it, I'd just mind that I have to hear it.
Heard you got in. Congrats on impressing yourself.
Selfishness is encroaching, approaching from all sides.
My side hurts from the laughter.
Laughter doesn't make it better.
Better to love this way than no way at all.
All I need is clarity.
Clarity is fogging my judgement.
You judge me and you don't know anything.
Anything can't happen.
Happenings make me anxious.


----------



## EmpireConquered

I'm supposed to take a bath and go to class right now.
I will, but just in ten minutes, after all, the fifteen minute respite weren't there for nothing.
I wonder why some people ask me for help with concepts- it's an evil thing, but I hate to help people who wouldn't help themselves.
Why don't they just give an ounce of effort before wagging their tail for help?
It's unseemly, because personally I won't do it.
If it were me, I would do it all by myself and work as hard as I can before I can sacrifice my pride and ask for help.
Except things weren't really about me, isn't it?
If everybody were like me, I'm not sure I will like that either.
But it's the values of those kind of people who wants to use their mind and think for themselves that I'm desperately seeking.
It's almost like feeling asphyxiated in a world where everybody is simply just... wrong.
For the longest time ever, I never felt as if I belong.
It was always fake laughter, polite smiles that kept me going.
One day, I would realize that maybe it's not them who's in the wrong.
It's me. 
But right now, I'm pampering my ego to think differently,
Strengthen my defense mechanism,
while drinking a toast on how fucked up I've turn to become.
Anyway, it's only 5 minutes.
But I'm going to run late.
So bye.


----------



## Adena

I know you're mad at me and I know you're upset. I wish I could help, I really wish I could make a difference- but I can't, because I don't know. I just don't have a single clue. If you could fill my ears with what's on your heart, maybe we wouldn't feel so bad, maybe it wouldn't be so insulting. But no, you don't tell me. You're keeping all the bad things inside your own head, while I keep on thinking and wondering where did I go wrong, what ungodly mistake have I made. It's hurting me, it's eating my guts slowly but surely, and the worst thing is that I can't do a fucking thing about dying while you quietly watch. But it's okay, cause I know you're mad at me and I know you're upset. And after all, I'm only here to please _you._


----------



## Modal Soul

there's a short story competition i want to enter and i've started writing a short story and i'm three sentences in and already at a loss for what else to write i'm afraid my writing capabilities aren't as good as i thought they were which is what's making me hesitant to continue because what if i spend hours, days, weeks on this story only to have it turn out to be a horrible piece of work i couldn't imagine how upset i'd be if that were to happen because then it would mean i wouldn't be able to become a writer or a journalist like i so badly want to become and i'm writing a stream of consciousness post because i hate grammar and punctuation more than anything which hahahahafhahfah makes me even more hesitant to become a writer because they are of course crucial to any decent piece of work except for maybe postmodernist pieces and poetry and well i guess everything depending on how creative you are with your writing style hm okay so i could invent a whole new writing style altogether to accommodate my current writing style one that would accentuate my strengths and hide my flaws i feel like that would be great because i could write in whichever manner i want without feeling limited or constrained speaking of constrained i wish i was freer in both thought and writing because atm i feel like i put limits and boundaries on myself when i shouldn't because i could probably accomplish a wide array of things if i just apply myself with zero limits and boundaries but that's proven difficult over the years because i'm afraid of fucking up which i actually mentioned earlier because to really push myself and try and fail in the end would just prove that i don't have any talent to begin with and that i should just abandon this dream and opt for something more realistic and practical but the thing is i'd be horrible in career paths that require me to be either of those things because i'm a dreamer through and through and i spend way too much time fancying thoughts of changing or inspiring the world with my words or my ideas and to just abandon that because of fear is ridiculous and i can't believe how much control my fear has over me and how much control it has over everyone and how afraid we all are of pushing ourselves because to do so would mean to test yourself which nobody wants to do because assuming you're faultless and perfect is better than having to admit that you may have a few shortcomings or faults you have to work on or you know what it's even worse when you assume you're worthless and talentless because if you pushed yourself and you succeed you'll feel obliged to love yourself or think positive thoughts of yourself which is really hard for some people and that's heartbreaking to me and also quite confusing because i don't know which i fall into am i afraid of success or failure i'll never know because i don't like to think about it i'd rather remain ignorant to my true self and that's horrible because i'm all about self-love i'm a self-love advocate but how can that be if i'm still so terrified of finding out who i really am i'm afraid that what others have said about me in my time on this earth all the negative stuff i'm afraid they might be right


----------



## OberonHuxley

Amine said:


> Let just flow out? Hm, this should be interesting. Here goes:
> 
> *
> 
> Fuck, shit. Fuck fuck shit. FUck, ass. Whore, bitch, cunt. MOther fucker. Cunt. Ass. Ass. Whore. Bitch fuck ass shit. Cunt. Piece of shit. Fucking bitch. Whore. Cunt. Shit. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Whore. Cunt. Fuck. Whore. Fucking cunt of whore. Whore cunt. Fucking bitch cunt whore ass whore fucker bitch cunt mother fucker whore whore whore whore whore fuck bitch bitch whore shit fucker mother fuck piece of shit bitch fuck ass whore cunt fuck whore bitch fuck whore cunt fuck whore fucker fucking fuck fucking fucker bitch dick shit poop ass bitch shithead fucker shit ass bitch bitch cunt bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fucker shit fuck fucker. Fucking fuck fucker fuck. Fucker fucker. Fucking bitch ass bitch cunt bitch shit fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fucking fucker. Shit . I hate you. Fuck. FUCKKKK. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. SHIT. SHIIIIIIIT. Ass. Jesus. Cunt. Mother fucker. fucking cock. Shit. Cock shit. AIUFK. Fucker. Fucking shit ass mother fucker fuck. Bitch mother fucker. Fucking hell. Rotten hell. Fucking rot in hell fuck. Fucker fuck fucking fuck. Shitty fucking fucker. Yeah. Ok. Yeah. Right. I think I got that out of my system. Ok. Let's see now what should I write about. Well, fucking yeah. Ok. Fuck. One thing is I couldn't write all the racist or otherwise discriminatory words that came to mind. I had to pause whenever that happened. It happened a lot. Is that bad. I think that's pretty ... fuck. I think it's fine. I dunno. Can't control my mind. There's a lot of noise. This is just what it is like. I dunno. Fucking yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Ok I gotta start making sense. Can't let that shit happen again. What should I talk about. I gotta think a coherent thought here. Trying to let this flow. Ok. My dishwasher is open over there. Yeah. I still gotta finish my milk. My stomach is kinda hungry. Fuck. Words. Yeah. I have a pet rabbit. She is white and has spots. She isn't an albino. Fuck. No OK I can't cuss anymore. Mouse. Keys. Room. Existence. I am here. I am god. I am nothing. I am everything. I am hell. I am forever. FOREVER!!!!!! Forever is a long time. Forever is forever. Clouds and shit. Yeah. I like things. I like liking things. It's good. Sometimes I feel good. Good is good. It's ok. Life is yeah. Fuckin o shit fuck SHIT SHIT! Fuck. No. Ok time to write. Yes. More thoughts. Let's see... things. Yes, things. More things. Snakes and badgers and eels and fun. Yes, more. More is good.
> 
> *
> 
> 10 minutes.



I hope you don't mind but this post you made broke a period of catatonic silence with intense and powerful laughter and tears of joy..


----------



## OberonHuxley

Read it to this...





never mind...I deleted it because the existential harm would be too great for any reader.


----------



## Swordsman of Mana

this is going to make no sense to most of you, but....

_Yohan wept by the creek, tears of running down his slowly reddening face. 
"little bro", he whispered painfully. "he's dead, he's dead and there's nothing I can do about it. why couldn't I protect him?" that was it. no warning, no time to prepare, just dead. Yohan felt immobilized, like poison was leeching out from his heart and causing his body to decay. all he could do was wait, wait for the grief to pass and the life to stop draining from his body. but how long would that be? he had nothing now. that which he loved most was taken from him, a gentle flower taken by the searing winds which swept the tundra of this tainted world. 

"well look who it is", came a familiar voice in the distance, as Kieran and his crew of lackies appeared in the distance. Yohan's eyes narrowed. "looks like your brother won't be hear to join us. that pussy probably died wailing his eyes out as usual"

"you, it's your fault", Yohan growled, the sweet, boyish voice dropping into a formidable soprano. "all I asked was that you leave us alone, that you cease from making our lives any harder than they already were....but you couldn't do that"

"oh are gonna cry now? your sissy healing magic doesn't scare us!" Kieran jeered, accompanied by the laughter of the other cronies. 

Yohan picked up his sword, still in it's sheath. "death is too good for you. memories of this night will haunt your dreams. you will not know a moment's rest as long as I am alive"

"hahaha! you're so full of.... AGH!" Yohan flew at his tormentor, crushing his nose instantly with his sheathed blade. "YOU! how dare you!" he sniveled, flailing on the ground like a dying fish. 

"let's get him!" the other boys yelled, charging headlong.

Yohan looked up slowly, his emerald eyes seething like a snake. "none shall escape" he declared, swiftly kicking the closest attacker in the sternum, connecting with a series of strikes that knocked the boy to ground. "who's next?"

"you're still no match for our magic!" the remainders jeered, conjuring mini projectiles of ice, lighting, rock and plasma, which they launched at him.

"hahahaha! numbers won't save you!" Yohan easily brushed away the assault with a sweep of his hand, conjuring in it a white-hot ball of holy fire

"impossible!" they screamed, attempting to make a run for it. "he's only supposed to use healing magic!"

"too late" from the flames spit out a barrage of smaller fireballs, buffeting the remaining cronies as they attempted to flee and leaving them with severe burns from head to foot. as soon as they fell to the ground, Yohan grabbed the first boy by the hair and flung him into their midst, continuing to bombard them and creating a circle of flames, just powerful enough to cook them for about 15 minutes without killing them.

just before he could turn around, Kieran rose, attempting to smash Yohan's head from behind with a massive rock. "coward!" Yohan roared, breaking the boy's arm with his knee along with a few of his ribs with his free hand before kicking in his knee, biting into his neck with a snarl and spitting the blood back in his eyes. finally, he knocked him back on the ground with a swing to the head and unsheathed his sword, barely pricking the boy's neck as he lay paralyzed with fear."be grateful to the dead boy whom you mock, for it is by his mercy that you remain among the living"

and with that, Yohan left the mass of bloody bullies to fair as they would. with his father's seal upon his enrollment parchment, Yohan departed, stopping only to gaze upon the kingdom for what would be the last time in many years. _


----------



## Amine

OberonHuxley said:


> I hope you don't mind but this post you made broke a period of catatonic silence with intense and powerful laughter and tears of joy..


Lols yeah it's fun. I think I can just turn off my superego and ego and get down to the pure id. Like I said it could've actually been worse. There's some sick shit lurking down there. People'd freak out.


----------



## OberonHuxley

Once again...had to erase this story because it would have been so damaging to the reader.


----------



## OberonHuxley

The above was brilliantly typed at work. Cheers!


----------



## 121689

It’s funny
How we all aspire to be
that perfect couple
in the TV screen.
When really,
our realities themselves are
thousands upon thousands and a thousand more
times interesting and fearful and romantic
than those silly stories could ever hope to become.
That’s the thing about life.
Unlike over written, over produced movie scripts,
and generic lyrics printed in black and white,
we can’t predict what will come next…
day in…and day out.
It’s beautiful, it’s indescribable, literally
anything could happen…anything.
This gives us all a very peculiar view of the world. 
A view unique to only us. 
A way of life only lived best by us.
And us alone.
We don’t need the knight in shining
armour or the blue-eyed 
blonde sitting alone in a coffee shop. 
This is your life to live,
your choices to make. Fully yours. 
And it is worth so much more
than any TV love story you
will ever see.​


----------



## nuut

He couldn't believe it, above his head rested a flying orb. Only it wasn't an orb, it was a planet. And it wasn't flying, but he was too stupid to understand. He was merely an ant that traveled across the world -- well, what he perceived to be the world. To him, the only world that existed was the one he could see. To contemplate the possibility of there being beyond his reach was idiotic he thought. For he, the ant, a tiny speck of insignificant dust that lived on this planet, believed himself to be grand. He was intelligent of course, why else would have abandoned his duties to his queen for a life of fruitless exploration. He never cared for fruit.

Why did he leave? No one knew. Not even him.

During his travels he had met many insects, some similar to himself -- but more hostile. He was above them, so he carried on with his directionless search for god knows what.

(i have no idea)


----------



## OberonHuxley

_So this is what *human flesh* tastes like, _thought the man. _I wonder where my wife is, _he continued.

"Honey! come taste this doctor he is delicious!" the man screamed.

"Oh, sweet pea, you've eaten another doctor?" She replied as she walked into the garage.

The man was sitting hunched over a carcass with blood dripping down his chin. 

"Oh! Dear! He was scrumptious. Plus, he kept bringing up all those annoying things that happened to me in grade school. I had to take a big bite out of his neck while I pretended to show him some wacky thing I told him was here in the garage," the man said with a full bite in his mouth.

"What thing is that, Howard? Have you stolen property again?" his wife looked at him with a reprimanding nod and shake of the finger. She was a buxom blonde with blues eyes, a real head turner.

"Oh no....you see...I promised him that we would have a threesome," the man said laughing out loud. He was hysterical. After he finished eating he packed away some of the meat into the fridge and cheek and had the same dreams Dr. Conway may have had if he weren't digesting in Howard's stomach.


----------



## ScientiaOmnisEst

* *




I will do whatever it takes to distract myself - or so I said. Yet my thoughts go back to you no matter what. I miss you. I want you to hear it, but I'm too afraid.

I just learned that she hurt you. You fucking stupid idiot, you threw me away - when it turned out I need you the most - for someone who did the same thing to you. I can see it and I want to say something. But you want her and not me. And it's killing me to see you crave her like this. All those words, all that meaning, that love, that passion - why can't you direct it at me?

Oh, wait, you did. Or something damn close. Then you cast it aside and forgot about me. How much of that was even real? How many of those messages, how much of those long conversations, when you said you loved talking to me, that you wanted so badly to meet me, to just be with me - how real was it if it could all be changed in a day? If you've gone from taking time to talk to me about nothing in particular to being unable to imagine yourself with anyone but her? God, this is killing me...to know that she completes you in a way I probably never could...

Perhaps I misunderstand you - I know we have terribly different personalities in some ways. I'm trying to understand, I don't want to demonize you, I love you too much. But I'm also aching inside. If you ask, I'll take you back. We can start over. I'll try to understand if anything like this happens again, I promise. I'm ready to throw myself down and beg - but my pride could never allow me to do it. I want to be desperate, I am desperate, but I will not let it show beyond mere anonymous albeit public venting.

I don't know which is worse - hurting because you're effectively gone or seeing you hurt and wanting someone else to quell the pain.





It seems I always write depressing things on this thread....


----------



## ScarlettHayden

Well this is a cool idea but I have no idea what to write.. usually when I do this I go on random tangents about nothing. Though I suppose I could describe my day.. which has been like every over day. Drifting through the bouncy clouds of consciousness smiling when I come across a bunny rabbit.. or something. I'm imagining this bunny rabbit to be pink, don't ask why. So anyway, I jump into the pink bunny rabbit and become it for a little while. See what life is like as a pink bunny rabbit for a day. Turns out it's incredibly tranquil.. but sometimes there are some red giant ants that decide they want to chase after me because I'm just too cute and apparently look very edible. So I jump into my time machine which hops me across into the next dimension, and there are like these space carrots just floating around. They taste like marshmellows and I think I could definitely live here in this life. But alas reality calls back to me and I'm left wandering the neurons inside my own brain stem. It's very large in here. I think I could definitely fill it up with more things. There should be a little ruby bracelet on the left corner of my hypothalamus.. that would definitely warm it up some. My temperature is usually too cold and I have to resort to eating chocolate frogs to keep me stable. In a better world I could just zap my magical powers and hey presto.. although come to think of it I kinda already do that already. Scrap what I just said.. I'm actually a magician. I found I can cast spells today of a new kind, creating special elixirs that will give me immortality and the like. I also controlled the past tomorrow, it's a neat little trick I can do. And now I've run out of things to talk about and yet I have three minutes remaining. This was probably the most pointless thing I've ever done in my life but fun all the same. When I'm done I'll go back to flying in space and controlling the weather and generally just expanding my control over the universe.. I think my army in the galactic federation have yet to contact me. Although I was visited by my second in command just this morning actually. Apparently I'm doing a good job with all this procrastinating I'm doing, so I've been feeling pretty chuffed with myself. Although I have yet to discard such time consuming activities like eating and sleeping, so I'm still working on taking my procrastinating skills to the next level. When I have done I'll fade into nothing and exist only as a dream in a memory in a hologram.

Time up.


----------



## C47

Gross, gross, gross gross

The feeling that you will never amount to anything or make any sort of impact on anyone or anything is something that... does it hurt?

I am pretty apathetic to the point where people have pushed me away because

I am just too draining

An empty black hole that never stops wanting

I am angry and bitter half of the time and barely there the other half

God is funny. God is cruel. I am one of the worst jokes he has ever made, and I laugh. 

What a beautiful day though. Like an omen, or what is that word? There is a word I have in mind, but I can't just think of it. Too many years of numbing yourself out does that to you. You start forgetting things and you start losing your shine. Your joints rust and you ache for the years you've lost. But you know what, it's my own fault so

However, you can change. As long as you're living, you can still change

Whether you make the decision or not is up to you but just remember that laws are nothing

A letter to myself or to you, I have no idea

Just words


----------



## Bipedal P 314

My anger and resentment is poisoning everything good in me. I'm losing what little decency I had to begin with. My contempt is overflowing. I can't help but hate the people around me. I've been angry for so long that I don't remember what it feels like to not be bogged down in this seething rage. Confirmation that the one person who was supposed to care about me unconditionally utterly detests everything about me. The one person who claimed that she would choose me over anyone in the world. I've always suspected from childhood that I played second string to others - her precious dog being chief among them. Us against the world she said when my dad left her for a stripper. Spoon fed me that lie for my entire life. I've always suspected I was alone in the world, felt I was alone, now I know for sure that I was alone, am alone, and will always be alone. All I have is my contempt. All I need is my contempt. I'll use her for the time being and when I can finally rid myself of her I'll do it like I've done with my father and every other person in my life that slipped into obsolescence.


----------



## Fear Itself

He loved and loathed the lack of clarity regarding his existence. Always seeing through a blurred lens, and hearing through muffled ears. The constant white noise in the background, his mind whispering an incoherent sound. 

Another day goes by.

He tries to find meaning, attempting to snap out of the daze. Who is a friend in this world of apathy and self-worship? Where silence is viewed as a lack of personality, intellect, and depth. Shouting out in a war of words is democracy. The strings are pulled by unseen forces, but the puppet is the star of the show. 

Another year. 

He is still waiting, still searching. Going through the motions of life without feeling. When does he really get his chance to live?


----------



## Arcane

Is this supposed to be a story, or can I just write about anything? 

Well lets see, it's about 8 am. I've been awake since 3 or 4, I have a weird sleeping schedule. My boyfriend and I were going to Skype, but I fell asleep on him. I checked my messages and he said "You left me again! I miss you so much. Why do you leave me?" and if you've seen some of my past posts or comments by chance (I'm new, and I've been on quite frequently since I've joined) you will know that he's sensitive and annoying at times. I love him though. So I messaged him and said "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." and after that I messaged my friend Kody, he was asleep as well. So really I hadn't talked to anyone. Then Joe (boyfriend) went on and said "It's ok I'm used to it. I miss you so much" despite me talking to him all day yesterday. He said he loves me so much, he would kill himself for me. I said I loved him too... And he put a sad face and said he had to go, then he went to school. 

I made a Boca burger (aka fake meat) and some fries. That was my breakfast. Because I don't really like making breakfast at home. Then I went on here, wrote some things in my biology notes, had some coffee, that has been the past few hours. 

Today is going to be boring. My car is broken so I'm basically stuck at home, and I hate walking because it's 90F outside constantly. I just plan on watching a few movies, studying a bit, talking to a few friends online, going on here.. Nothing much. Maybe I'll go down the a small diner across the street, or not. I enjoy being at home and away from people, but I miss doing things I usually do. 

The end.


----------



## disguise

I walked amidst a mass of grey water. The individual droplets pushed and tossed into different directions, but the inevitable attraction between them forced the whole to keep moving in unison. I was yet no more than a part of the flowing entity. However tall I stood or high I reached my fingers up towards the gleaming sun, I did not stand out, not by an inch. Not even a shade of me was scattered across the surface of grey, not a whisper was heard escaping my lips. Involuntarily I swayed along. I was chained to this existence, and even if I passionately yearned a life of the seagull, I could not disassemble this stagnating body and rise above what I had thought to be a part of me from the long forgotten beginning. I could not turn my gaze down towards this ocean and evaluate it from a distance. I could perhaps take a glimpse at my feet with all their individual toes pointing to a point of destiny, but that would only make my expression gloomy and make the water rise into a roaring storm. I wished I could extend my wings and head back North to where I had come from. Only if I could ignore the shame I felt for be a part of a mass murder, a destruction the most horrid kind, I could be freed from a guilt that was carving a hollow inside of me. A certain disquietude ripped at my center as I thought of the edge I was to fall over. Then, as to exemplify the depressed momentum of the colorless front, a lonely tear ran down my reddened cheek. It followed the curves of my naked soul, shouting an aching echo out into the distance. As an answer to my plead an arrow rushed through the still air to hit my neck. Another ran after it to come to an end at the right of my chest. A third pierced through my back as its feathered tail left teetering in the air from its quickly stifled energy. A realization ran down my disintegrating body, shaking me vivaciously as I slowly sank lower and lower: They all had cried. A drowning mass enveloped me in its comfort and silenced my terror. Sudden grayness filled me, as I became no more than an unidentifiable part of the current. Like this I was finally flushed over the staggered edge I so had feared. I had won and lost the battle all at once. I knew the sun would never rise above the horizon again, but there was no pain for a dead soul.


----------



## Joestar

Where... where am I... I can feel my body... sinking... deeper... 
The men that have died because of my selfishness... because... of me...
I am buried under the weight of all those bodies... how strange... I can't... feel
anything... what's that...? *The very last tear you shed.
When a person knows the deepest suffering one can bear so deep that they break free
from their original self. Their compassion dies... behelits... these are just droplets
of the waves of the ocean that is the other world. A mere glimpse of what is to come.
A calling from the other side.


----------



## Bipedal P 314

I admit that I took a few minutes to clean it up a bit after the 10 minutes were up. No more than 5.

Gasping deeply as the blade slid into my abdomen my eyes widened. Blood flowed forth like a well-spring. Astonished I turned my agonized gaze toward the face of my executioner. _No, it can't be! Why? _I couldn't speak, the pain was too great even as I slipped into the softened semi-unconsciousness of shock. Looking down I saw the patterned welded steel of the dagger draw out of the wound before returning to my abdomen up to the hilt. Reaching toward my attacker I gripped his right shoulder with my left hand and looked into his eyes. With my remaining resolve I glared at him before allowing an agonized grin to drift across my face. 

As I stared into his eyes I produced a 19[SUP]th[/SUP] century Elliot Light Dragoon pistol with my right hand, set the hammer to full-cock, raised the barrel to his chest and squeezed the trigger. 

When the flint struck the frizzen sending sparks into the flash-pan the primer ignited erupting in a bright orange fireball with a cloud of gray smoke. After a short delay the primary charge detonated sending a .62 caliber lead ball from the barrel striking the attacker, shattering his sternum, transecting his aorta and exiting through his back an inch to the left of his spine. His hand released the dagger and we both fell to the floor in unison. 
As I lay there bleeding I couldn't help but wonder how it turned out this way. I pulled the familiar blade from the wound in my abdomen and eyed it intently. The blade would tell more than the corpse across from me would and I hid it under the display case I had been pressed against. _Find it. Find it and learn what it means. _Slowly I began to lose sensation in my extremities, feeling the weakness spread to my core. Everything began to go silent and my vision began to fade into a relentlessly narrowing cone of visible light, the color draining from the environment, until finally all that was left was a bright white envelopment and all sensation left me in darkness.


----------



## blood roots

The more I know the more I want to disappear. Knowledge becomes a drug. Fatally numb. The lower I sink the higher I feel, and the more euphoric I become. A godly abyss, a religious affair. My thoughts are stretched far from the truth...there is no truth. Its all built up in my mind. A complete, made-up damned universe. It feeds me but it destroys me. I can't live with it and I can't live without it. If I continue to play, can I survive? Is that even possible in a fog this fucking dense? Let's say I don't play...then what? Do I resign? Have I already resigned? When I try to look inside everything is blurred. I can't see through it all. I can't sift through it, I can't organize it. Thoughts become more and more distorted. Images of the unfathomable pass through my head. Every whisper is a threat. Every face molds into the enemy. The nameless convict that must be blamed. Everything becomes a paralyzing fantasy, the walls start to deform and bend at my will. Lights are more vibrant. Meaning exists everywhere. Every move is terrifying. If I touch the ground I'll dissolve. If I enter the world I'll only exist in suffering. My thoughts contradict each other, one steps forward, the other one back. Go this way, turn right, turn left, step back, keep going, stop. Puppet-like movements. If you move forward you will either be hurt or be betrayed. If you pick up this glass you will either suffer lightly or suffer intensely. Both lead to the same fate. If I don't commit I retract back into my mind. Which is worse? Death or the psyche? Everything outside the object is just as disgusting as the object itself. I don't just want to harbor this, I want to bleed. I dare you to rip me open.


----------



## Black Rabbit

How did I even get here? Why has all this happened to me? 

A good friend of mine commented that I live life in complete extremes, seeking what lies on the edges of the spectrum, reconciling with what I find. There's a restlessness inside of me, seeking something greater within. It elevates me prestigiously - rubbing elbows with multi-millionaires, drops me to down to a subterranean gutter - wiping my white nose next to prostitutes. But as my vision is steadfast on the edges that keep me in, I fear my world will soon turn to black as I tip-toe the line between reality and...whatever it is my brain tempts me with daily.

A part of me reassures me that all will be well and it's that same part that gives me a foreboding feeling that I've only begun to endure madness.


----------



## blood roots

no


----------



## Innogen

"Food's in the microwave! Bye!"

The front door closed. The boy was home alone for the night. Oh, what to do, what to do, he thought. Perhaps he should grab his cell phone, call a few of his friends, have a little party. And so he walked over to the living room, picked up his phone, and was about to type in his passcode if it weren't for his lock screen. A beautiful pink flower. It looked too pretty and delicate to touch, even though it was just a lock screen. He wanted to sniff it. And so he did. The smell of sweat from his hands met his nostrils. Ew.

Suddenly feeling all curious, he put down the phone and dropped to all fours. Looking around him, he saw that the house was dark except for a lamp on the dining table. Cold, too. Crawling over, he grabbed the lampshade with both his hands and felt it up with his thumbs. Warm cloth against his soft fingers. Crawling back to the living room, he sniffed the coffee table, and was disappointed by the absence of coffee smell. Oh, well.

He saw that the stairwell and the hallway above was completely dark. Interesting. He crawled up the stairs.


----------



## Golden Rose

Rosalie let her golden curls fall down on her reddened skin, caressing the spiderwebs of freckles adorning her back and shoulders, a vanity mark she both loved and hated with a passion. As she dipped a foot into the cold stream, she reflected on how love and hatred were both the bane of her existence, the overly succinct quote some more erudite writers would place next to her portrait one day, one day when she'd be more than an expendable country belle from a soon-to-be war torn country. But Rosie didn't do portraits, Rosie didn't do pictures. The black and white blob on thick paper obscured her summer-like passion, the stretched smile she forced the curves of her mouth into, seemed to paint the portrait of a cold and polished child with too many unfulfilled dreams to look pretty. She heard that a lot, she heard it daily from Jacob, in that song-like drawl she loved to make fun of as she flicked his luscious dark tan skin and stifled a giggle at the absurdity of his plans... "Let's run away, Rosie! Let's leave this hick country behind." She wished she could believe him, she would have taken the chance in a heartbeat were he indeed able to ride that rusty bike and were her feelings for him any less hazy. 

Julie would have done it, no doubt. Julie already tried to leave that hellhole more than once, without a plan, without a destination, just that kind of fiery passion and hopeless boredom that characterized her... slouched shoulders shrugging away frantic panic in the eyes of her mentors, pearl clutching and snide whispers suffocated by offers of sweet tea and quick stifled prayers on the way home. She admired Julie, sometimes she wondered whether she wanted to be her or inside her, like in one of those forbidden novels she used to sneak out from the library, fully aware that she could receive a whipping were it not for her pretty manners and prettier face. Rosie didn't want to get anyone in trouble, though, so she resorted to curl up in a dusty corner of the silent library and finger the most interesting passages, planning to savor them at a later time while sitting near the riverbed. But Julie was cropped hair and ripped stockings, an openly defiant gaze and a rough thick accent, eager to burn the world through a stolen cigarette. Rosalie was never like her, she could've been of course, but something in her mannered and naively alluring way of crossing her legs and flicking her hair, always betrayed her, something in the way she trained herself to conceal the sarcasm behind her "Yes, ma'am", "Good morning, Mrs. Whitley" and "What a lovely dusty brown color, perfect choice for a modest dress to wear to the ball" daily pleasantries. Master of deceit, queen of filling the holes in her heart through timely smiles and furtive kisses behind the stalls.

One day Julie would take a bullet, another one Jacob would too. Of that she was sure and no matter how much she tried to help them bite on those reckless tongues, she knew that she wouldn't be able to steer them forever so she already talked her heart into preemptively mourning their loss. She's make such a lovely widow, if only someone cared enough to throw a funeral for some country kids, if only she decided to marry either of them and forget her heart didn't have a name as well. But Rosie knew that, despite her indifference to politics, she had mastered enough to survive through the year, to survive through a lifetime. One day she'd be able to walk down city streets and wear corsets, one day she'd be able to talk down to all of the Mrs. Whitleys that haunted her life, concealing her bruises with expensive powder. But would she ever be able to cover up those on her heart? Damn you Jacob, damn you Julie and damn everyone in this farm-smelling piece of static life for making her care so much, for making her rue her dreams before they even came to fruition. Was it really what she wanted? Maybe she should take a bullet instead, as long as her golden locks were allowed to shower down in the sun, her fall dramatically broken by some handsome guard. 

She laughed at her own thoughts and stretched her legs in the sun, were she more cultured she could have compared herself to a water nymph but teaching herself to read and appreciate those big words was hard enough. If anyone ever walked by that secluded slice of greenery, she'd have coquettishly gotten up and grabbed the dirty laundry in her basket and pretended to scrub. Oh how she'd have loved to scrub their judging, dull expressions off their faces instead! But in that moment she wasn't a delusional teenager, with sunburned pale shoulders and a plastic beam, she was a Goddess and she was a lady. She was the wavering stream in front of her. She was everything she wanted, which puzzled her to no end, as she felt the rain on her cheeks... Curious wasn't it? It wasn't even raining! The sun was bright and the summer sun was lazily claiming everything in its path, like some selfish harlot she read about in a similar forbidden, small printed novel. As she wiped those impudent raindrops she cursed her friends' names once again... perhaps one day, that inevitable shared bullet would finally feel like a high society kiss.


----------



## WithGrace

I'm really depressed
Heavy on my chair
My hand on my hair
I'm in pain
But I won't ask for help
I know I won't gain
Except strengh
I'm complaining...
complaining
I just want to die
And end it all right here
I'm depressed
I'm depressed

Help, I'm out of my own control
Help, my tears are running, please hold
Hold on my soul
I'm sad 
Just sad
I'm really sorry my life
Sometimes I feel like I'm cheating on you
I'm just not being able to be myself most of the time
I want to be
To grow
To live
To love
But, the question keeps hammering me again:

To be or Not to be.


I never thought I'd ask myself this question. I happen to keep write it out un-awaringly on my text book it's been a good time.
I thought I chose To Be
Now I'm not sure anymore...

I'm in pain...
:'(


----------



## Booyou

@WithGrace , Are you ok?


----------



## Booyou

Damn. Sorry. This is so terrible. 
Hope makes sense though/o/

--------------------------------
I thought I forgot this feeling.
My shaky fingertips are intimidated by the cold, empty space.
Several years gone by since I last touched this white surface.

I am now left alone with my own self
In the terminal from the abstract to concrete.

Abstract speaks louder inside my mind, everything feels real, whole, and it just makes sense.
But Concrete, it filters, erases, deforms and tame, and nothing, not even a single word remains the same.
That’s when I wonder:
Is it me, is this what I am?
Or is this just a stain on an empty sheet?
A consequence of my inability to deal with the concrete.
Words , they scream, they yell,
With the strength of thousand voices whose owners are unnamed.
But they can’t get out of my head
They are afraid of crossing that line.
Because once filtered they can't go back
The line is the judge that rules the bong.
Decides who overpasses to see what's beyond
Over that line, the world for me is still unknown.


----------



## snail

Apple cores don't really exist, but the cyanide seeds taste like real almonds. They are venomous snake bites, walking in Eden with soft light on naked limbs before I knew poison existed, eating my fill of anything I wanted, with nobody to tell me "food is guilt." That argument escalated quickly, about the chickens in the bun being labeled "guilt free" because calories are worse than murder and how having my body is somehow the ultimate sin, the physical aspects of the hated softness I cherish and protect like a lover, the parts that let me float like a balloon in water to rise above all of the shallow puddles of toxic grime they use to stone us every time we are caught alone in a dark alley, but it's rarely a stranger who hurts us. It's the ones we know who learn our language well enough to curse in it, like my friend's mother or the man who haunts my past with hard fists thudding bright lights through my eyes, sounding like surreal drumbeats without any actual pain. I'm floating above myself the way I float in water for being a balloon, yes it was for floating and for cat whiskers, for having a body, and I am a ghost who rides a bicycle because the body was never worth enough to hate. It is just another paintbrush dipped in pretty colors to describe the warm places where electricity flows in the walls, and it is round and full of helium like a floating sun that glows fierce dragon lava to feed the flowers. 

(This is how my thoughts tend to flow, and then I sort them later. These are unsorted and don't make much sense in this form. It has to be considered the way I would try to figure out a dream.)

Interpreted into normal language: 

Words are abstract but have elements that cause real damage while seeming like something harmless. Deceivers accuse innocent choices of being sinful based on skewed priorities and consider being fat worse than killing animals because of body shame and speciesism, and because society is rife with bigotry. Fat and emotional sensitivity are both considered evil, and I fight for the dignity of both because I feel empowered by them, able to retain a positive self-image despite being hated by strangers. Realistically our friends and family can hurt us more because they know us better. Abusers use violence against us, but I dissociated when it happened to me, and my fat protected my body from injury while I was beaten. Part of me is still detached from my body in some sense and I wonder if my unwillingness to consider the body part of the self is related to those traumatic experiences. I see my body as something expressive that my soul uses. It is powerful and nurturing.


----------



## HAL

LOL @ this thread.

Every post in the INTP sub-forum is a case of people taking ten minutes to 'just write'. Heh!

#INTPproblems


----------



## WithGrace

Booyou said:


> @WithGrace , Are you ok?


Booyou, you're so sweet sugar <3
Yes, I am now. 
It's just depression. Comes and goes all the time.

I like what you wrote. Very expressive


----------



## H.G.S.

"She laid on the bed, and looked at the ceiling. The chandelier above, enlivening the interior, spreading into a whole spectrum of colour. She used to dream, when apprehensive, about escaping her ordinary life, but her life was never ordinary. She had simply failed, as she casted her mind back to the days of old, to notice how extraordinary it actually was. Likewise, she never imagined that home, out of all places, would have been something she would have missed."

I know it's not much within a ten minute time frame, but I thought I'd give it a go. I like to write in my spare time, it gives me great pleasure (Most of the time, at least).

roud:


----------



## Wololo

Well, here goes nothing.

I barely just started and I already ran into the type-delete loop. I'm not even sure whether I'd want to pay attention to grammar or just go with what I write. Is deleting what I wrote in this post forbidden? I suppose not, but it might be. I'll check later.

I think I yearn for a small chamber piano jazz concert, just to see what such things feel like. Preferably being played by Richie Beirach (would've preferred Bill Evans, actually, but he passed away so it's not entirely possible). Actually I just started listening to "Like Someone in Love" by Bill Evans. I guess it's appropriate, given the circumstances, although I'd use the word infatuation instead.

It's been a couple of odd months for me, lots of self-analysis, potentially improvement, numerous changes. At some points the fact that I'm changing frightened me, but now I kind of just embrace it. The piano piece didn't buffer, so I had to refresh it. My thoughts started drifting away, and I realized I'm actually thinking in English, which is not my native language. Had that before.

I wonder if music can be considered a language. It's got its own set of rules, a way to write everything down even more precisely than words themselves, and I guess you could say it "speaks" to people in a way. But it's odd how people perceive music in such a different way. I seem to care about the composition much more than lyrics (and actually prefer instrumental music over anything that has vocals), and I find it really difficult to find someone whom I'd be able to discuss music with full passion with, other than my father. I always seem to be in a difficult spot when conversations on music arise because explaining my taste requires a decent amount of knowledge of artists and genres that seem to be listened to very rarely in my age group.

Anyway, time's up. I feel guilty for abusing this thread for some form of venting/observing, but I guess next time will be better.


----------



## WickerDeer

Look--I know I just met you, yet you make me want to corn in my pants.

I can't even look at your pomegranate...because I find snails leave slimy trails.

Can't we just striped cat tail?

Alright--now to actually make sense, I have no idea what to write right now. Am totally a dumbass. I would really like to focus on imagining goals for the winter. There's something about winter that seems very goal-ish. It might have to do with the boots people wear. Or perhaps it's the reality that in northern climates, winter is some serious business, and so you do think about the goals you had before and whether they are being met. Like that story about the grasshopper and the ants. Where the grasshopper dies and the ants eat him.

Boots are nice because they are pretty sexy and I never wear them. 

Now, down to business. I think I need to cast some runes this winter, because I am seriously lost. When I was younger I skied cross country in the snow. It's beautiful because all the snow sparkles like glitter. And at the same time, there is this looming danger that if I didn't have the right boots or skis, my feet would die and fall off, and I might also if I were caught out at night without the proper shelter.

So Winter it is. Fall is passing and I got to get my shit together. I am really looking forward to it, actually. It's been a long time. Why do the sweet fruits of spring and fall end up being followed by cold, dead winter? It seems that I have a much more comfortable relationship with winter and spring than fall and winter. 

I am drunk and look forward to the bird thread in spamworld. And boots. And ski pants.

Edit: Wait! I thought this was the Take Five Minutes to Just Write thread. *sigh*

Alright...I fucking love bats. They are the reason I get up in the morning. My mother was a bat, and she gave me fruit sometimes, and didn't let me fall on the ground to get eaten by ants. My best friend was a bat and he sometimes bit me when he got rabies, but that's okay. We can't all not get rabies.
I had a bat amulet when a child, and I thought it would be awesome to be a bisexual vampire because then I'd just get along with everyone. Would just suck their blood and stuff.

Actually, I like bats because the pollinate cacti. It's just such a beautiful combination, as they come out at night and cactus flowers are beautiful. Amazing things. Meh--and it reminds me of something I shared with someone else.

You know what? I saw a post recently where someone wanted to know how to get over their ex, and how to get over the fact that they shared their music with them, and so now associated the ex with the music. I understand that. But I want to see it as mine. The fucking cactus flowers are mine. You never really understood them anyway. It's true. MY FUCKING FLOWERS.

And to end on a positive note...Enya.


----------



## Lacrimosa

To the fallen 
Of mine
I've lost many
A keen eye
Flitting by 
The tear stained windows
Fogged rebuttal of no words

Late night steam blows off
These fingers press against black keys
Cannot stop the flow of feeling
The indescribable longing
For more 
So much more

What's here? 
In this wan life?
Are there greener pastures
Over yonder?
Will I kiss sweet serenity
Embrace the cold winds 
A fantasy freedom

Tap I go
Tap again
Tap these fingers press
Speak what I can't say
I want to show my passion
To you 
My heart's beat
That never stopped.

I hope you know
Understand.

Walking amongst crushed snow
Crunching boots and red nose
I walk where the wind blows
Forever following the path
Path 
Pathways
To 
Nowhere
Everywhere
Somewhere

In my head.
My fantasy
Dreaming tales
Large frolicks
Amongst fairies
Fawn
Nymphs
Muses 
Sirens
Mermaids

May I join you?
In your gay ball?
I wish to take part
In this wonderful feast

I'll dance along
To this quaint song
One more time
Don't disappear
My home 
Is here.


----------



## rainrunner

_Take ten minutes and just write. But about what? Okay, how about some of my self-absorbed drivels about myself since I am in my head all the time. I doubt anybody will read this, and I also do not want you to read this but I am posting it because I am posting it because it is absolute nonsense that has taken me ten minutes to right. I just want to see how much rubbish I can write in ten minutes. So here goes..._

Ten minutes is a long time. It can be an eternity. Remember that time when you peed in your pants in first grade? Oh, yeah. That ten minutes, when you hesitated to raise your hand and tell the teacher because you were so embarrassed, now that was an eternity. 

Ten minutes. What else can I do in ten minutes? I can go into this thread and write two cruddy poems. Or I can check my email or send silly messages to a friend.

But what's the point? It's only ten minutes. But, then again, it is ten minutes. I mean, ten ENTIRE minutes, of my life. That's like two ten-thousandths of my lifespan, dude! Ten minutes of my life that I will never get back. Ten minutes that Death has collected from me.

What should I do with my ten minutes then? In the time that I have written this and pondered the significance of ten minutes of my life, ten minutes have passed.


----------



## b_h

I guess it just wasn't meant to be, you and I.
I derailed our journey with my own hand.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect. Now it's all too late, isn't it?
I realized you were the one for me, but I realized that too late.
I'll always live with this regret. My only regret in life.
What once was the destination has become a mere dream.


----------



## Fear Itself

In my youth I didn't fully understand what they meant when they said my grandma had Alzheimer's. When she was first diagnosed many years ago my mother, siblings, and I moved in with her. She still seemed to be the same old lady as always. She couldn't cook very well, she was friendly to me, spoiling even, and her house was cluttered, perpetually smelling the way all old people do; too sweet, a little like rotten fruit. She watched her old television shows and went to church on Sundays. She'd always bring the children there candy, a grandmother cliche, but all the kids loved her for it. She was feisty. Something that had been there forever, and something that stuck with her even when her memories didn't. She'd tell us the same stories again and again, but I still loved them and I enjoyed hearing her tell them with the same enthusiasm every time. "Did you know that I was one of the first female US military officers?" She'd proudly fish out an old photo of her in uniform from her purse. They displayed that one at the funeral, and everyone remarked on how much I looked like her in her youth. For a while, looking in the mirror was strange. When she started to forget our names and faces, I experienced a certain feeling I'd never had before. There was a deep throbbing in my chest, when I politely smiled and introduced myself to her again. Of course, I quickly dismissed my unvoiced concerns; the disease didn't let her pick and choose who and what she forgot first, and I wasn't loved any less because of the order. She would rattle on about childhood friends but when she saw me, she saw a stranger, though sometimes I was my mother. On her birthdays, we sang her songs and ate her favorite foods. She smiled happily once again as we reminded her that the box in her hands was a gift. "What? For me? Why, thank you," she repeated. We'd laugh as she remarked incredulously at her own age, "There's no way I'm that old! What year is it," she asked, struggling to do the math in her head, counting back the years. But that of course, was when things were good, or as good as one can expect in Alzheimer's. Years went by, inanimate objects were often considered more trustworthy than family members. To her, the main caretaker, her oldest daughter was a kidnapper, my grandmother, the victim. She was weak with age, but strong in both will and fear it seemed. Eventually though, her mind stole and hid away the last memories of who she was and how to live.

I'd never realized before that, how powerful and wonderful or terrifying a mind can truly be.


----------



## serenitative

My life is a sham.

I suppress myself, truly.
I am a free spirit, silly and whimsical.
But my environments push that down.
I am something I don't want to be.

I am often excluded.
Lonely. 
Waiting on the world
Just to notice my existence. 

The tears I shed,
They lace my upper lip with salt
Like a shot I would take
Just to numb the damn pain.

When I close my eyes...
I see no light.
I see nothing
Everything an ebony abyss.

I am isolate incarnate.
I am waiting.
For this world.
To give me my chance.

My heart still beats
Though it simply knows
That life itself
Is too used to being a tragedy.

Rape.
Abuse.
Manipulation.

Rape.
Abuse.
Manipulation.

Rape.
Abuse.
Manipu...

After awhile...
My mind simply voids...
To take me back where it's somewhat pleasant...
And oh so numb.


----------



## Adena

I think of her every day. I wonder where she is, how's she's been doing without me, and I wonder if she ever thinks of me as well. I hope she won't pull out her roots from the ground and throw it away where she can't look. She might hate them, and I wouldn't blame her if she does. No one wants the buried past to haunt them, right? Who am I to tell her how to feel? I'm a fool for planting a seed and letting others to water it. The beautiful flowers that I covered myself with were rotten long ago, and now all I have is dirty blame. No more seeds to plant, no more water to give. She's locked away in a garden I can't enter. Maybe one day, she'll let me in, but I'm too afraid to ask; what if she doesn’t think of me? What if she doesn't wonder where I am, how am I doing without her? What if she forgot how much I loved her?


----------



## Cosmic Hobo

(Slightly longer than ten minutes; I completely lost track of time, and emerged an hour or so later.)

*The Tale of Prince Tenpang*

In a forest of sandalwood and jasmine, Prince Tenpang sat at the foot of the Tamtam tree. He played the sitar that rested on his knee, and its mellifluous strains filled the air. All was perfumed; the delicate scent of the wampa blossom which grew in scarlet abundance, the murmur of the waves that echoed in the distance, the trill of the jandak bird, which shot in a spark of crimson and gold and emerald like a flying jewel through the dense shadows of the arbor. The tiger with burning eyes prowled in the shadows, and the little deer lay in the thicket and quivered.

What a charming picture, you may think, O gentle reader! Has not this young man all he needs to make him happy? Is he not the emblem of contentment, as he sits in a reverie in this garden of delights, this paradise from which man was never banished, as he plays his instrument?

And yet, alas! you would be wrong. For Prince Tenpang is sick at heart. He loves the Princess with the Ivory Fan, the most beautiful woman in the world. Her cheeks are snow-covered mountain meadows in which grow the bamang flower, her lips are of red coral, and her hair is a river by night. She is, in a word, perfection. And she loves him.

Why is he unhappy, this young man? Why does he sigh and groan and clutch his breast? Surely he is the most fortunate of all, the suitor who has plied his troth and found it amply returned, whose future is a fertile field on which only love and delight will grow?

Not so, for her father, the White King of the Silver Mountain, has refused Prince Tenpang’s hand. What cares he that Tenpang is Prince of Melinsi, that verdant isle in the Southern Seas? What cares he that Tenpang is tall and valiant and kind-hearted? What cares he that Tenpang has forty thousand elephants and mountains of pearls? Not a jot. Not a fig.

The White King, in fact, does not care for Tenpang. This potentate lies all day on a divan, surrounded by odalisques with emeralds in their navels and pearls around their waist, fanning him with peacock feathers and popping grapes and baklava into his mouth. He cares for nothing, save his own pleasures. In his kava-sozzled stupor, in his opium-drenched dreams, the White King is not even aware that he has a daughter. She is a shadow who flickers through the corner of his mind, a pale figure who passes, weeping, and is lost.

It was not always thus. Once, when he was younger, his daughter was all to him; she was the infant of delight, the cherub of his days. But his wife, the Queen with the Almond Blossom Eyes, died, and her body was sent in a barque across the Green Sea of Darkness. Heavy then was his heart, and inconsolable his sorrow. The weight of years lay heavy on him, and hoarfrost and rime settled on the tropical forest. The pandang tree groaned, and the little chirruk, which scampered so gaily, was silent.

Poor Prince Tenpang! But he, doughty of heart, knows that he shall gain nothing by sitting under the tamtam tree, playing soft melodies on his sitar. To action, to arms, he cries! He mounts his favourite steed, a jesset with a bridle of Circassian silk, and gallops off.

Long and hard he rides, for twelve days and twelve nights. He rides over the desert of Marad, and comes to the city of pillars, yea, to Al-Jihallibir itself. He rides over the mountains of Chenzhu, over the plain of Panjol, where the swifts soar and skim, through the forest of Tane, and at last to the Gates of Ruby, the great glimmering gates that stretch up to the heavens, that tower ten thousand feet over mortal man, and are the gateway to the Silver Mountains.

With him at his heels travels a caravan, the greatest the world has ever seen. Elephants laden with precious jewels; camels groaning with gems, dromedaries dazzling with diamonds and Bactrians burdened with beryls. Wagons of doctors, astrologers, sages, mages, pages, quacks, mountebanks, jugglers, fire-eaters, fire-walkers, sword-swallowers, illusionists, delusionists and confusionists. Shrines to the gods: to great Qong, who created the universe from primeval slime; to Vorjak, the divine wind; to the Half-Blue God, to the Laughing One who taught man the arts and sciences of living, to the Emerald Lady of a Thousand Pleasures, and propitiatory altars to the dark gods who lurk behind the thorns. Citizens and camp-followers. Since the White King will not grant him the hand of the Princess with the Ivory Fan, Prince Tenpang has come to court, and brought his kingdom with him.

They come at last to the Palace of the White King, a dream, a confectionery of spun sugar and crystal. Lacy are its lattices and elaborate its portals. It is so delicate that one imagines a single breath would puff it away like dandelion seed in the wind, and yet it has withstood siege and war. The raving Generals of Khartoum tried to conquer it and failed. Jingsi laid siege to it for ten years, and died of boredom. Even the little dancing priests of Wapeng were rebuffed.

Prince Tenpang stands before the palace gates, and raises the horn of Huon to his lips. He blows a single note—a note pure and fine and clear as dew drops on a spring morning in May. The palace doors—those portals of gold whose panels depict the legend of the Trapanitukra—swing slowly open, with a colossal silence, and a carpet, red and welcoming as the tongue of Tenpang’s own dog, unfolds down the stairs in a waterfall of silk.

Nothing daunted, Tenpang steps forward onto the carpet, and advances at the head of his caravan into the court of the King.

He strides along corridors of lapis lazuli and through orchards of loquats and lychees. He passes under carved ceilings and behind stone screens like spider-webs. He wanders through cool and carpeted rooms where fountains of stone plash merrily, and through heated rooms where musk hangs in the air and erotic tapestries of red and gold hang on the walls.

And he comes to the room where the White King lies on his divan, and where the odalisques dance, with bells on their ankles and castanets on their fingers, to the music of the gamelan and the oud.

‘O White King of the Silver Mountain,’ says he, bowing low, ‘I have come to marry thy daughter! I bring with me gifts of jewels to adorn thy fingers and the wrists of the most beautiful of thy servants! I bring learned men to tell all the secrets of the world to thee, and entertainers to divert thee so that thou mayst forget what the learned men have told thee.’

The White King gazed blearily at him, belched, and said nothing.

‘I have with me an army fifty thousand strong, cohorts whose banners wave in the air, whose swords gleam bright and pant for blood. I will have thy daughter, O King, to wife! I crave thy blessing, but will have thy curse and malediction, if it must be thus.’

‘Stranger,’ said the White King, ‘why dost thou prattle to me of my daughter? What willst thou with one woman, when there are so many to love? Like a bumblebee I go, buzzing drowsily from one flower to the next, and gorging on nectar. Surely ’tis better thus than to marry one.’

‘Nay, O King,’ replied the Prince. ‘My soul burns with an insensate ardour which robs me of rest and consumes my very being with passion! It is love, true love, a love as fierce and frenzied as ever man has known for woman. Ever since I beheld thy daughter, that loveliest of creatures, that vision of perfection in which the gods excelled themselves, I have adored her. If she commanded me to drink the oceans themselves, I would raise the cup to my lips and toast her health. If she bade me fetch the crown of Ahriman, I would leap into the fiery rift with a ready will. If she ordered me… But stay! Enough! I love her, and she is all the world to me!’

The White King shook his head wearily. ‘Prince Tenpang, thou’rt a fool! The folly of youth: lovers’ vaunts. Similar prattle once flowed from my lips. Ay, thinkst thou thou’rt the only man who has ever loved? So I loved her mother, the Almond Blossom Eyed Daughter of a Thousand Celestial Perfections. I stood before the Jade Emperor on his dragon throne, and declared my love in a voice that echoed like a clarion call to the four corners of the heavens and shook the earth to its foundations. I considered myself the happiest man alive when I wed her, and I went into transcendental paroxysms of delight when a year later she presented me with a child. But alas! Death, jealous of our love, stole her from me.

‘In my folly, my love turned to mad jealousy. I suspected that her eye roved. Why should she, whose beauty outshone the sun and with skin like milk beneath the moon, love one as earthbound and as ugly as I? I could not credit that her love for me was returned, or that ’twas pure and unalloyed. And so I set spies to watch her; I spread a net of gossamer for her dainty feet that danced through the marble corridors of my palace. When she did not fall into the snare, did I think that her feet were light and danced on ether? Nay, I saw there the hoof, and thought that she was cunning; and I, cruel, killed her. I strangled her beneath the moon, in a garden where the nightingale sang in the cypresses. She, daughter of the heavens, who had left the celestial abode to be with me, I, man of clay, strangled with my hands of mud. Thus had I repaid her, for never could I accept that she loved me. Ever and forever the memory of those divine halls, where the gods sat in raiment of shining light and drank from goblets of gold, would have tormented her. How could anything that I, a mere mortal, even the richest of mortals, offer, compensate for that loss? And so I, not trusting her, slew her.

‘Thus I learnt the lesson of happiness. Hear me, O prince, and heed me well! ’Tis folly to love one woman, for she shall be taken from thee, and thou shalt be left alone, bereft, to rend thy hair and weep hot salt tears into the ocean. If thou wouldst be happy, love not one but all, lightly and without pain.’

Prince Tenpang gazed at him with contempt. ‘Foul uxoricide,’ cried he, ‘anathema upon thee! What do I care for such lusts and pleasures of the world? I am adamant. Yea, though the Jade Emperor himself were to curse me and send me howling into the chasm, still would I love thy daughter and clamber out of that abyss to seek her hand. I shall not rest till she is mine, not though the heavens shatter and the earth burns. Death itself will not keep me back!’

‘Then, O prince, if death will not turn thee back, I will give her to thee for wife—on one condition: that thou wilt return my wife to me. If thou wilt descend into the Other World, into that vale of spirits, and return with my wife’s shade, our daughter’s hand will be thine.’

‘I swear it, by the revered names of my ancestors, by the love I hold for thy daughter, or else die in the attempt.’

The Prince set forth. He sailed in a funeral barque across the Green Sea of Darkness, until he came to a place where the waters roared and eddied, where the mountains were on fire and vomited red plumes into the sea, and where crags of ice floated on the frozen wave. Long and distant had he erred from the sweet smelling shores of his island kingdom. He moored his boat and descended. He made his way slowly and painfully through the thorn bushes that guard the entrance to the Other World, where loa and charontes, demons with nails of emery and serpents for tails, lurked. Prince Tenpang was unafraid. He sang the spell that his mother had taught him, which she had learnt from the blind seer in her cave high on Mount Meru. He sailed in the black boat over the lake of fire and on the white boat over the lake of mists. He stood at last before the doors of Jugurtha, shrouded in smoke. He rapped on them thrice, and passed through.

In the hall, he stood transfixed. Pillars of ebony, through which red veins of lava ran in spirals, rose up to the roof, and were swallowed in smoke in those draughty caverns. At the end of that great room, a distance longer than a mortal man’s life, sat the ruler of this realm, she who is the arbiter.

‘Great Queen,’ said he, bowing low, ‘I am Prince Tenpang of Melinsi. I come seeking the shade of the Almond Blossom Eyed Daughter of a Thousand Celestial Perfections, to restore her to the White King of the Silver Mountains.’

‘Thou’rt brave, princeling, to venture here, where mortals fear to tread—and on another’s behalf. Does thy life mean so little to thee?’

‘Life without she whom I adore, the Princess with the Ivory Fan, is worthless, a living death. Either I must eke out a miserable half-life in the shadows, or I must venture here into the halls of the dead or die in the attempt. It is love, O Great Queen, that drives me to this deed.’

‘Love,’ she murmured, and the shadow of a sad smile stole across that pale and shadowy face. ‘I too was once in love, and was loved; in the days before I wore an iron crown, when my raven hair was unflecked with silver, and when the world was young. Heart’s pang, heart’s ache, heart’s delight and heart’s death.’

‘That is a chance that I must take. If I never love, if I close my heart and make it a thing of stone, as cold and hard as diamond, am I not dead myself? Even thou, O Great Queen, who sittest among the shadows of the dead in this cavern of stone and smoke, even thou rememberst love.’

‘Ay,’ said she, and smiled, ‘thy words ring true. Prince Tenpang, I grant thee the shade of the Almond Blossom Queen, to restore to the world of the living. Whether she shall return to her husband is another matter. Remember well that it is not merely the lover that dies; love itself may die, and that we may love where love is not returned.’

For months, Prince Tenpang and the Almond Blossom Queen (O vision of beauty!) journeyed back to the Silver Mountains. Beautiful though she was, the Prince did not desire her, for he had sworn an oath, and, besides, he loved her daughter.

At long last, having braved the perils of the Forest of Mandor, defeated the whirling brigands of Kush and the scorpion-women of Aljarib, having escaped from the amaranthine city of Rangor, and brought wisdom to the diverticulated poets, they stood in the throne room of the White King. He sat on the Peacock Throne, puffing on a hookah. At his side stood the Princess with the Ivory Fan, veiled from head to foot in sheer cloth of damask, and lightly seasoned with turmeric.

‘O White King,’ said the Prince in a voice that made the rafters shake and the pigeons flutter in the dovecotes, ‘I have fulfilled my side of the bargain: I have brought back to thee the Almond Blossom Eyed Daughter of a Thousand Celestial Perfections. Fulfil thy half, and render unto me thy daughter, the Princess with the Ivory Fan.’

The White King goggled at his former wife, and blew excited bubbles on his water-pipe. ‘Hast thou returned?’

‘I have returned to the world of the living, O King, but not to thy court nor to thy heart. Thou wert, when I was alive, cruel, peevish and murderous, and now I see that thou art grown sottish and sentimental. I shall return to the Celestial Abode, or wander among the world; but to be thy wife again: never!’

‘Then, O Prince,’ shouted the White King furiously, ‘thou hast broken thy oath! Thou hast not broken my wife’s spirit, nor chastened her. I see that she is as froward and impudent as e’er she was, as much an impudent headstrong baggage as her daughter, that slut whose white hand will ne’er clasp thine at the altar. Nay, I shall behead the wench, or else close confine her, immure her in the temple of Tungti, god of celibacy, or marry her to the lowliest and most leprous beggar in all my kingdom, rather than give her to thee, thou false and cozening knave!’

‘Still, dotard! Hold thy clack, that bell rope which brings forth only peals of ridicule.’ It was the Queen who spoke. ‘Dost thou forget that I am a daughter of the heavens, or that thy daughter is also mine? Why shouldst thou, mortal man, be the sole arbiter of her fate? Thou whose kingdom runs to ruin as thou lollst in liquor! Daughter, dost thou love this Prince Tenpang?’

‘I do, mother!’

‘Then he is thine. Love him as he loves thee, and be happy together.’

And so it was that the two were happily wedded.

When the White King had suffered an apoplectic fit brought on by a hot bath and too many odalisques at bedtime, he bethought him of his orgulous ways, and repented of them. And so, as he lay on his fifteen-poster bed, staring unhappily at the ceiling, his hand fumbling feverishly with the sheets, he heard the flutter of curtains, felt a cool hand rest on his, and soft lips brush his cheeks. And so he died.

THE END


----------



## Cescafran

this caught my eye and for a good reason too. This is exactly what I need at the moment
venting and shit to people who dont know me and therefore cant hurt me with their judgements or mock me with their sympathy. 
I auditioned for a part in a play today. This is my first play audition and the fourth time I have really desperately wanted a major part in something
yep I failed again
and I dont know what to think this time because I dont know what I did wrong. Was the acting not great or dothey just not want someone of my skin tone because its a story about family? 
the not knowing is more frustrating than anything
but the failure makes me feel so incompetent like I'm trying my best here and I still cant b good enough. and honestly I walked out knowing I didnt have the part and a part of me-the real part of me actually didnt give a fuck
but I am not prepared to tell my friends and family that I've missed out on another chance to make them proud. I lied to my parents and said we didnt know yet, when really we did
I was let go after my audition
and I dont actually care it would have been great but I dont mind for myself
I mind that I'm letting down the people around me and it is an unhealthy thing but also healthy
without that expectation from others I would not push myself and achieve what I already do but I also wouldnt have to hide thngs from everyone or be so determined tofix things n my own or lead me, who is so bubbly and optimistic to almost cutting because I hated the fucking pressure
and I still do
it is eating away at me every time my dad goes
oh yeah well done on that exam or show
but I know you can do better
and trying to live up to his expectation and my mums expectation is actually hurting me way more than they think
oh and my boyfriend is so sweet and amazing but all that does is make me feel worse because it hurts even more to disappoint him even though he says he is not disappointed in me he is disappointed for me
at least thats what he has said in the past
he will repeat it when i get around to actually telling him about this
and my ten minutes is up
one day I_ will come back here and write something _
less angsty I promise XD


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## Impavida

This thread inspired me to dig up the novel I've been writing off/on for the last couple of years. I think I finally figured out how to start it! Yeah, I know it's rough, but for half an hour of work, I'm not complaining.

*Finding Home*

_So this is what it feels like to die._

The thought was a gossamer thread trailing through my fever-addled mind. It was fragile, but it was coherent. I somehow knew that this thought would guide me back to consciousness, so I clung to it with all my might. I turned the words over, pondering each of them individually until they seemed to lose their meaning entirely. For a terrifying moment, I lost hold of my lifeline, but soon I had it again. My grip was stronger this time, the meaning of the words clearer to me now.

I considered the thought in its entirety this time. No. I wasn’t going to die. Not tonight.

The darkness was already starting to recede. I became aware of my body once more. I could feel the heat in my flushed cheeks, the aching in my jaw from the violent chattering of my teeth, the stiffness in my limbs as the intense shivering ceased.

A flash of lightning illuminated my tent, followed quickly by a deafening crack of thunder. I would have jumped in surprise, but I felt so weak, I hardly even blinked. Moments later, the skies opened and the deluge of rain began. 

As my body slowly recovered and the fever diminished, my mind drifted. The lyrics to Toto’s _Africa_ flitted briefly across my consciousness. 

“Gonna bless the rains down in Africa,” I sang quietly to myself. “Gonna take some time to do the things we never had.”

Everything felt so unreal. Three short years ago, I had been home in Vancouver, living with my parents and arguing about college. Now I was here, lying in a sweat-soaked sleeping bag in Zimbabwe in the middle of a thunderstorm, contemplating my own death. Home seemed like another lifetime.

Outside, as quickly as it had started, the rain stopped. After a month in Africa, I still hadn’t gotten used to the rain. At home, it came on slowly, a drizzle that gradually escalated into a gentle soaking. Here, it was as though a tap was turned, unleashing a waterfall that stopped just as suddenly as it started. It left streams overflowing their banks and turned roads into impassable quagmires. Back in Kampala a couple of weeks ago, it had also left my tent flooded, frying my cell phone in the process.

On the one hand, part of me quite liked being cut off from the outside world. It made this entire experience seem more authentic somehow, like I was an explorer of old, and not just a backpacker being shuttled around on an overland expedition. However, losing my phone meant that I was also cut off from Hardy, the South African boyfriend I had left behind in London four months ago.

Another roll of thunder brought me back to the present. Lightning still occasionally illuminated my tent in blinding flashes, but the thunder was slower to follow and had lost some of its intensity. As the storm faded into the distance, the animals of Lake Kariba began to make their presence known again. Soon I was being serenaded by the chirping of frogs and the low grunting of hippos.

In the darkness, I fumbled for my watch and stared at the illuminated dial in disbelief. It had only been an hour since I had retired for the night. I could have sworn it had been longer. With a heavy sigh, I pulled off my sweat soaked shorts and tank top. Too tired to bother digging out fresh clothes, I burrowed into my damp sleeping bag and let exhaustion overtake me.


----------



## Gossip Goat

I wrote a short(ish) story based on a dream I had last night.


* *




I woke up in a fright. 

The perpetrator? My own snoring.

In my new state of consciousness, I remembered the promise I had made myself a few hours ago.
Today was the day I would start going to the gym. I don't know how much validity this statement holds since I've been saying this for about two years. I guess the only way to actually start going to the gym is to use my mobility as a way to get there. I looked around the room and at my feet which were crossed one over the other as I laid on my side, I told myself I would have to use force upon my limbs in order for them to cooperate. 

I could not simply wait for the usual 2 a.m. self-loathing which resulted after eating an entire bag of mini chocolate kisses in order to get motivated and promise myself, yet again, that tomorrow would be it. Tomorrow was always the day I would take the initiative. Tomorrow was the day I would begin my transformation into a beautiful butterfly. I could finally sport those firm buns everyone covets, have drool worthy abs, calves of steel…

Okay, I've been stalling way too long with this internal monologue.

I finally moved, grabbed my grabbed and ran towards the garage where my car waited for me. I'm actually shocked I've made it this far, I usually decide on working out from home thinking the gym is too much of an expense, but after one day I'm too sore and then I just stop. If I force myself to go to the gym, I’d have to work out, I would not be tempted to watch re-runs of Sex in the City nor would the contents of my cabinets taunt me with their deliciousness. I turn on the engine and press the button which opens my garage door. Before I know it, I'm halfway down my neighbourhood, making my way towards the intersection. A wave of excitement and nerves wash over me as I’m suddenly intimidated at the thought of being surrounded by muscle heads who would roll their eyes at my ignorance in regards to using the cage-like contraptions the gym has to offer.

The gym looks less intimidating from the outside and I see a group of mothers entering, a sight that makes feel more secure. I get out of my car and sheepishly walk towards the big glass doors. I pull the handle and the door does not open. I pull three more times with great force. Only to read “Push”. I take sort of humiliating situation as a sign from the universe and am almost tempted to go back. I am sure someone saw me, I force myself to look around and realize that I have successfully hid my incompetence from the world. I enter and make my way towards the exercise area which is less crowded that I thought it would be. 

What looks easy enough for an amateur like me to use? Ah, yes. The running machine, simple enough. As I am now standing on it, I look at the buttons and decide on a low speed and press start. I am now walking at a fast speed, enough to get my sweating within the thirty minutes I plan on staying at this machine. As I am starting to get comfortable with exercising, a girl around my age steps on the machine next to me. She looks like a model, her dark glowing skin, long legs and stylish outfit make me wish I had started exercising two years ago. 

“You new here?”

It takes me a moment to comprehend the sounds coming out of her voice are directed towards me.

“Oh, yeah. It’s my first time here”

She started a conversation with me, this must mean she does not deem me a dork. I may have a chance to be her friend, or at least acquaintance. Then coming to the gym will be sort of a pleasant activity.

She begins speaking again and brings me out of my thought process. Our conversation prolongs itself and I am now having a hard time breathing and speaking at the same time, while the girl, who I now know is named Linda, is perfectly maintaining conversation with me without any difficulty even though she is at a much faster pace than I am. I learn that Linda and I have a lot of stuff in common and we have similar personalities. For one thing we both used to think as children that we were the only humans and everyone around us were aliens and our lives were apart of some experiment.

According to my watch I have been running for more than thirty minutes, I’m proud of myself but I know I could not have done it without Linda distracting me from becoming too engrossed in thoughts about how stupid I must look or how it will take forever to achieve a butt that would serve as “buttspiration” to others.

For the remainder of my stay at the gym, Linda helps me develop a workout routine to follow. After about an hour, Linda tells me she’s got to go because she comes from a two towns over and has to get ready to work the night shift at the store she worked at. She offers me a ride to said store because she swears I’ll love it. I hesitate for a moment, all this spontaneity is starting to get to me. I accept nonetheless since otherwise my night would consist of me merging with the couch while eating copious amounts of salad dressing straight from the bottle. As we make our way out of the gym and towards her car, I notice how lavish it is. I feel as if I’ve infiltrated the lives of the pretty and rich, and get a feeling of excitement. 

I hope Linda can’t smell the lower middle class aroma I am probably seeping. Maybe I’m being too harsh and Linda isn’t one of those rich people who only associate with other rich people, maybe she thinks I’m just as interesting as I think she is. Linda strikes up conversation again, this time forcing me to talk about myself.

“So what was it that you’re studying in college again?”

“I’m an English major, I may also minor in Psychology.”

“Ooooh, so you have a way with words. Do you want to be a teacher or something?”

“I’ve been thinking about journalism, maybe.”

We continue talking about our lives and after sometime she tells me she wanted to stop at the gas station to buy some bottled water, since she ran out and was thirsty. I still had water in my bottle that I had brought to the gym but offering it to her felt unhygienic. I leave my stuff inside and we enter the gas stating where she goes straight to the fridge aisle and I linger around the chocolate area near the cash register. After some minutes of convincing myself that I did not hear the Snickers whispering my name, I actually DO hear someone calling me, although not by my name.

“Miss?”

It’s the older man working the cash register.

“Um, yes?”

“I believe your friend left…”

I do not process his words fast enough and stare at him for what feels like 3 seconds too long. 

Then I look over at pump number 5 where the car had been a few moments ago. Now it is vacant.

I run outside and frantically look around.

“What the fuck?!” The bitch left me here, and took my stuff too. Briefly I theorized about the possibility of her doing this often, maybe the reason she had come over from two towns over to the gym in my town was to con people to getting into her car so she could steal their belongings. No wonder she could afford nice things. Ugh, the bitch!

I didn’t even know where I was. I can’t believe I blindly got into her car and allowed myself to be taken to another town. I didn’t have money for a cab, nor did I have my cell phone so I could call someone to pick me up. I decided hitch hiking was probably not the best decision and in the heat of my anger I found myself walking along the side walk. I walked and walked and walked and became engrossed in my own angry thoughts until I finally noticed that dusk was lurking around the corner. I probably wasn’t even walking in the correct direction. I haven’t even though about a plan. I looked around for someone, so I could ask where I was and form a coherent plan. Near the outside of a store I see a group of guys who seem just a bit older than me, I was losing daylight so I got the courage to go near them and ask for directions.

As I close the distance between us, I notice how they look like guys from the 70’s or something. They have longish hair, some of them are tan and they’re wearing clothing that would make people think they were free-spirited hippies who smoke bowls 24/7.

“Do you guys know which direction Peppersberg is?” I say really fast and all in one breath. Now suddenly feeling overwhelmed over the events of today. I feel my eyes begin to water slightly and my face begin to redden.

Wow, I never knew my social skills were this bad. They probably think I’m some mad woman on the loose.

One of the guys gets up, his figure towers over mine by about 6 inches. He holds his hands up over his chest as if I would become unhinged any second now.

“Ok, listen to me. If you make a left at the stop sign and go past the old diner then straight you’ll be in Peppersberg in about 30 minutes if you take the highway.” He says this as if this was the third time he repeated himself, but he is sort of smiling at the same time. This must be how children feel when talking to an adult who is trying to reason with them and finds their behavior amusing. 

“You’re scaring her Ricky.” Said one of the other members of this small group.

I suddenly felt as if I were entertaining them with my dishevelled appearance and sort of erratic words I greeted them with.

Ricky laughs, closes his eyes, puts his hands on his stomach and bends over slightly. His laid back appearance was apparently a literal representation of his personality. He seemed to find humor in everything.

“Don’t cry on us!” Another guy cried out.

They all burst out laughing. 

I felt as if I were their object of ridicule, so I turned around and began walking the other direction, holding in my tears. On a different day I would simply roll my eyes and leave but I felt stressed, tired and worried.

I was in a strange town with no means of getting home.

“Wait, wait! Where are you going?” That Ricky guy was behind me.

“Peppersberg is the other way, are you on foot? You should get a cab.”

The realization that I couldn't afford a cab because I had been robbed of my things sent me into a sobbing freezing. 

"Woah, are you ok?" Was all I heard from Dick, as I now named him.

"Of course not! You have no idea what I've gone through, not only was I tricked into coming here but I was also robbed and ditched. I have no money or cell phone to call or get help, but I'm _so_ glad I could help you and your buddies get a good laugh at my expense. UGH!"

Again, I begin to walk away but Ricky calls for me, but when I don't respond he gets in front of me and blocks my forward movement.

"We can help you get where you need to go."

"Ha! No way buster, this is when I start applying the _dont-get-in-cars-with-strangers_ mantra I've been told about."

[Editor's note: I'm going to end it here. I didn't really develop it farther than her meeting Ricky, I expanded it a bit but never really thought where it would go from here...]


----------



## Grain of Sugar

10 sec: 
I do care about the presents underneath the mistletoe
I just want them for my own
More than mom could ever know
Make my wish come true!! 
Bc if not I think someone will be blue- uh 

Hope you liike it.


----------



## Arno

Sitting by the radiator window in the aftermath of a lonely Christmas evening. My empty house is just as cold and dark as the outside, save for the melancholy and dimly lit Christmas tree that resides in the background. I cannot find a better analogy for this continuous depression that plagues my soul: the only warmth that I get is from the radiator, for which I have to stare outside into the dark and lonely night. Or perhaps I shouldn't complain so much as I have assimilated into this darkness. There's no escaping it, because it wraps around you like a veil - its fabric so thick that it cannot be lifted. 

Tell you what. Should I drop into the water, please let me sink.


----------



## WickerDeer

Uh...so unoriginal. I need to stick to research.


----------



## WickerDeer

^ It's silly to think of art in terms of originality. Writing without judgement is useful. Also--everything we do is original in some way. I find it constraining and slightly pretentious to place that kind of criticism on creations.

Silly Arturo.

Anyway...I feel like writing about my grandmother.

My grandmother had a beautiful rose garden. She was careful and nurturing to her plants. She pruned them and when I was a child she set me to work at creating little aqueducts for them. She also had these beautiful violet irises in between her roses, and a tall nectarine tree in the corner. Later, she put in some grapes which grew small green fruit.

Her house was full of doilies. Beautiful mandalas of lace. Delicate and radiant like herself. And her curtains were of lace as well. I remember staring at them and wondering about the method of making lace by hand...especially with fine threads. Reminds me, right now, a little of that story of Thumbelina who's wedding gown was made of spider's silk, and woven by spiders.

My grandmother loved plants. She had green african violets, as well as many other varieties. A large metal shelf by the window supported all her beautiful greenery. And outside her grass was always short, but renegade Johnny Jump Ups grew in the cracks...beautiful face-like violets. I remember a thistle that grew in her front yard...it's head was the shape of an exploding star--scattering the seeds across the universe of the retirement community she lived in. That thistle was precious and wild like my grandmother's spirit. A part of her that she rarely let people see, but was nonetheless potent though latent.

I thought I was abducted by aliens in her bathroom. I think it was the heat lamp, which looked like a UFO. Or perhaps it was the TV in her living room which had a special about aliens on it once. Some green guy with pointy ears touched a man's heart. Creepy. Creepy as hell.

She had two trees in front. And now...this is important. One was the closest relative that I know of the oldest flowering plant. Giant lush white blooms and strange alien conical progeny. The other lost it's leaves seasonally...always regrew them but still...we loved it. My father built her a deck. His dead brothers helped. We all sat on that deck before she died and they died, and the house was sold to someone else.

My grandmother loved us. I'm not going to talk about that or how she made me feel. I miss her. I miss her even when she had dementia. I miss the way she wrung her hands and fiddled with her fingers. I miss her neat pile of magazines and newspapers that she went through on Sunday morning. I miss her permed white hair and her voice...like delicate and tangled mesquite branches. 

I think that's ten minutes of Si spilling.

It's Saturday and I've drank--feeling nostolgic. In touch with the feelings. I love my grandma though. I miss her.


----------



## Lord Fudgingsley

This world is a perpetual and peculiarly eerie land filled with life, and yet has managed to become co-dependent on none but itself. And in many ways, the fact that the world is completely confused is a complete reflection of humanity and everything that we think, say and do.

We're basically all trapped on a planet, helpless from the Sun (which may well turn evil at any moment and kill us all!), and we're never gonna be able to escape it... are we? 

So while I write this, I watch the buffaloes. They don't seem to be aware of what's currently happening, thinking only about their next mating opportunity. And there's a wild world out there where buffaloes engage in pleasures beyond one's imagination; or at least they do before they get savagely murdered by predators. Kinda reminds me of my old RuneScape days, back in the Wilderness. I dunno, maybe that's traumatised me enough that I continue to think about it to this day. I've been lately pondering what SCIENCE! has the means to do. And yes, I call it SCIENCE! because people who claim to know stuff about it are massively captivating; despite the fact that 200 years ago these people would've been burned for heresy/witchcraft. Is SCIENCE! basically that witchcraft we've been trying to cull for many years?


----------



## bleghc

I'm not sure how to feel. Locked up in my bedroom, alone in the house, watching as the snow gently falls down on the cement floor just outside of my window... huh. Tomorrow's a Monday - school. Great. Time to procrastinate for the next few hours until maybe 1:00 AM, huh? I scoffed to myself, grinning only slightly with a sigh that followed just a few seconds after. It was nice to be alone, of course. But sometimes, the thoughts that you buried deep inside kind of just come back and engulf you completely - controlling your actions and sometimes, even who you became. Maybe that's just me.

School's a shit place to be, but so is home. I'm a contradiction. A paradox. I can never just find the right thing to do to make me happy. I want to talk and have friends but as soon as that happens, no one is ever interested and I get bored with everyone but when I'm alone, I feel... lonely. I can never find to satisfy me. Maybe it's a phase. Some kind of teenage angst, probably. Even if it is, that doesn't invalidate any of my feelings. I watch as the clock starts to tick, and my heart thumps even faster. I don't want to go yet.

(It was actually more like five minutes that I wrote this but eh.)


----------



## WickerDeer

Do Over:

In a place far far away, where it snows upward and the sun steals all the energy from everyone, lived a little rodent.

People called him a "wolf rat," but he was actually a capybara. 

He lived in shack by a river, and had a clothes line, and hung up his little hats on the clothes line to dry. It was very very cold that morning, so cold that his little woven hats hung with icicles and his breath looked like smoke.

A man crawled out of the river and the capybara asked him if he would like to have some eggs for breakfast. But the man refused to speak so the capybara made some eggs and ate them himself.

The man stood watching.

After he ate the eggs, the capybara went inside for a nap and invited the man inside. The man stood watching silently.

When he woke up...the man was still standing there. He stood there until he turned into stone. Then the capybara drew a face on him and made some more eggs.

But the stone was tall enough that a bird came by and landed on it. And the bird told the capybara that it was disgusting that he was eating eggs.

And the capybara felt a little guilty so he became a vegan.

Then the bird made a nest on the stone man's head and they all lived happily ever after. None of them were lonely anymore.

The End.


The Stone Man

The stone man stood for a long time. After the bird and the capybara migrated away, the stone man stayed.

One of his feet sunk a little in the mud, and some young birds landed on him. They talked about a king who lived underneath a mountain nearby, and how they were going to visit him and get lots of gold.

Then they flew off and the stone man sat.

A woman came by and rested against the statue. She thought it looked a little like a man so she made a daisy crown and put it on top of the stone man's head.

And the stone man sat there with the daisy crown, until some birds pulled it off and it fell onto the ground and disintegrated. 

Then a sturdy man with a golden crown came by and sat on a log nearby. He picked his teeth. 

The stone man sat there until the king left.

It started to rain and a little mouse ran under the lip of the stone man's knee. It huddled there until the rain stopped, and then it ran off into some bushes nearby.

The flowers that grew near the stone man's feet became extinct.

A new, mutated version sprouted near to where the log used to be, but it ate flies.

The stone man watched it.

After a few thousand generations, it also evolved legs and began walking around the stone man.

But still he sat.

It curled up into a ball and went to sleep. Then it got dark and the moon came out. Some owl landed on the stone man's head. 

A fire burned in a distant mountain.

Finally, the stone man got bored of standing around so he turned back into a human, walked back into the river, and came out the other side.

To the Land of Bats.

The End.


In the Land of Bats
Everyone is dark and scary.

No one can see...but they can only hear their own echoes.

Fingers are wings.

And bugs are yummy things.

Tralalalalala

And if you have hair

Be aware

Because tangled, you'll find us there.

Tralalalalali

The End.


----------



## VioletTru

Do I care? I don't know.
Why should I? I don't know.
Is it worth the risk? Well, you tell me.
Is it worth risking having my feelings stepped on?
Is it worth risking any of the sanity that I've worked so hard to build upon and maintain up till now?

Is it worth being vulnerable? Being scared and misinterpreted? Having my words twisted around, yet again, and thrown back at my face?

I am angry. Yes, I am angry.
I am angry at people who make a deliberate and conscious effort to turn other people's pain into a spectacle for their own amusement. I resent those who pretend to be an expert on what another person has to go through. I try to deconstruct the idea of "victim mentality" yet I have no soft spot for "victim blamers" at the same time.

How do I know who to trust? How do I sniff out those who would use my weaknesses against me, and those who would genuinely help? 

Am I fearful? Yes, I am. Am I cautious? More than I ever had to be, it seems.

Am I hopeful?

....

.... Yes. Yes, more than I've ever been.

Am I willful?

....

....Yes, absolutely. More than I ever been.

Do I still feel the need to prove myself to anybody? Perhaps the temptation is still there. Yes, I've slowly come to realize that one of the greatest rewards comes from the faith that you cultivate within yourself --of all your abilities, your potential, all that you can offer to another person, all of what you can expect from others, all that you are and will be.


----------



## Modal Soul

how about... no


----------



## ScientiaOmnisEst

My life stands before me, one week to a restart.

But I don't know what to do. I won't be truly free, not quite yet. There's a question now: do I take financial stability, or psychological freedom and relative peace of mind? IF I take stability, my options are limited. I must still abide by another's rules for what I'm allowed to say and study. I will not be able to question or explore - curiosity hidden away until it's safe. I've been doing that all my life and I'm sick of it. Sick of it, sick of it, sick of it. If I do as I please, I may not be able to finance it. I will struggle, I will need to work. I will be tired from the efforts to support myself. But I will have freedom. Freedom to learn, thing, dress, speak, love however I please, laws and resources withstanding. There's a choice before me. I'm so tired. I have no energy where I should. Being under near-constant threat of death does that to you. In this latest storm and strife I can truly say to myself it's just one more week. I need to stay strong, not let it get to me. I'm not happy, I'm numb now. It's better than being sad, I guess. I found a life online. Two-dimensional my ass; this cyberspacial existence is more real than anything I've endured in the tangible world. And the people....best not go on too long. My mind is spinning with thoughts of the future, of security and adventure, of life. If I can just get away in time, I trust, somehow, that I can find a way to make a real life for myself. A real, free life.


----------



## mangodelic psycho

You're in that kind of mood.

You feel like writing; you actually feel like you need to write, but you don't know what about exactly. So you sit down, get your favourite notebook and your favourite mechanical pencil and wait to get into the creative zone. Of course nothing comes to mind but you think, what the heck, I'll just write about whatever (yourself).

So you -finally- start writing, and you write and write; whatever comes to mind you put it into words and on the paper. Five minutes pass and you pause. You read what you wrote and this awful sense of stupidity overwhelmes you. You realise that what you wrote is the most disgustingly angsty piece of crap you've ever read. It's really bad; a whiney, weak rant. Ugh. But despite that you still feel need to write about something. About yourself preferably, because, let's face it, you're great. And a narcissist. Like an artist without talent.

You keep writing, but you decide to write about something else this time. Something related to you, but not you. This time you choose your words very carefully and you write slowly in cursive.
Suddenly you find or remember an idea of and inspiration hits you. You force nothing; it seems like words are at the tip of your tongue, and not just any words, the best words you could think of to convey your thoughts. 
If your religious grandma happened to watch you during this creative orgasm she'd no doubt think you're possessed. 
You could be. You're so excited and happy to be able to express your thoughts in such a clear, structured manner that you're starting to scare yourself. Where's the beer?

All of a sudden you reach a dead end that might also be a conclusion. Seems like you're out of mojo, but that's alright because you don't really want to write anymore; your need is satisfyed for now.
You go to the kitchen and make some more coffee and contemplate how cool it is that you were able to focus and write for two hours.
Taking your mug with you you return to your desk and start reading your masterpiece. And even though you're not foolish or brave enough to think it a masterpiece, it's still pretty damn good. Right?

You sip some coffee, light a cig and space out. Your mind feels alive and tired and old. You decide to go for a walk.
You read your essay one more time, to get that sense of accomplishment. You rip the pages, stash them in the back of your drawer, get your stuff and leave.


----------



## Lycrester

Not quite sure what else to give. The shirt off my back is definitely out of the question. Only a fool would stand so naked and proud of the good work she has done. Sure the sun shines brightly upon you but what about the night? When the warmth is gone and everyone has gone to bed. Do you still stand grinning? Embarrassingly enough,I must admit that I have done so and looking back I hate to see that older version of myself. I still enjoy giving and I try to do it whenever that little voice tells me to but I will not give anyone my last piece of hope. That is for me and it is the biggest piece. Call me cold but when night falls I can still stand unmoved.


----------



## bleghc

Love.

Yeah, that's not necessarily the most original topic to write about but it's something that I want to, well, just vent about. Or talk. Or - ugh, whatever. So far in my life, I haven't really experienced love. Hell, I still can't come up with an accurate or clear definition as to what love really is. There have been a hell ton of people I may have been infatuated with, or lusted on but love, I've never felt. Sometimes, I'm even worried. Yet, relieved that maybe I'm never going to experience that feeling.

Both worried and relieved because love - a lot of people say that love is pain but pain that you desire. Or - well, blah blah blah. All that pretentious shit about how someone you love is your other half. I thought I was in love. The first time I saw him was an interesting time. It was mainly because of his looks that I kind of even developed a kind of interest for him so I pursued a conversation whenever I wanted to, or when I was bored and it was all casual. Then, everything about him started getting to me. I'm romanticizing this but I guess that what happens when you're... no, I can't quite say love. Infatuated. I was madly obsessed and it was a simple moment of a brush to the arm and a quick apologetic sorry with an apologetic smile.

_"Oh shit,"_ was the initial reaction. Everything about you seemed so utterly perfect. The way you laughed, your sarcastic and quirky sense of humor. God, everything about you was beautiful. There's no denying that for a long time, the reason I liked you was because of this... idea I created. And it took a while for me to realize that. We stopped talking for two months because you needed to leave and when you came back, my feelings slowly but surely started to come at once. And I appreciated every single second of your presence because I knew in another two months was going to be when you left. I thought I was in love, I truly was. I wrote dumb poetry about you and wrote these love letters of my "undying" and "unrequited" love that I ended up throwing away. When you finally left was when I mourned for you so goddamn much and regretted all the moments I took for granted.

You really have no idea, even to this day (In fact, I'm pretty sure you still think I hate you.) Then, my feelings went away but still, I remember. I may have not loved you but you taught me so much and that - that's something I'll never forget.

^ I went about three seconds after ten minutes. Such a badass. ANyway, sorry for the dumb thing. I just felt like I needed to kind of ramble on about more of my dumb feelings.


----------



## Fish Launcher

I stood at the clifftop, over a waterfall, my tetracoat flapping in the wind like nobody"s business. I was thinking. Thinking about my life. Thinking about the Empire. Thinking about him.

He's the cashier at my local drugstore. He's around 50, and talks like he had a stroke at one point.He also has a neckbeard, and smells weird. I still remember him. How could I not? He isn't the kind of person you can easily forget.

I rarely did this. Think, that is, not standing over waterfalls. I stood over waterfalls plenty. I think it's a fantasy world thing. It's still a little demeaning, though. Not standing over waterfalls - that's absolutely majestic - but admitting that I don't think often. Fantasy characters don't think often, but they don't know they're fantasy characters either. Wait, why am I explaining my thoughts to myself? I'm not a very good fantasy character, am I? Does that grant me the right to not be full-on retarded?

I sighed, looking sadly into the depths of the Negrath river. I had so many questions, but no answers. Which is the entire point of questions, I think. Whatever. "Negrath", I whispered to myself. "Who came up with such a dumb name anyway? This place is full of white people. Negrath doesn't even _sound _white. It even sounds kinda like "*****!" I turned away and started picking my way towards the valley. The dude who named the river must have fallen through the waterfall and hit his head on the rocks or something. Why should I care? I was supposed to be thinking about the fat guy at the drugstore.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes. How did it get to this?


----------



## WickerDeer

I can't talk.

Some people may wonder, "why can't you talk Arturo?" 

Most probably don't, simply because they don't notice I'm here.

But for the ones who do, I can just say--I wish I could tell you.

I would love to say some things to you. If words make spells, I would certainly cast them upon you.

I would love to describe your beauty.

I would love to send my words like beautiful arrows out into the sky.

Not to fall as anything more than hot candy.

So anyway...I know I never told you why I can't talk. I wish I could though. I would tell you so many things that you deserve to hear, as you are beautiful and that should be respected.

Hah--if I could say stuff...it would maybe be really nice.

I actually look forward to saying things though! I should try to draw. I should try to put some ideas into practice. I think, and I don't think this is a good place to put this, but I think I convinced myself that I don't have any ideas. But I want to prove myself wrong. I am excited.

As I read this I was reminded of how personal my post was. But I do wish I could tell people what they need to hear. And then, what they deserve to hear (for being valuable). I suppose those stem from the same desire/need?


----------



## Golden Rose

I love rivers because they keep flowing yet remain the same, the water rushes, dances and travels yet the foundations still remain. So when I look at a river twice, at different times, it's always the same river yet it's not quite the same as something powerful moved inside of its bed, as old life merged into new hopes and became something special, something yet unseen.

I want to be a river, I've often felt like one because I was always me, steady and calm, walking on a parallel road from the world of reality and others and yet my ideas and perceptions were always newborn. Who I am and what I believed in was always there as a solid bed of mud, rocks and grass yet my feelings are a stream, placid yet devastating when the rain pushes them too far, when life is a lot and my world is full. There's so many pointless things in this world, isn't it weird how everything is real but doesn't seem so? Some rivers have a name, some rivers have descriptions and yet they're fluid because no matter how many names you call a river, how many feet and paws touch its liquid surface, nothing will ever take away the riverness from it and I sure hope that rivers are aware enough to name themselves. I know they aren't but it'd be lovely. When I was little I loved to look at and play with water, it was my little blanket. It took away the anger I didn't want to know, I was playing with my curiosity, my sadness and my naive happiness.

In Japan rivers are a stream that carries the souls of the dead to the after life and people place little paper lanterns on tiny boats to guide their way. I wish I could live out my daydreams of losing myself in a cooling countryside night around the end of the Summer, sneaking away from the confusion of street festivals and just sitting by the river, talking and dancing with fireflies and contemplating how old dreams can be carried away too as new ones keep emerging from every direction. I used to watch too much anime but it didn't feel like too much. On those quiet train rides my heart ached because I'd never be a magical student walking under cherryblossoms and enjoying a quiet adventure in the fields as fairies walk around me and demons crawl out at night. I wonder what my power would be? So many I love but I'd probably be quite the wimp, why fighting when you can create magic out of a heartbeat?

Enjoying shaded peace with my hypothetical girfriend, quietly making music or reading in a place galaxies distant from everything I know. The sweet sadness, the peaceful longing, every illusion of sun fluff making me feel dreamy and as if nothing else really matters but that dreams-filled road. Why is there a need to explain everything? My type, my sexuality, my contradictions, my plans, my deeper emotions, explaining unhealthiness and hurt. Why does it even matter? I wish some kind of instant understanding and mind reading existed but only when needed. My thoughts are only mine, I like that my mind is the calm haven that no one can intrude, that I filter everything out until it's just me, my emotions and the universes I want to explore. Just because I don't say anything and never talk, it doesn't mean I don't have anything to say. I just love to be on my own, to protect it all from intruders and superficial questions and shallow assumptions. Even this is letting the door a bit too open, although it's not even the 0.001% of it all. I actually forget my door open too frequently, I need to put it on "Do Not Disturb"

I like darkness too, I like bathing in my pain and lending it some childlike curiosity, to turn it into a novel that will never be written or a song that will never be played. Falling in love with a bleeding and multiply wounded ghost, looking at the moon and feeling that deep kind of sorrow, the kind that chokes me into a hug. Because, no matter what, I'll never feel completely whole, I'll always long for something that doesn't exist and it's perfectly fine because I love the way it stings. Without it, I'd never appreciate the beauty of tragedy without it, I'd feel naked because my constantly peaceful feelings love to bathe in melancholy.

Do rivers feel melancholy too?


----------



## yippy

My fingers are dancing around my keyboard, just like they are programmed in advance. It feels as if there is a direct link between my fingers and my emotional brain. I am not thinking too much about what I want to write, because the rational part of my brain would distort my deepest thoughts and emotions. Why do we have that part anyway?

Have you ever wondered what your real role is in life? Of course you must have, just about every person that I know on this message board is on a seemingly never ending journey towards the true self. The thing is though that I seemed to have found my true-self, but now that I am confronted with him I suddenly start questioning again. Is this really my destined role in life or is the universe playing tricks with my mind once more.

I choose to trust the universe for now. The instant this thought fills my mind my true self sticks out his hand towards me, as if he wants me to grab it and walk with him for a little while. Because I've chosen to trust him I accept the hand he offers me and we start walking. We do not speak to each other at all, we do not even look at each other. There is however an exchange of energy. We seem to vibrate at different frequencies, our energies are certainly not the same. Again I wonder: is this my true self? How can my true self be so different, moreover because I believe I've become the true version of myself in recent months. 

My worrying thoughts trigger a response from my true self, suddenly he breaks his silence. 'You are unsure if I am you. It troubles you that you do not know. Don't be troubled. I am the true you and you are the true me. Your insecurity derives from the fact that you only discovered the true you only a few months ago. The biggest challenge that will await you in the coming months is that you get better acquainted with the true version of yourself. That is why you will see a lot more of me in the near future. We will keep on meeting until our frequencies are in sync. Then and only then we can merge and you will become a whole person, a whole soul, once more.'

The words of my companion puts my mind at ease. For a moment I close my eyes.....when I re-open them he is gone and I am awake. Leaving me behind in my bed pondering about his words. Pondering about the next stage of my journey that is called life.


----------



## hellebore

You'd get a garbled mess if I just typed, so I chose a prompt from a horror group I hang around in. Today it's *The Fence*.

So, here's my ten-minute flash fiction:



> The fence had stood there for as long as Daniel Owens had known. Considering that he was only 8 years old when his brother Aiden had disappeared beyond it into the thicket by the marsh, that wasn't very long. But it was long enough for it to have become a symbol both in his mind and the mind of the other boys on the block of danger and the unknown. If you were unlucky and were caught slipping over its low, rotted planks, a weekend of grounding of a stern talk. To some, that had meant it was a challenge.
> 
> No one knew why you weren't allowed to go past the fence, but theories abounded. The older boys sagely said that it was simply the marshes, water and wild animals their parents didn't want them to be hurt by. Among the younger boys, ghost stories abounded that somehow - when he was that young - seemed far more sensible a fear than a fox or some deep water. There was always more to the story than what adults were telling you, and he'd long come to the conclusion that even if anyone _had _seen a real ghost around here they'd have kept it quiet to avoid scaring them. Daniel didn't know what to think, but he did know that to be a grown-up you had to be brave.
> 
> And what would be braver than bringing Aiden back so that life could return to normal?
> 
> Armed with only his mini-Nerf pistol (Aiden had taken the big one with him two months ago), he vaulted over the fence and took three steps towards the wall of cattails before looking back. He could see the lights of his house in the distance, as if they were already pleading with him to come home and retire for the night. When he looked ahead to his task, he thought he saw the flit of a greyer light behind the cattails that fled from the fading daylight.
> 
> "... Aiden?"


IDK. I didn't really have time to build it or end it. I was just starting to figure out what I wanted to do. :crying:


----------



## Lycrester

Not many things bother me as much as they used to. Perhaps a sign of maturing.Looking back,I was a rather quick to annoy kind of person. Not a hothead but the little opinions that floated around my office would eat at me even hours after I already left work. I don't consider myself a snowflake but the general conversations between people my age seemed so boring. I could never make the judgmental statements they conjured up and it would throw off my whole day if I ever got offended. (They always did more talking than working too.) But now,I just don't care. I suppose I finally realized that I don't have to be effected by those women if I don't want to be. I've learned that if I don't like certain topics,I don't have to respond to them. It won't ruin my life to keep to myself. The best part about it is that there is no emotion that comes attached to this...detachment. I'm not so angry that I chose to be silent. Sometimes I can't even hear them. I just don't care.


----------



## T.Ruth98

She waded into the dark waters. Fish darted away, quickly disappearing into the abyss. She longed to follow them, but too many factors were against her. Sighing with relief as the water lapped against her legs, she walked further into the lake. The trees above her were shaking, wind blowing them violently, yet in the water, a certain calmness always engulfed her. Although she knew she was being watched, she lay on her back with a peaceful grin, floating. All noise was drowned out as the water held her up, but she sensed he was drawing near. She closed her eyes. He could shoot her with his bow from where he was, and that'd be the end of it, but she knew he wouldn't. That's not who he was. In all likelihood, she reasoned, he was only coming to taunt her, to bring forth any emotion out of her he could. That's all he ever wanted. Emotion. She smiled: "he'll never get that." All her secrets were perfectly encased, hidden away, just as the fish who were waiting patiently for her to leave. She sighed, and opened her eyes to see him waiting on the shore, watching. She joined him. 

That was 10 minutes... So nice to just write!  It's cool to see what other people have written, too!


----------



## Lacrimosa

Turning and twisting the old leaves fall down. Down to the solid, cracked cement. There's a whisper out here. No, nothing but a wind's whistle. The birds soothe, in their fair harmony. No care of the sight of human calamity. They all fly, fly into an abyss, oblivion of blue sky, white clouds, green trees, far. They don't mind. The streets, the decay, the human expansion. Lessening their lives, destroying their purpose. They were once living luxury. 

But they don't mind. Birds are fighters, knowing when it's time to flee. Time to run. Back to their nooks, their shields of nature. Fairies of humanity. Lost, docile, beautiful. Must they go? Wouldn't I join? Couldn't I join? Fly in the sky, scanning, always gone to another dimension, cultures, experiences. Never tied down, no worries. Free to sing, rise to heaven, and speak their tongue. Angels of reality, are they?... I'll never know. Closing my eyes, I pretend, I fly, one with their kind. Along in the air, blissful and free, never finding a reason to go back down. The sky's plenty, happy, free, cold. But free. Light and the company of a flock, how wonderful. How desirable would this be? Wrapped in my winter blanket, I curl to the side, whispering, tear-stricken, the beauty of the bird in flight. There's a life, there. As time ticks. What time? No time, yes no time at all. It's all gone. Vast and white is this light? Am I in the sky? In flight? Finally? I am singing! Yes! Singing, the bird, is it me? That one right there...


----------



## Dao

The muddy waters sent ripples across the pond. The lily pad sat atop the chaos without caring where the sediment would settle. Moving but not disturbed. Flowing but not lost. Even birds cannot lie down in the sky.


----------



## Rift

another timer set.

the pressure on

I'm probably defeating myself by keeping check.

I do despise most things i write.. do.. back and forth... always editing, even if I rarely do.

left and right. I write with my right hand, but do everything else with my left. left eye dominate... thee were other thoughts to this. Inane questions. But its irrelevant.

Was I supposed to create a creative scene in this space? I suppose I could attempt to... but I lose it somewhere. 

I lost it here as a roommate came home. Not quite through the door yet. But her dogs are giving their banshee calls of wuv.

I'm still typing, but obviously distracted. 

crinkle, wrinkles of her bag as she walks to her bedroom door... I don't think she realizes how much weight she presses in each step, you can hear her mood in the way she opens a door. There's no need to ask. No need to answer.

I can feel the sleep in my back, a pinched nerve... twist the dagger in and I feel splayed, rolling on catnip... ears twitch.

she's walked to the fridge, something fell out of the freezer... hidden behind the wall. Oohs and ahhs to the discovery of something we've forgotten, long buried in the back but over time drifted to the surface enough to be released from the tomb of take out and reheated carry aways... 

two and a half minutes to go... really? was it this LONG the last time? It's just taking forever to end. 

reincarnation but lacking the pen.

I think I have a cut on my eyelid... on the outside... I don't know how that happened. 

I should get another pair of contacts. Heh. ever so true. ;p

still ticking down

down

down

down

masochist tendencies.


----------



## Macrosapien

my stomach is bothering me, sugar high rushes over me, chest in tightness, a life in hostage, a self in bondage, bio-bandage, loss in the whims of transition, from a morning state bewildered, to a walking state delivered, my stomach knows no mirror, it only knows what is nearer, and has a sweet taste, but no relate, to other parts of me, relationships that are excluded, for my stomach only knows its menu, there is no see you, only me and food, gut has its own intellect, and it really has mental rest, a brain like cats, aint it a pest. 

*Snaps fingers*


----------



## TuesdaysChild

I didn't know raindrops couldn't say raindrop words.
I didn't know the sky couldn't be seafoam green.
I didn't know worlds couldn't lie beneath the ocean.
I didn't know chariots couldn't glide without horses.
But now I do.
Thank you for telling me.
I stand corrected.

I swear today I heard them speak.
I told them what you said, about how they couldn't.
Naturally, they found it offensive.
No, I don't think I'll love you after all.
I prefer dancing with madness.


----------



## cityofcircuits

I’ll be heading to my older brother’s house later for a little social gathering. It’s his neighbor’s birthday and there’s going to be respectable crowd there tonight. Experience from previous related fanfares has taught me to expect the night to be full of excess. Of drinking, of storytelling, of silly drinking games, some conjured on drunken whim and some planned. Debauchery in a fashioned modern age term, as far as our midwest subdued culture allows and not even close to the Romans in their fallow base glory.
My brother is mockingly distinguished at these neighborly bonfires. Known and crowned as ‘Scuba Steve’ for having been found one morning passed out in a mud puddle right next to his front door. I haven’t been to my brother’s for awhile now and a few drinks will do me some good. Having been fired a few weeks ago and questioning whatever the hell it is I’m meant for in this existence. I need to learn to chill sometimes and let life happen. Not to force anything, to focus on your blessings, and what you have instead of what you don’t. Maybe it’s high time I learn to scuba dive too.


----------



## Rift

mourn the lie shining from my back

lie is for contact with the outside world

moving through my body without consent

in a collection of cells

when all eyes turn, the atmosphere burns

droplets of paint

swirling down, conductivity strained,

copper wire veins

speckled asphalt

garnets ingrained in obsidian

sphere, here, earth

meteorite collides

consciousness retreats

inherited memory

the faint heartbeat

envy the lie called life

the color of memory

recoated, coded

shooting star pointed to sky

correcting posture to wall

books upon head

trickle down words

ink did bled

exit the zero

black on white

white on black

nails dragged in concrete

hand tracing the column

between my thighs,

how novel!

bid, turn, say goodbye

the timer still goes on

inorganic

body laid flat

life confined

its clearance time

myriad of aggregate

cells

bundled nerves

if I lick the socket, do I pass the curve

darwin seductively grins at me

internalize, bringing it forward

with a kiss

a kiss to wrist

the angry copper snake coils

curled around my mind

rattling at my temples

down my throat

behind my eyes

ch, ch, ch, ch, ch
ch, ch, ch, ch, ch
ch, ch, ch, ch, ch
ch,ch,ch,ch,ch,ch

just one lick

just one bite

darwin still smiles

bygone shadow
distracted in the shade
of a dead tree
gnarled roots,
tender ivy
caressing
whats left
of we

pathetic

timer still ticks
down, down, down

this game is quite exhausting

tilt to the hilt

drinking from an old olive oil can

muted shades of blue

I don't think I can pretend

I'm prepared as all of you


----------



## Valiums

She rolls a cup in her hands on the little kitchen table, passing left to right and right to left, glass bottom dancing in a single ring between her fingers, almost like making pottery. The rain outside the window has stopped, but the smell still pours in through the open back door, mingling with the scent of coffee. She never liked drinking it, but when even the clouds have fallen so low, she knows she couldn't rise on her willpower alone, and so there's a pot on the machine that only ever makes hot water for tea, filling with something darker. Somewhere in the tired sky a mile down the hills, coupled stars travel, and she watches their passage. They wobble and veer, and the cup halts in her hands as they twirl around each other, a distant dance of small angels among the knolls. The cup is forgotten, knocked over, falls, as she rushes out of the cottage, into the cloudy field. She tosses her legs out before her, running unsteadily towards the glow of twin cherubim in a groggy haze. The wind bites through her thin sweater and the gravel scratches at her feet. When she reaches the spot where the lights shine, a man is hanging half out of a car. Neither of them are quite awake.


----------



## AesSidhe

In honor of my 1000th post I'll write for you guys 

-ending of the chapter God Help The Outcasts-

The room was dark and gloomy, except for the candles that burned upon the altar. From the window the last light of February was entering her room. Catarina toke a glass and the bottle of red wine she had bought just a few days before for this purpose, and walked towards the altar. She set the glass amongst the flames and poured the red wine into it solemnly. Besides the altar a sharp knife with a wooden handle was waiting. She looked at it, her eyes had grown dark but filled with determination. Most people sacrificed moon blood to the Raven Queen, but Catarina was barren, and would forever stay barren, never would the blood of life flow from her, never would she give life to the World, only death would follow wherever she would go.

She toke the knife and held it before herself, as the flames flickered in the edge. She then brought it to the palm of her hand, hesitated for a moment and chanted: “Morrigan Morrigan Three times Three. Grant me vision, Grant me power, Cheer me in my darkest hour. As the night overtakes the day, Morrigan Morrigan Raven Queen. Round and Round the Hawthron. Queen of Art, Yours my body, Yours my heart. All my trust I place in thee, Morrigan Morrigan Be with me ...”

And then she cut deep in the palm of her hand as the essence of life gulped forth. She squeezed her hand together and made the blood drip into the glass of red wine. Her hand burned of pain, but a sacrifice had to be made: Magic always came in threefold and this was no different with blood magic. The sacrifice had to be hers to minimize the backlash of this dark act. She toke the glass with her bloodied hand and looked darkly at the red wine mixed with blood, put the knife in it and stirred it slowly. “Ohhh Raven Queen, Maiden of Life, Goddess of War, and Elder of Crowns, my blood is your blood and shall forever be yours.” She spoke as she brought the glass to her lips and drank of it.

In the tree outside of her window a flock of ravens had gathered and had started cawing. Catarina walked back to the counter of the kitchen, still holding the glass of wine in her hand. Blood was running down her arm, some of it dripping on the ground. She toke some of the white rice she had made, put it on a plate and poured the wine over it. The burning feeling in her hand had gotten worse. She groaned and stroke her arm just under the cut, trying to massage the pain away, but the deep cut in her hand kept burning.

She walked towards the window, some blood dripped on her foot, she tried to grin: “It was your choice Catarina, it was all your choice.” She opened the window and looked up at the tree that had gotten black leafs made of ravens, cawing and cawing, but within the madness she could hear their voices: “One of Us, One of Us” They yelled. She threw the rice out of her window and as a storm of black feathers they descended upon the rice spiced with the essence of her life, wings flapping about some pecking at others trying to get the best parts, all screeching: “One of Us, One of Us”. Catarina just stared at them with an empty stare and repeated: “One of Us”.

In the distance she could hear thunder rumbling among the clouds: a storm was coming ...


----------



## serenitative

If I stop breathing....what's next?

They wouldn't. They couldn't. Wouldn't acknowledge. 

Wouldn't miss the fact they ignored it all.

I wasn't visible to them, though I cried out, I begged, someone please notice so I don't have to do this.

I call myself a coward because I can't bring myself to pull the trigger.

I don't want to destroy my mother. 

She's the only one who would care and who would hurt.

But I can't do that to her.

Even if I'm so deeply traumatised to go on.

Isolated.

Nobody reached out to me.

Nobody wanted to assuage this ****ing pain.

It's not a question of if.

It's just a question of when.


----------



## starvingautist

Okay, so I was going to write about this book I'm reading but I remembered this is meant to be the art section. I really don't write enough. I used to write all the time, and indeed I still enjoy it. Ahead of me lie four years of physics, which, though fascinating, may become too much for me. I do love physics, else I wouldn't have got into university, but I think it lacks certain things that philosophy would offer. Writing is one example of such a thing. I really enjoy it: letting my ideas flow onto the page with articulacy I couldn't muster in speech. Having inspiration, reviewing my arguments, refining my thoughts. But it is a personal thing. The subjectivity doesn't do philosophy any favours. I want to get the the bottom, the true bottom, of what the hell is going on. I want to know things like what the quantum natures of reflection and refraction are. I may have to wait a long time to get such answers, and patience is not something I experience very often, especially in the pursuit of knowledge. Well, this seems to have turned into a blog post. I'm sorry. Actually, it started off like that anyway. It was nice to get off my chest, I suppose.


----------



## Innogen

Darkness swirls around me, envelops me, engulfs me. Not in agony and torment, but in warmth and comfort. An evil presence, known to be stone-faced and ruthless, softens and eases as it approaches me.

It is my demon, my devil, my old friend. The one who sought control over me but now holds my hand as a confidant. Stifling tears and suppressing sniffles, we say our goodbyes to each other. We release our grip, turn our backs, and walk our now separated ways.

He was one that I held the closest to me. The one I held the most dear. And although it hurts, it is for the best. It is time to let go.


----------



## Brian1

I've taken the 10 minutes, if you want to see those minutes alive again, you'll do what I say? All of yous will do what I say. Do we have a deal? Attica! Attica! Attica! Attica! Attica! Attica! Attica! Attica! Attica!


----------



## kevinlolwut

_I raise the mug of orange juice to my lips, the corners of my mouth curling into a grin. *This is the best pseudo-deep shit I've ever written!*_


----------



## AddictiveMuse

I look out to the golden horizon before me. My two short legs dangling out of reach from the safe grass hands of the cliff.
I feel happy. I feel free. Even as the wind carelessly plays with my hair, refusing my prior commands. I finally take notice of the pair of blue jeans and the dark shirt sitting comfortably next to me. I look to the male before me, who's hazel eyes turn into that stunning ring of charmeleon green, graced with flecks of gold and blue. I place a hand above his. There is no sign of protest. We sit still for a while and watch the burning sky calm into hazy waters of blue. I place my head on his shoulder. Comfortably for a moment; then I am rudely awakened by the truth that stabs forever at my soul. There is no one there. Not anymore...


----------



## Roman Empire

Okay I have no idea where this is going'
But as a type 7 I know the stream will keep flowing'
My mind has more thoughts than a gigantic Boeng'
Even Joey feels like asking: "How are you doing"?

This is going to be an enormous power demonstration'
Just lean back, I am going to take you on a vacation'
This is going to be more funny than your play station'
This is going to be like an endless stream of lyrical finesse'
I am going to keep writing, and at the same time get the princess'
A guy murdered the half of the Aztecs, his name was Cortez'
What will the next thing be about, come on, give me a guess'

The thing about my mind is that I am very scattered'
I can keep going like if it was my life that mattered'
It is like an endless jukebox of random stuff'
If you don't like to be disoriented this is going to be rough'
I find it sad that so many men got their self confidence in being buff'
In the end they just want love, but they put it aside for facade being tough'
Why can't we see our world is fucked up, and say enough, is enough'
Nah, let's just fuck even trying, do you mind opening me another beer, a Duff'

When I see all the others writing 5 lines on 10 mins'
Could they ever imagine having a mind that spins'
This is no contest anyway, so who wins'
Do you remember world war 1, Russia bitch slapping the fins'

Jake, Blake, break, shake

I find it hilarious that we can call a country for Turkey
I don't know how to change a diaper.
I am too lazy to clean this apartment
But too active to not write here for 10 minutes
I find it hilarious that when I finally want to clean
Then there's no warm water in my tap


----------



## 0+n*1

I felt old, disgusting, bitter, lonely and uncomfortably rigid sitting on my own in a table designed for four in a pretty, childish and fun dessert bar surrounded by couples, families with kids and groups of friends enjoying themselves after a productive day at work or school, while I was unemployed and was dressing my obese body with the same casual clothing I've been wearing for the past two days. I felt like a slob or worse, like the person you try to protect your children from or you tell them to avoid.I couldn't stay there for long to prove myself I didn't look so antithetical to the target market of that place and I tried distracting myself playing games in my cell phone to delay the consumption of the coconut ice cream that was melting in front of me. I went there to escape from my idle existence, trying to break out of my shell, to do something seemingly meaningful with my life, to get out of the empty house I isolated myself to, maybe due to the same shame that was peeking from the corners of my head at that moment. Treating myself with something sweet even if undeserving. All I could think about in that situation was that it would be a great place to bring my nieces to. Because they are all that's left of the kid of laughter, of hope, of enthusiasm and joy I once was.


----------



## O_o

[nvm]


----------



## Deadly Decorum

Divine divinities 
Defining decorum and
Designating infinity
Upon divisions
Of a fraction within

Expansions exposing
Promotions of demotions
Demonstrating ergonomic
explosions of an eloquence 
Of a fraction within

aka

waxing poetic via gibberish and demonstrations of awkward attempts at alliteration. Plus repetition and unequal quantities within stanzas.

edit: fixed the imbalance of the stanzas. They were bugging me.


----------



## WickerDeer

My Emo Poem (about the bleeding heart):

Stand up. Take a step. Fall down. 

Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.

The sheets are covered. The sheets are warm. The sheets are covered. The sheets are warm.

When the blood begins to cool. It's sticky. It makes a mess.

Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.

Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.

The blood on the ground, soaks into the roses. The blood on the grass, soaks into the roses.

Put your fingers in it. Feel the closeness. Put your fingers in it. It's starting to cool.

Get up. Stand up. Walk to the door. Get up. Stand up. Walk to the door.

The blood is on the door. Press your heart there. The blood is on the door. It only flows one way.

Lean in and rest for a minute. Watch the beautiful red butterflies flowing. They fly through the window.

Feel that pain. It means you're still alove. It means that you're still alive. Feels so warm.

Eventually the house will cool and rain will come.

And plants they grow taller.

Some of it washes into the pond, where the ducks swim. Some of it washes there, and so maybe 

sometime

You will go to it

you will look into it

and you will see the moon and stars reflecting back.

And you will be happy that they finally have a body (on earth).


----------



## Clyme

I let the music move me,
I let it utilize me,
I let the tendrils spin out,
Into a reverie,

I abandon entropy,
I develop intensely,
I envelop thoughts and coat them,
Deeply with my ecstasy,

I relinquish apathy,
I re-scramble adenine,
I will live and breathe and grow,
And exhale my clozapine.


----------



## Doran Seth

This exercise lacks sufficient structure! However I am intrigued and thus, will participate.

There is no topic here so I don't know what to talk about...

Umm...

3 minutes in!

Yep, here I am. I'm on the internet. The internet works due to packet-switching. Yep.

I saw a blue jay yesterday for the first time! I love birds and I made a note of its call, which is pretty distinctive. It seemed to be gathering material for a nest. I hope so, since that means it will stay and give me a chance to observe it further, not to mention its offspring. When I was a kid a robin made a nest outside my bedroom window. Most awesome thing ever. I could see the eggs and the baby robins after they hatched. It was really cool.

Yes! 10 minutes has elapsed and I'm finally free!

But seriously, free form writing is so hard.


----------



## raskoolz

Great burning fire

Drowning out the echoes within the halls of eternity

Those filled with desire are incinerated to dust

Ashes that float within the blackness of night

Howl
Eternal moon

Let light bleed out upon your sweet face

Fulfill my thirst and illuminate
The corridors in which I wander


----------



## ficsci

Meltedsorbet said:


> My Emo Poem (about the bleeding heart):
> 
> Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.
> 
> Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.
> 
> The sheets are covered. The sheets are warm. The sheets are covered. The sheets are warm.
> 
> When the blood begins to cool. It's sticky. It makes a mess.
> 
> Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.
> 
> Stand up. Take a step. Fall down.
> 
> The blood on the ground, soaks into the roses. The blood on the grass, soaks into the roses.
> 
> Put your fingers in it. Feel the closeness. Put your fingers in it. It's starting to cool.
> 
> Get up. Stand up. Walk to the door. Get up. Stand up. Walk to the door.
> 
> The blood is on the door. Press your heart there. The blood is on the door. It only flows one way.
> 
> Lean in and rest for a minute. Watch the beautiful red butterflies flowing. They fly through the window.
> 
> Feel that pain. It means you're still alove. It means that you're still alive. Feels so warm.
> 
> Eventually the house will cool and rain will come.
> 
> And plants they grow taller.
> 
> Some of it washes into the pond, where the ducks swim. Some of it washes there, and so maybe
> 
> sometime
> 
> You will go to it
> 
> you will look into it
> 
> and you will see the moon and stars reflecting back.
> 
> And you will be happy that they finally have a body (on earth).


I hear a song playing with this

Oh no


----------



## WickerDeer

ficsci said:


> I hear a song playing with this
> 
> Oh no


Actually, I had been listening to some music with a really strong beat. And I think it rubbed off on me as I was writing that, though I don't have any musical understanding or much attention to poetic meter.

I don't want to stifle the song you hear in your head (so that's why I put it in spoiler tags), but this is the music I had been listening to before:


* *














I'd love to hear the music you're hearing, and would be happy if my random musings went towards something beautiful.


----------



## angelcarnivore

*Set a timer for ten minutes, feel free to go over if you're on a roll, and just start writing. Anything. Let it flow out.*

I want to visit the haunts of Elizabeth Bathory. When I was a girl, her story fascinated me. Then again, strong-willed aristocratic women have always fascinated me. It had at one time made me feel like I was a submissive; but now I'm not so sure. I dislike the term "switch". It implies sharing roles with the other participant- and no. No. 

I liked having a domain to rule over; and to do so for the other. I was always a teacher's pet- even if the more strict ones despaired that I refused to do homework, to take notes. But how could they know that I learned by drawing as I listened? What did they know in the late nineteen nineties about dominant senses and how that differs from person to person? But I am always teacher's pet- drawn to the person who doesn't yell, but still can hold the room, hold court. 

For the one I am chasing, oh, hoping to never reach him because I've discovered I love the chase most of all, for him, my dominant qualities have surfaced. To be noticed by him, one must be queen at court, not a princess, not a servant. It fascinated, as his fantasy life touches into his dominant nature-- but perhaps I only assume I know him better than he does. Such masochistic self-denial. I wonder- is he waiting for the dam to burst on its own, or does he want it infiltrated, and blown up with syntax. (Yes. Intentional pun. So sue me.)

As I write, I am playing an audio file of the sound of rain, because I need to listen to something, always, but didn't want to be distracted. Ten minutes can be a lot of time, or no time at all- and I can never anticipate what will fully immerse my attention to do. And I want to do well. 

I envy con artists- they don't seem to mind at all the implications and consequences to others. I feel drawn to the Bathory types, so powerful that they burn keys into the hands of young girls and take pleasure in it. I couldn't do that. I want to be benign, benevolent. The Queen who whisks the poor peon to a corner, and wipes their eyes with a clean handkerchief- after the royal adviser pointed a finger and yelled accusations to the king. Oh, the contradiction. I don't take pleasure in the contradiction either. 

I want to wear a white dress and dance on marble floors in bare feet. I don't think a unicorn would let me touch it.


----------



## ficsci

Meltedsorbet said:


> Actually, I had been listening to some music with a really strong beat. And I think it rubbed off on me as I was writing that, though I don't have any musical understanding or much attention to poetic meter.
> 
> I don't want to stifle the song you hear in your head (so that's why I put it in spoiler tags), but this is the music I had been listening to before:
> 
> 
> * *
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> I'd love to hear the music you're hearing, and would be happy if my random musings went towards something beautiful.


Wow, actually I imagined The Used. Really different, lol


----------



## raminan

I like you, I don't hate you, comeback please. I have so many ideas. No, don't stay away. Come here. Talk to me again please. I hate myself. Did I fuck everything up? Don't stay indifferent. Sorry. I didn't mean to. I think you're awesome. I hate myself. I can't let it go. I just couldn't believe myself. Are we still strangers? I hope everything you said was about me. I can't help myself. You make me smile. Don't give up on me. Just come back.

please.


----------



## WeirdRaptor28

So, this is how it ends.
You leave me with heartache
After you've asked for my heart.
"Please, don't get tired of me," you said.
All those "I love you's" you never meant.
Your half-hearted smiles still haunt me.
For every bleeding cut I've kissed for you,
For every secret you'll never let me know.
I should have known.
Don't tell me you loved me.
You never did.
You never could.
Sister of apathy, hear me now.

All those sweet words you told me mean nothing now.
My hands shake as I hold this cruel reminder,
Bloodstained "stainless steel".
What a lie.
I can still taste your blood on your blade.
I remember how you promised me that you'll never do it again.

Liar.
I can see your new wounds.
I can tell by their depths that you're worth it.
But you still keep pushing me away.
Fuck you.
May God have mercy on your soul.

Let it be known, 
Heartless,
I'm here to break your world.
This time, I won't die for you.
No, not this time.
I'll learn to live without you.
You're no angel, dear.
I'm just your second best.


----------



## Gorgon

*Embracing the Dark Passenger*

My dark passenger sits in the back seat quietly and patiently. It waits. And waits. And waits. It waits as long as it needs to. There's no hurry. It's presence is quiet. I think if it were loud from the start, it's influence would be less insidious. It creeps, then backs away, it creeps again, and backs away again. It's not reckless, nor does it navigate haphazardly. It's calculated and controlled. It waits for the opportunity to attack when I'm most vulnerable and most susceptible to its influence. When the attack occurs, it seems to come out of nowhere. The effects of the attack is like when a lover beats his significant other and then leaves her bloody, bruised, and quivering. Its reverberations awaken instincts and desires that I've long since forgotten. Instincts and desires that should never surface. You can't just keep them locked up in a dark for too long; they'll start to get restless. The more I try to repress them more potent their energy becomes. It consumes my whole being. Everything else becomes secondary if even that. The dark passenger massages the growing darkness in my heart. It's like a succubus enticing me with its dark treats only to leave me drained and lifeless in the end. It offers its forbidden fruit tempting me to unleash my demons onto the world. As seductive its dark embrace is, I must resist and resist. My defenses are only so strong, its constitution is starting to wither away. My dark passenger is a jealous and possessive lover. It will quell any opposition that comes its way. Its a dangerous but intoxicating relationship. It frees me from the restraints of civility while also digging its claws into me. My dark passenger will never leave me nor will I leave it. Our existence depends on each other. We feed off each other. However when unleashed onto the world, the harm done to those in our vicinity is irreparable and irreversible. What will you do when you encounter my dark passenger?


----------



## Lycrester

Of course I claim to take those countless "what is your type" quizzes for fun but in reality I really care what the end result is. Usually I'm disappointed. Either the answer is way too flat like "athletic" or "shy" or too specific like "Ryan Gosling" or "Robert Pattinson". Anyone with working eyes can point out an attractive man but I don't believe the physical attributes of a man really are included in my "type". But I am nearly exhausted in my curiosity and completely in love with the idea of soulmates and finding the one. So I take these poorly written internet quizzes and dream. However, I do have one trait that I can pinpoint. Ambition. Not just the "gotta find a job" type of hustle. I enjoy the fearless stride down a busy hallway. The first hand raised to a cockamamie question. The sprint through the park a 4 a.m. A follow up question packed with genuine interest. The "why not?" and "fuck it let's do it!" That is what I dream. That is my type. And no internet quiz could capture that feeling. Not to say I wish to fall in love with a pasttime. But what I'm trying to say is if I were to fall in love,I would want to fall for a person with ambition. Perhaps I take these quizzes to see if I deserve someone so powerful or am I destined to settle. Perhaps I treat these tests like matchmaking service and I need to turn my head towards reality. Perhaps I think too much.


----------



## Tetsuo Shima

I just learned about what MBTI functions actually mean, and I noticed that mine are really screwed up, so I'm now going to try to personify them as characters. So basically, I'm going to give names and backstories to the voices in my head.

I'll talk about my Si first. While this wasn't my first function to develop, when it did, it took control of everything and screwed up all of my existing functions. Enter Jet Steel: The responsible ISFJ fatherly figure to the rest of my functions, which would be fine if he wasn't an oppressive bastard. Jet, in his early years, was a handsome practical boy. He was quiet and not particularly popular, but everybody generally got along with him, although his strong sense of paranoia always gave him the suspicion that his classmates were laughing at him rather than with him. Then one day, Jet grew up, went off to war, and returned home as a battle-scarred misanthropic nihilist with severe PTSD. After having seen the world and what it truly had to offer, he wanted nothing more to do with it. He began to hate every living human being and to want them all to die so that there could finally be peace in the world.

Then one day, Jet joined my other functions: My Ti and Ne. I'll talk about my Ti first. The INTP Eric Wallace, as a child, was considered a prodigy. He loved science, especially dinosaurs. But as he got older, he found it hard to take care of himself, but eventually, he didn't have to because Jet came along and became his caretaker. His oppressive paranoid caretaker with PTSD. Jet taught Eric to despise the academic system. Upon being brainwashed to realize just how bad it was, Eric gave up his interest in biology and became an alcoholic. As the line between reality and fantasy began to blur into nonexistence for Eric, he legally changed his name to Dragonflame Sunblade and became an occult magician. He now spends most of his time summoning elementals or at least believing that he is able to.

And then, there's my Ne. Jaymon Rivera was hyperactive, creative, and generally fun ENTP of around the same age as Eric (or as he now prefers to be called without abbreviation, Dragonflame.). But since neither of the boys had parents, Jet (due to his unhealthy ISFJ instinct) became their foster father and really screwed them up. There was once a time when Jaymon wanted to make friends with everybody, but then Jet taught him that all people are inherently evil and that he can't trust anybody because they will always betray him because he knows from experience and Si always knows best. This caused Jaymon to become a rebellious anarchist, and while he didn't legally change his name, he now prefers to go by the nickname "Jag". Not because it starts with "Ja" like his original name. Not because it's short for "Jaguar", a Mexican animal, representing his heritage. But, because the name "Spike" is too mainstream. Jag now remains mostly under the oppressive control of Jet, but the more he is forced out, the more he will lash out and argue and be the middle finger in the face of society.

And then, there's my Fe. My poor screwed up Fe. The last to join the group. One day, Jet, Dragonflame, and Jag found a small abandoned ESFJ child. He didn't have a name, so Jet decided to name him X and train him to be an assassin. X's first word was "revenge" because Jet had brainwashed him to believe that the the entire world had wronged him and taught him to despise all of humanity and told him he existed to kill everybody. As an adult, X still has a one-tracked mind and seeks revenge without reason. He's also always crying and smiling at the same time: crying because Jet abuses him and brainwashes him to believe that every living human being hates him and smiling because he carved a smile into his own face with a knife.


----------



## WickerDeer

I once had a fire burning inside me, but it was not valued by anyone but me.

Eventually, that wasn't enough, because I'm used to the cold. 

Perhaps it will come back another day, when someone finds it warm enough.

I feel a little bad letting it die...but I find it easier to keep warm by moving than stoking hungry little flames with food I don't have, just to keep myself warm.

The cool leaves offer dew with miniature convex night skies. Jaguars hunt in the forest. It's dark and comfortable without a light to draw the attention of unfortunate moths and unknown travelers. 

Perhaps in the ashes, a tree will nourish its roots when it rains, and perhaps above the leaves of the tree, on a yonder plateau a wolf or coyote will call out to an unknown other, under the moonshine. 

More hopefully, the tree will one day blossom happily under the sunshine, offer little bugs food and maybe feel like part of a forest. IDk. The forest seems very lonely right now.

*laughing*

I wonder if watercolor pencils are the best for quick sketches. I don't know.






This song just started playing in my head.


----------



## xForgottenOne

I love to do this... It's like, I can just write whatever I want. Just whatever's on my mind. If someone's going to be reading this, I'm really sorry for my poor English. I usually check my spelling and grammar, even re-read sentences a few times to see if they're correct. I'm not doing that now haha.

So, what should I write? This is PersonalityCafe, I guess I should write about personality. Or not? I find personalities interesting. Why did I just say that? I mean, this is PerC, everyone is interested in personalities. Right? I don't get cognitive functions. How can they correlate to types? Just that I'm an INTJ doesn't mean I can't have Fe instead of Fi, right? I think I'm not human, my functions are so out of balance. I've stoppped typing myself using those, just because it was only more confusing. I've just said: I or E? S or N? T or F? J or P? I almost felt like a sensor while doing that. That's another weird thing, INTJ's use Ni most and Si is like nonexistent, but ever since I'm on the borderline of N and S, I also use Si. Okay, my functions are just messed up and I'm just going to forget them. 

So, let's write about something else. It's 08:19 am now, I've just woken up. I know it's Wednesday, but I have spring break! Yay! I'm going to ride my horse today. Looking forward to it! 

I do have to finish my science project. I'm a procrastinating J, but I have to cooperate with a non-procrastinating SJ, I sort of dislike that. She wants me to finish my part now, but spring break has only just started! The project is very boring, I'll have to solve some calculations on how much CO2 you produce when travelling around the world. It's the same thing over and over. I heard there was a way to do it using Excel, so I'm going to google that. It'd be a lot easier if I could just type the numbers and the correct answers would roll out! 

Okay, ten minutes are almost over. Or aren't they? I forgot at what time I started, haha. But I'm hungry, so I'm going to have breakfast. Thanks for reading this, if you did. I have to admit I didn't read all of your stories as well. I'm sorry.


----------



## Word Dispenser

It was aging. 

But, not in the recognized sense of the term. No, it was far more abstract. It was _less_. More intangible. 

It wasn't unusual that it should become intangible, because it normally did this on a regular basis. It was as intangible as the next guy. Well, the next guy in its particular vocation, that is. Although, it really was the _only _one in its vocation. However, on this particular occasion, it wasn't less because it _wanted _to be, and that troubled it.


It floated in the space between worlds, puzzled by this. A maelstrom of stars and galaxies flowed between pinhole points in space-time. It felt the gravity of worlds, became a part of stars collapsing, of world's renewing. And then, of course, it understood. Earth, affecting dream-space, again. Again. 


But, this time,_ it_ was also effected. That had not happened before. It was unusual for it to experience something which it had not experienced before-- In fact, it was sure, this was the first time. It decided to find the source, blinking, blurring into a star, between place, through time. It was easy to find.


It appeared within the source-- Inside a dream.


----------



## raskoolz

You will find me in an avenue-where the weight of your steps cast a burden to your shadow.

The pavement floors have tiny fissures and cracks.

If you stare at them long enough you can feel yourself sinking.

The post light's fire flickers within the long hallways and corridors of the streets.

Ahead are spectres; ghosts and apparitions of things not yet come.

And by the wayside- shadows still, imprinted along the curbs and gutters of the mind's road.

We are perpetually in motion.
With shadows ahead and behind us.

Illumination.

We look for respite in the light when we are born from shadow.


----------



## angelcarnivore

I've never really believed in goodbye. Not even when I knew, I knew, I had to let you go. I no longer got your jokes. I thought your assessments cruel.

But when the crossing guard whistled at me as we walked together in Lower Manhattan- and you complained that you never got respite from attention. I knew I had to stop.

I cursed you, for a long time, in dreams. And found myself climbing up rickety nightmare stairs to sneak through your parents house for my own sketches.

And though in my dreams I think eventually we were friends again; the stairs to your Brownstown were still smeared in the filth I must have thrown at them in some other dream I forget. 

A part of me misses you- my connection to you. But I can't. I know it's a cycle, always, with you. And I won't be caught up in it again. I think, did I ruin my friendship with my favorite teacher for you? Why all of those grand gestures? No. I can't stand on the sidelines and mouth sly insults at those participate in the world, nor suffer the hurt of coming up short- your grand self-idolizement. Your shoulds, impregnable. 

I could wish that you'll wake up one day- but no, my wishes I need for me.


----------



## Coburn

"If you're immortal, why don't you stand up and shoot them? What'll a couple of holes do but hurt?"
"There's a difference between living a long time and being unable to die."
"Have you tried it?"
"It's not really a risk I want to take."
"Worst happens is you die."
"That's a problem."
"This is a bigger problem. Bullets have finite lives. They don't crawl back once you've let them loose. I've got one mag left and at this rate it'll be gone in another five."
"We'll find another way."
"You are the other way; so get your agey ass out there and show them some goddamn immortality."


----------



## Arzazar Szubrasznikarazar

Autocannon roared. Rebel Rhino's power field flickered and died. The vehicle exploded, armour plates scattering around when mass-reactive shells punched through its armour and detonated inside.
Brother Kurt praised the Emperor. 
These filthy rebels weren't going to get away with their heresy.
+Forward+ He ordered.


----------



## Dustanddawnzone

So, I walk. Thinking, and I come to feel the light, soft breeze. I hear the crunching of leaves partially frozen with frost as the wind invades my jacket. Like a chamber the air comes in, and it is warmed by my body. I wonder the whats and hows of quantum theory, but I become distracted by this scene. Newtonian energy transfers with the gas constants, of later research. Sound of the breeze against my hood vibrates it as the car behind me does the air. I move to the side of the street allowing the car to pass. The world a transfer of energy and matter. The sun shines directly on me offering a brief break from the cold. I continue to walk; my emotions frozen. Then, I laugh at my own self-questioning. What is consciousness even? Wouldn’t an advance enough computer copy anything that could show it without having it even if I were to developed a symbiology for experience. Experience, that I have now. Senses which have their own flavor. I see green, detects of a majority range of light wavelength, yet experience is infused with something other than thought. Other than logic. Logic, that which is objective (at least mathematically), but without present to the mind’s experience beyond correlation in certain cases. Another wind blast? My warmth of my skin heat the enclosed air. I take a deep breath. The wind comes again. Its decreasing pressure gradient making my breathing harder.


----------



## Angina Jolie

I can not discern the infinity of noises surrounding me anymore,
I need silence, but silence is empty and dead,
It’s heaviness is weighing on me I am being buried alive, back to where it all begun but with no second chances!

I got tired.


----------



## DonDuhDon

A little boy once said, hey daddy, can I have an ice cream? The daddy said no. The boy cried. A teenager once said, hey dad, can I have a car? The dad said no. The teenager was angry. A young adult once said, hey father, can I have a house? The father said no. The young adult was furious. 

In another family 

A daddy once said, hey sonny, you want ice cream? Yes daddy. The boy felt joy. The dad a few years later said, hey son, you want a car? Yes dad. The teenager felt joy. And a few more years later, the father asked his son, do you want a house? Yes father, he replied. He felt great. 

Later in life 

The two men meet. One is a demon and the other an angel.


----------



## Booyou

White cracks, porcelain smiles
I reach out for your painted tears and
I feel like I'm talking to myself

Buttons roll around the room
it's hard to catch them falling
I feel I'm in control 
but I am not

The chaos controls my soul instead
I'm his paper doll, I'm his slave
don't get me wrong
I fight for freedom...
but
at the same time
I feel safe in his arms

So just leave me here to rot and turn
mud and blood and water
I'll raise a seed inside of me
Ill give birth to a plant and watch it grow
from afar...
from the blue hues of the sky

----

I'm no writer, this has absolutely no structure, just something I splurt out without thinking
I had like a melody in my mind or something.
It's probably really bad and I would delete it if I reread.
Oh well


----------



## Penny

3:00 pm -it is 3 pm, and i started writing to the sound of porn playing a stone's throw away. makes it hard to concentrate. the throes of lust reverberate in my mind. ah yes! lol. it's 3:01 pm 

stroke it big boy
stroke it fast!
lmao
he would kill me if he knew i was writing this!
3:02 well, he would get real mad anyway, hope he doesn't see.
lmao it's 3:03. pm.
3:04 poems aren't meant to be criticized. they are just meant to be enjoyed. 
3:05 3:06 squeeze a lemon, pick up sticks
3:07 _censored_
3:08 ain't that great
3:09 drink some wine. 
3:10 the end


----------



## pertracto

I want to say something, I really want to I swear. But for some reason, the words stay stuck . 

They climb up all the way through my oesophagus, they form through thousands and thousands of synaptic connections... but that epiglottis of mine doesn't seem to be vibrating, those appendices of mine don't seem to be typing. 
What's the point? Why lose so much energy forming thoughts if not to share them? 

How egoistic. 

My sensorimotor system has to be dysfunctional, seems like the most logical reaon. 
Let's see, not afferents no, central integration is ok... processing components? Check, nothing wrong there. Where then, where? Mechanoreceptors maybe? Let's follow that track... aaand there it is, efferents, of course it were always efferents. 
Now I know, is there something I can do about it? Absolutely not. 

How cruel.


----------



## Kajada

I saw it glowing in the distance. All around me, darkness. But the glow...it called to me. It beckoned. As I woke from my slumber, leaves rustled around me and coiled vines I hadn't realized held me in bondage tightened their grip on my body. Undeterred, I found myself pulled toward the light which danced in and out of my vision. So beautiful. _Pop! Pop! Pop!_ One by one the vines broke as I rose to my feet. I had eyes only for that which had summoned me from my sleep. I took one step and then another, carefully picking my way through the bodies of those not yet awakened. What I saw, it was for my eyes alone. I went to it, tracking its movements as it spun and danced, went up, went down, went side to side. Like a will-o-the-wisp it taunted me, a little moth, helplessly drawn to the flame. The closer I got, the warmer I felt. Soon my way was no longer impeded. The soil was soft underneath my feet. There was a smell to the air as of dawn breaking. I was smiling. _I can see you,_ I thought, and reached out a hand. Was that my hand? I looked at it and realized I wasn't in complete darkness anymore. I had a hand. I looked up at the light and it had stopped moving. It glowed in front of me, blinding in its brightness, but as the light dimmed for me I realized what it was. I reached out to gently touch it. My dream.


----------



## Bipedal P 314

I wake to find myself in my room but something isn't right. The room is bathed in an eerie blue glow which doesn't seem to originate from any particular point. I stand and turn to look at the opening where my bedroom door should be. I walk over to the opening and a feeling of dread begins to overwhelm me. I look around to find anything familiar that would comfort me. The room is bare with sterile white walls. I walk out into the hall and stare into what seems like a dim, empty house. The light begins to fade and the encroaching darkness drives me back into the room adjacent to mine. I back up slowly until I reach the dresser against the back wall. I'm cornered. As the darkness inches it's way forward I see a mirror in front of me just to the left of the door I entered through. When I look into the mirror I see what appears to be my reflection as it steps out of the mirror and approaches me. As my doppelganger reaches out to strangle me I realize that I'm dreaming and I run into the next room directly to my right. I turn to around to defend myself and see that the light is fading everywhere as I trip backward into a bathtub. I scream at myself to wake up as my attacker's hands wrap around my neck and the light finally dies. Everything is pitch black.


----------



## TheMainFlamingo

I had decided I may try and write poetry- something with meaning, a symbol of my hidden self or a message. Instead----

Fuck this.
Fuck that.
Fuck 10 minute writings.
Fuck websites I devote my time to, but will forget about 20 years from now.
Fuck procrastination. 
Fuck making lists of ideas I hate.
Fuck Nihilism, my ultimate migraine.
Fuck social validity.
Fuck isolation.
Fuck work.
Fuck 12:19 AM.
Fuck lethargy.
Fuck close-mindedness.
Fuck ignorance.
Fuck abuse.
Fuck molality. 
Fuck morality.
Fuck molarity. 
Fuck moles.
Fuck molecules.
Fuck molecular structures.
Fuck fucking words that start with 'mol'
Fuck depression.
Fuck superiority.
Fuck coffee.
Fuck oranges.
Fuck the news.
Fuck neglect.
Fuck genocide.
Fuck religion.
Fuck atheism.
Fuck barriers.
Fuck rules.
Fuck society and all of it's social constructs.
Fuck misinformation.
Fuck computer crashes.
Fuck breaking glasses at work.
Fuck passivity.
Fuck sensitivity. 
Fuck insensitivity. 
Fuck the word fuck. 
Fuck my ten minutes is up.


----------



## Penny

so my password isn't secure. i hope no one tries to take over my 2:17 hmm what would you call it? my profile? i occasionally sign up for things on the computer that give places permission to change my web content. it makes me wonder. what exactly are they changing? and who is doing the changing. just like perC, whose board am I writing on anyway? and why do people have to be so argumentative? like come on, can't i ever say something political without getting jumped on? politics. blechhh. religion. double blechhh. a new structure for society - sheeesh what is any other option but anarchy? religion rules behind the stage of mass murderers parading the common wealth through the streets (the actors that is) but who am i to judge who gets killed and what makes it okay? oh my time is up i hope that makes sense. reason rules.


----------



## DualGnosis

I kept walking. Silently on and on. Words whispered on my ear, I fear have gone. What is wrong? Oh poetic, myopic pictures, of song and sundresses, that whisper. I wonder among the wil-o-whispers, or so after I have drank thy elixir. "Oh my mister!" said the quiet, pretty sister. She sat so charmingly, I bring what I need, but what I need is an army. She un-arms me. Up in arms thee, thy heart, thy love, I pray to thee, won't fall apart. Me. I bring the ground, and beneath the sand, lies the fallen, the dirt and a planet so grand. Parts of me, would throw the rib, for all I get, I would give. Forgive, for I have not fully lived. My darling, your darling. My dear, such a darling. Oh wanderer is the soul, I am the vagabond, I have a fallen in the pond... Oh sweet maiden, open thy eyes, I will tell you want you to hear, and I'll make you mine. I am the outlaw, I will take my time. The world is yours, but your life is mine. Call me King, it is glory that I bring, it is my name that they sing, I am not a dream but a thing. Where the women kiss my lips, and the men kiss my ring.


----------



## DualGnosis

Soft soliloquy, so silent. No one can hear thee. Especially the one would you want to hear the most.
Cruel is the stage.
Cruel is the script.
Tender is the soul, warm is the heart, and gentle is the words... 


"From the bottom of my heart. There's so many reasons that we should not be apart. 

I say random things, but I mean well, I sing random songs, because I'm too scared to tell...

Send me your love, send me your stars, an undying love, when I give you my heart.

Say you love me, and I will sing you a love song, Say my name, and I hold you where you belong..."


Guitars playing in the distance.
I only hear wonderful words coming from a sweet sweet voice.
"Say you love me, you know that it could be nice."
I followed the sound, like a thief I wanted it for myself
"If you'd only say you love, I'll be yours, and you'll be mine."
And the change in melody, came the change in my heart.
"Loving you, is easy, cause you're beautiful."
I was mesmerized, I was astonished.
"Everything that I do, is out of loving you."
La-la she sang to the crowd.
"And every day of my life, is filled with loving you."
And so I stood. In love with a girl and her guitar. 

Woe is the lowly fan. Woe is the distance of space. Woe is the distance of fate.


----------



## DualGnosis

I envelop thee,
To develop me,
An interstellar plea,
In an under cellar tree,
Where I follow, oh so silently,
Where it's hollow, oh so carefully,
Where I violently, beg to see,
Where she dares to be, masterfully,
Dastardly smiles at me,
I angrily revile at she,
But she gleefully
Stares so happily,
I refuse her monopoly,
I choose honor defiantly,
But she offers me,
A sweet softer tea,
with a note blatantly,
Asking me, if I want to be with she,
I wish to avoid calamity,
But her eyes enchantingly,
Hypnotize me, so unto thee,
I sign this plea, and eternally, 
she shall be with me.




Basically how I end up in relationships.


----------



## Cosmic Hobo

‘It’s extraordinary, isn’t it, the risks people will take, simply to keep themselves safe.’

We were sitting, as was our custom on a Tuesday evening, in the inglenook of the Duck and Anchors. Outside, a storm raged violently, but in our little corner, lit by the cheery glow from a fireplace, it scarcely seemed to touch us.

‘You’re thinking, I suppose, about Maitland, the Camberwell poisoner?’ asked old Mr Wicks the detective novelist, who had just bought the last round.

‘I am,’ I replied. ‘Nobody would have suspected him if he hadn’t tried to poison himself. But he, foolish fellow, thought he had to prove himself definitively innocent. Once he dosed himself with arsenic, it was all up. The doctors wondered why the dose was so small. Enough to give him an upset stomach, but certainly not enough to kill him. Curtiss, the G.P., is a quick thinker. He kept Maitland in there overnight. For observation, so he told him. But he has a friend on the force – Sturgeon, of the Yard. They went to Maitland’s house, and what they found there was enough to cook his goose: poisons, chemicals of every description, and a private alchemist’s laboratory.’

‘And yet,’ old Mr Wicks said, ‘did it ever occur to them that Maitland was innocent?’

His eyes gleamed behind rimless pince-nez.

‘Oh, I know the evidence was against him,’ Wicks went on. ‘But what sort of evidence? A few bottles in his cellar, and a hastily rigged up set of pipes and beakers? Frankly, it’s all too pat. Besides, I know the man. He’s not a poisoner. He’s not the type.’

The Colonel stared at him from under his bushy eyebrows. 

‘Is there a poisoner type?’ asked the Colonel. ‘Look at the famous ones! What did the meek Crippen (if he was a murderer) have in common with the booming, gregarious Armstrong? How much was Mrs Bartlett like Mrs Pearson? What of Seddon and Cream?’

As if that clinched his argument, he drained his glass and banged it down on the table.

‘Ah, but he’s not the sort to poison,’ said Wicks. What does he know of chemicals? He’s a mathematician, not a chemist or a doctor.’

‘I can name several poisoners who were actors, lawyers, writers and clergymen,’ I replied. I took a mouthful of beer. ‘Writers, too, for that matter. These days, anyone can look up poisoning in a book, or even in a detective story. It’s not a matter of temperament; it’s a matter of vanity. All poisoners are supreme egotists, who preen themselves on their cleverness.’

'Like detective writers, perhaps?' said Mr Wicks, standing up. ‘Besides, I know very well that he’s not a poisoner. For a very good reason.' He smiled, showing his fine white teeth. ‘You see, gentlemen, I committed all those murders myself.’

He started to go, then turned. ‘I do hope you enjoyed your drinks, gentlemen. Good night.’

And with that he went, his feet tapping sharply on the wooden floor. 

I tried to stand up, but the room spun around me, and I fell heavily into my seat, knocking my glass over the table.

Opposite me, the Colonel clutched at his throat, and tried shakily to undo his collar. 

The last I saw, before I fell headlong into a black tunnel, was his mottled face swimming before me.

‘Last orders,’ called the bartender in the next room.



EDITS: Should make it clear that Maitland had been tried and hanged; this is after the trial. Maybe have them discussing the latest crime célèbre in the papers? First line 'So they hanged Maitland...'???


----------



## Penny

she didn't want to go and play
the lights were bothering her
she didn't want to go and play
too many people saying this and that
she didn't want to go and play
and that was all of it

she heard the hum inside her head
and went stark raving mad
she heard the hum inside her head

what a bunch of rubbish

caterpillars don't swear to gods
they just inch along unknowing that one day they will fly from their prisons

hmm 3 more minutes
boil an egg in ten minutes (a large) twelve for extra large ones
i need some pot to make my posttastic posts
ah, no i don't i can just write this gibberish unstoned
label the can! if there's no label how will we know what's in it?
time's up


----------



## DualGnosis

I walk around in paradise, paradise for sinners. For heathens. For blasphemers. Some call it dystopia. Most people call it Earth.

I walk around uncertain, but striving. I have no qualms, only questions. But even those questions are almost never answered.

"I have a question mister." 

"What is it?"

"Why do you say so many strange things?"

"I don't say strange things. I say things that are meaningful, but it's simply that people believe meaningful things are strange."

"I don't understand..."

"If I were holding your hand, while you were sitting on my lap, what would the normal person say?"

"You're not a good person. You shouldn't be doing that with a girl so young."

"You've told me that I was a good person. But other people say that I will be a bad person, so tell me which is the truth? Can you be good and bad at the same time? By definition, a good person is not a bad person."

"You are a good person. And even if you were holding my hand, you would still be a good person."

"The problem is that it doesn't matter. Even if I was madly in love with you and I knew I could prove to the world just how good of a person I was, it wouldn't matter. I would still be a bad person. Perhaps to a crowd of people or perhaps to society."

She approached him. Sat on his lap. Cross fingers with his hand. And said to him, "I'm madly in love with you, and I could prove to the world just how good of a person you are."

He looked at her, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "Sorry honey, I don't want to go to jail."


----------



## King Pereret

He was heading downtown. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. He checked again: all was prepared.

As he was walking slowly but surely towards his school, he put his favorite song on the phone again. He put his earphones on. The piano was gently playing in his earphones: a sad song, a song which predicted death and suffering, exactly what was going to happen in a few minutes.

He faced death and suffering all his life. But, this would have been the last time he would have faced these horrible feelings.

Only 6 minutes until he reached his destination. As he was slowly approaching, he started focusing on the small details: a formally dressed person was driving a nice car. ''He is lucky he isn't there'', the person thought to himself. A small, torn piece of paper was thrown on the ground by a woman. He passed her, kicking the small piece of paper with the foot aside.

Nearly 4 minutes left. As the time was passing, he started thinking about everything: his birth, the death of his father, the bullying he went through and the death of her mother. But, now, it was all going to be over. He felt no pity for what was going to happen: his grief and bitterness ate him on the inside, until there was nothing left but darkness.

2 minutes left. As he was getting closer, he started hesitating. Was he really going to do this? Was he prepared? Suddenly, he stopped walking. No, I won't, he thought to himself. But, his feelings forced him to continue walking. There was no turning back now. What was going to happen, was going to happen.

1 minute left. He checked his backpack again. Everything he needed was there. He was now at his destination: the school he went to. All the bullies were going to pay.

30 seconds left. He sighted, knowing what was going to happen. He cocked his gun and entered.

10 seconds left. The slaughter began.

P.S. Sorry for my crappy story, I couldn't really think of anything else


----------



## King Pereret

He was heading downtown. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. He checked the backpack again: all was prepared.

As he was walking slowly but surely towards his school, he put his favorite song on the phone again. He put his earphones on. The piano was gently playing in his earphones: a sad song, a song which predicted death and suffering, exactly what was going to happen in a few minutes.

He faced death and suffering all his life. But, this would have been the last time he would have faced these horrible feelings.

Only 6 minutes until he reached his destination. As he was slowly approaching, he started focusing on the small details: a formally dressed person was driving a nice car. ''He is lucky he isn't there'', the person thought to himself. A small, torn piece of paper was thrown on the ground by a woman. He passed her, kicking the small piece of paper with the foot aside.

Nearly 4 minutes left. As the time was passing, he started thinking about everything: his birth, the death of his father, the bullying he went through and the death of her mother. But, now, it was all going to be over. He felt no pity for what was going to happen: his grief and bitterness ate him on the inside, until there was nothing left but darkness.

2 minutes left. As he was getting closer, he started hesitating. Was he really going to do this? Was he prepared? Suddenly, he stopped walking. No, I won't, he thought to himself. But, his feelings forced him to continue walking. There was no turning back now. What was going to happen, was going to happen.

1 minute left. He checked his backpack again. Everything he needed was there. He was now at his destination: the school he went to. All the bullies were going to pay.

30 seconds left. He sighted, knowing what was going to happen. He cocked his gun and entered.

10 seconds left. The slaughter began.

P.S. Sorry for my crappy story, I couldn't really think of anything else


----------



## strawberryLola

As the night rain pitter patters against the window sill, the moon hovers over a spotlight onto a crowd, a crowd full of flowers on an ocean breeze swimming against riptide currents.

The moon so bright shadowed by the sunlight lights up the night sky and clouds beneath.

Above the moon, the vast universe continues to spin upon dark clouds of nebula lit stars. Inside a black hole resides a tunnel worm hole, where collected energy collides, meets up into a bang, nothing makes sense, but in the stillness of the sky, the horizon brazes softly to whisper winds of sorrow, stardust and light escapades in multi-directions pit pattering nowhere and everywhere in this cosmic dream world of silence and mystery.


----------



## DualGnosis

So many people walk among the urban forest and no one knows who anyone is. We shake hands, we smile, we dine together, but in the end we go home alone. Perhaps that's how it should be...

"I think I'm ready to jump out the window..." 

"We already wasted too much, and your time is the only that I wish was mine..."

As the music plays, as the record spins, as the strings vibrate, as the sound ventures into my soul... I stare at the city lights. Lights full of life, but they congregate together and not a word they speak to one another.




A city full of lights, a city full of life, a city full of lies... and perhaps that how it should be.


----------



## Xcopy

I am hungry, I want to eat food. I am eating food. The issue is dealt with. Now I want to play a game, or maybe not. I have music blasting in the background and it is 1AM. Perfect time for me to enjoy the splendid sounds of miscellaneous musical I usually have the background due to my intense dislike of silence. I don't know why I don't like it. My mind wandering usually ends terrible for me and I get mad about something or sad about something. Whichever comes first. I am going to talk about me. Because I dunno, I feel bad talking about other people behind their backs where they cannot see me for some reason. I usually make myself the butt of every joke, and that is not true. Usually life has a way of making me the butt of every joke. Some jokes. A few jokes. Looking at pictures right now and.. I am really loving the quality of stuff I am finding for a thing I am working on or doing or whatever. Fuck man, this is difficult. Well not really, because it all has a ring of truth and some actual bearing to some extent or whatever. Whenever someone comes up to me with a negative view I think it's dumb or unrealistic. Whenever someone comes up to me with an overly positive view I usually respect it, but it's still a bit unrealistic.


----------



## Penny

I remember a life I lived. I'm not gonna say who I was. It's funny how you remember things, then through the internet get validation for them. Without the internet it would be lots harder to find info. Anyway, the saddest part of this life that I remember wasn't that I drank myself to death, it was about a man I loved. He disappeared one day never to return. In "hindsight" he apparently went off to live under a bridge somewhere. Crazy as it sounds, I wonder if it was true. I was lucky to meet someone after to get my mind off of him some but it always lingered there, his absence. A strange one for sure, that man. To this day, it irks me badly when people leave without announcing their departure. I always wonder if they will ever come back.


----------



## LittleDreamer

Words and thoughts.
To write or not to write, that is the question.
My thoughts are jumbled but my feelings are not,
I know what I must do or say 
but I dont want it to wither away.
I should say something
But I should escape
Leave while there is a chance
Yet Theres no clear way.
I dread the response
But it's the price I pay
For being nice
For what I said everyday
And getting Misunderstood


----------



## DualGnosis

The curtains spread, and the room fell silent.

Out came a woman, I had never seen. A woman that caught all the attention of the strangers. She looked forward and walked with a swagger so smooth and a stride so strong... I began to lose sight of anything else around me. 

Poets would describe her lips so luscious, and her hips so vicious, that any sane man would feel intimidation and intrigue all at once. 

And then she stopped. The cigar smoke filled the air, but soon gave way to a beautiful sultry voice...
"I want you... to know... that you've fallen through... a hole in the sky... the strangers welcome you... as you lose your sanity... they touch your soul."

I sat in the back, wondering why God hides his angels in a den full of sinners. 

A performer has a duty not only to entertain, but to captivate her audience. And this performer did more than just captivate me... I was captured, I was trapped, I was hypnotized. 
"I want you... to know... that the smoke bellows out... the depths of the pipe... caress you... it makes you... believe anything... all the truth... all the lies."

Perhaps I wanted to believe anything she told me. All the lies wouldn't matter, because the only truth that mattered was that I wanted an angel to stay with me tonight.


----------



## DualGnosis

"In Nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spritis Sancti. Amen." said the priest.

The church bells rang. And in the silent halls, were prayers.

What were they praying for? What were they speaking to God for?...
If God is omnipresent, he must know the beginning and the end. If he knows these things, what do we pray for? What will our prayers change? Or is the future alterable? Maybe it isn't static. That means there is no certainty. There is only change. And so there is free will. But what is this free will, but the limitations of humanity? Are we really free? Are we not bound by physics? Morality? Society?...

The end of the prayers came through. And the priest had risen. For it was time for bed.


And so another day has passed. Another day for the faithful man to question himself, and his faith.


----------



## Penny

This world is too fast.
I am slow.
This world is too smart.
I have a simple mind.
If you aren't a doer or have no power, what's the point of getting involved in politics?
Where's the money hunny?
Principle number one - the almighty dollar rules.
Democrats/Republicans, Liberals/Alt. Right
One wants this the other wants that - who cares? How about we make it no one gets what they want and shut them all up.
I'll get what I want! Ha yeah right. 
The world is too dumb.
To let the masses decide - that's been exampled and duly noted.
Intelligence does not a good person make.
Stupidity does not a bad person make.


----------



## isuals

.


----------



## Kittens Are Awesome

Okay I'll start writing now.

In a day, we think of so many things, that could help the world, then some of us go out to do it, and fail. But why? Because we miss out on one very important step in the making of a product. Which is to state how it will be useful. 

For example, pokemon go doesn't just help you get exercise. For some people, it can connect you to others or yourself. It can help people who are anxious about going outside, to go outside. In fact it can make people who usually stay inside, go outside. It can also make people who don't spend a lot of time with their families to connect with them. There is so much potential in a game and help you can get from a game.

However, I also think some people are scared of failing, and I do think that this is something that social media and the consumers contribute to. For example, the man who created flappy bird, committed suicide due to the vast amount of negative comments not just aimed at his game, but at him. Also, the false stories contributed to this too. For example, someone wrote a false story about someone, killing someone else over flappy bird.

However, it helped me connect to my friends and whilst flappy bird was popular, we had to do trampolining in P.E. and you had to flap your arms to jump higher, so my friends would say to jump like flappy bird. So he didn't know that it meant something to some people because that was either never mentioned, or buried in all of these negative comments.

So in order to motivate yourself, remember, to make a list of the things you think the product will help with, as you can always add to the list as your product develops and it will help you stay on track and not stray from your true purpose - to get this product in the shops.


----------



## Rainbowz

I am an introverted girl who's hobbies include listening to music, playing games, going outside depending on the weather, exercising, playing with my dogs, hanging out with my family and friends. I usually keep my friend group really small because I'm not the type of person to talk to people and have billions and billions of friends. My energy would quickly drain from that. My favorite exercise is jumping rope because jumping rope is one of the few exercises that work your whole entire body all at once. Jumping rope for 10 minutes is about equivalent as a 30 minute jog. This exercise burns a lot of calories. It can also improve your coordination. I usually do a HIIT jump rope workout that includes 30 seconds fast jump rope, 20 seconds rest, and repeat for about 20-25 minutes. I also listen to some music while doing my workout. I listen to my Spotify playlist. One of my favorite artists are Drake. I like his album "More life" my favorite song on that album is Get It Together and Passionfruit and Sacrifices. Another artist I like is 21 savage. I think his songs are really good too. One of my favorite songs written by him are Ocean Drive and No Heart. My Spotify playlist has over 100 songs, all are different types of Genres. I've been updating my Spotify playlist since December 2016. Ever since then, I would just keep on adding songs that I found interesting. And thanks to Spotify, I know plenty of catchy songs that I listen to over and over again. Spotify has also made me get into more Kpop. My most favorite Kpop group is probably EXO. I like their song called "growl" I'm not a crazy Kpop fan to be honest. I like all types of music. My astrological sign is Aries. I used to love astrology. I don't really talk about it as much now.


----------



## Sir Kanra

The world is full of the good and bad, shallow and deep, so many flavors just make you feel free. Ever inquiring as to which one shall appear and where the ripples shall be. Humanity the psychological state of shattered psyches in more varieties than flavors of ice cream. The factors beyond which we comprehend. We are the many, and separate. The beautiful and ugly. 

So then what, we asked, causes our chains? Why doesn't a being so high free us from our spite? We scramble and fight. Trapped in the personal allusion of what's right. Sending ripples so much that we end up crippled. How do we break free the chains laid before thee, that question surely to be. How does one answer if one doesn't truly perceive the self beneath the self. If we found that answer what would we do with such a revelation, spread it and advance society or covet it as our precious secret? When we come to break our chains through the will of freedom, will we truly be free? Shall we lay those chains cast aside, or assert them upon another furthermore? Thus the weight remains forevermore, like heavy rain that forever would pour.


----------



## dulcinea

Dennis had sharper teeth than other bunny rabbits in his bunny rabbit school. That's why they called him the Rabid Rabbit. Everyone was afraid dennis would eat them, so all the other bunny rabbits would beat Dennis up and bully him. Dennis was incredibly depressed, but he didn't feel free to tell mom or dad because mom and dad were too busy raising the other 10 bunny rabbit kiddos, so Dennis was all alone. 

One day, a Larry, a big red fox, snuck into the bunny rabbit school carrying an AK47. He was very sneaky so no one saw him coming in, but Dennis had to pee, so he asked the teacher if he could use the restroom, and while he was in the restroom, he saw fox feet inside a stall. The second he was done with his business he ran out of the bathroom, but the fox caught up with him quickly, and grabbed him. Dennis, then, bit as hard as he could on the fox's hand, the one carry the gun, so he dropped his AK, and it went off, alerting everyone in the school there was a shooter. Someone came into the hall to see what was going on, and when they saw the fox make for his gun, quickly grabbed it before Larry could. The bunny police came and put him inside a cage for the rest of his, life, and no one bullied Dennis anymore. He was still called Rabid Rabbit, but, this time, he wore it like a badge of honor.


----------



## dulcinea

where did my story go? I wonder if it's a database thing....


----------



## bleghc

i can't be friends with you.

not because i don't like you, no. it's because of the exact opposite. i like you. a lot. too much, actually, and it hurts because i know you don't like me at all. at some point, i don't doubt that you did. we were friends. but then she came into the picture and if she doesn't already see it herself, she will. inevitably. and you will too. she's starting to see you the same way i did for so long.


and now, i can feel you slowly slipping away from me and into her. even i can't pretend that i don't see it. from seeing you two laugh in the rain to seeing her gush over an hour-long text conversation i'm there for. i like to think we could've been like that as well, you know? but then she... she came into the picture and now you're gone.


i should've seen it coming at some point. i think i did but convinced myself otherwise to stop myself from feeling the inevitable pain i knew acceptance would cause. i convinced myself otherwise as means to stop myself from breaking down every time i'd be able to recall how you'd always choose her over me and how you'll continue to do that. you know, to catch her eye before you catch mine even when i'm next to her and i think - most importantly, to catch her fall when she tells you that she's falling for you while i attempt to stand strong - or maybe even at all if i'm lucky, pretending that i hadn't already fallen for you months ago.


----------



## Lycrester

I wonder why I keep getting pity from this guy at my job. He's a fitness nut,extremely talkative and always tries to get a long conversation out of me. I don't know why but ever since my first week working along side him,I found him uncomfortable. If he was an animal,he'd definitely be a dog. The excitable and people pleasing type. He tries his best to mold himself into matching my personality which I found more insulting than comforting. I understand so people do it unconsciously but he ain't one of them. 

The pity started when he asked what I do with my free time. I read,watch dramas,write(maybe not as much as I should),and go for drives when I'm bored. Instead of just saying "cool" and moving on to a better topic,he frowns as if depressed and asked "You don't do anything else?"

Normally I just brush off this sort of thing but he made me annoyingly uncomfortable and I insisted he enlighten me on what would be a better way to spend my time. Clubbing. His answer was clubbing. There is nothing wrong with clubbing but if that is not your scene because you tried it and it didn't stimulate you then why subject yourself to it again? In a nutshell,he must have believed because my activities usually involve one person,that equals a loner who is therefore a shut-in and will die alone. No. Never. I just don't like him. 

He also asked questions about my love life,treading as lightly as he could. He failed. He asked if I ever had sex before. Additional questions kind of floated around the same realm but all were laced with this sympathetic pang. I wanted to choke him and then go to HR. But I didn't. Instead whenever he asked me to come eat with him or hang out with the other coworkers,I say no. Believe it or not,that actually hurts his feelings.


----------



## DualGnosis

_"Life is all about the small, simple pleasures my dear. You get married on a single day, but you live with each other for the rest of your lives. And each day is another test to see how much you really mean when you say 'till death do us part...' You know love isn't just romance, it's also pain, it's stress, it's conflict, it's how many times you can find flaws in the other person and still want to be with them. That's why I say to you, it's the small, simple things that matter! Because in the end you'll realize, it's not the wedding day that you miss, it's each day you spent with this person."_


----------



## DualGnosis

"Sally, we've done it. We've finally achieved ever lasting peace!"

"Tommy I'm so excited! Imagine all the things we could accomplish now that there's no wars, no conflicts, no differences."


"Are you sure this is what you all want?" said the ghost in the corner.

"What do you mean?" said Sally.

"Humans are a very strange species. When we're young, we want to prove ourselves to the world, we want to change something. When we're old, we want stability, we want order. How do you think such a species would last in a world that doesn't require change?" said the ghost.

"We will all live happily." said Tommy.

"No, you will live happily for a day. Tomorrow, what will you do? There is no work that needs to be done, no problems to solve, no bad guys to confront, nothing that needs to be changed." said the ghost.

"We will live in peace and harmony." said Sally.

"I guarantee you that the only thing you have given is not peace, not harmony, but everyone a meaningless life." said the ghost. "If humans have nothing to do, they will come up with something to do. And when they notice that everything is perfect, they will find a way to make imperfect again. What you see as peaceful and harmonious, the next generation will see as oppressing and restricting. What you see as genuine happiness, the next generation will see as a hallow lie meant to keep people from seeing the truth."

"How can that be when there is no more conflict in the world?" said Tommy.

"Because you're forgetting that conflicts don't come from the sky, nor from God nor the Devil... no it is humans that conflicts come from. And wherever there are humans, there will always be conflicts." said the ghost.

"We can force people to not have conflicts." said Sally.

"Ah... and so the cycle continues." said the ghost.


----------



## BlackDog

My twenty seventh birthday came and went without incident. I had crepes for breakfast, rendered thin and pleasantly rubbery from the grassfed cow's milk and chicken eggs. I drowned them in maple syrup, and as always the viscous amber liquid made my fingers feel sticky even though I was careful not to spill a drop. It was the real stuff, the kind that you get from a can with the watercolour winter forest on it. A tiny red cabin and shaggy grey horse hooked up to a sleigh. The one that reminds me of my childhood, and for some reason makes me think of Laurentien pencil crayons and my dad reading the Buy and Sell. It's a little too sweet. I washed it down with a glass of dry champagne, into which I had dropped a single strawberry. As my family chattered and scraped at their plates with silver utensils I watched the bubbles from the wine erupt out of nowhere and cling to the berry like barnacles on a lonely rock.

Twenty seven looked different in the light of day, somehow. But not really any better or worse. I'd spent the night before on the couch, wrapped in a crochet blanket despite the August heat. Long after everyone else had gone to bed I was awake, listening to 90's ska music filtered through the tinny speakers of my iPhone 5. I balanced a heavy whiskey glass on my knee for some time, watching the amber liquid slosh ominously from side to side; nearing the rim but never overtaking it. Climbing the sides of the crystal and sticking to it ever so briefly before falling back and pulling reluctantly away. I remember the smell of the scotch. Vanilla, notes of fruitiness and a lingering smokiness which was offensive to my nostrils but strangely pleasant on my tongue. 

If maple syrup is my childhood, I guess twenty seven tastes like whiskey.


----------



## 7rr7s

Night washes over her. Indian Summer, the sky red and gold. She wonders where he is, if he still thinks about her. She wonders about Montana, thinks about him huddled over a fire under a blanket of stars eating a trout he caught earlier in the day in the Blackfoot. She imagines him tired, rugged, lonely. The last time she saw him -three years ago- he still had fire in his eyes. Such fire, such sadness. She wonders how things could have been different if she had said yes. She gave him back the ring and the next week he headed west. A man has to get away sometimes, to find what's really in his heart or to forget what he stores in it. She knows this. Still, she waits.


----------



## Suzziexo

Another wasted day, trying my best to stay sane, hold on, this also shall also pass. What is worse? I am wondering - Being busy doing what you hate or doing nothing at all. I need to realize that I am just me, and I should try my best to stay strong. I cannot control the future, I don't have magical powers, and I am not perfect. But I promise myself that I'll try the hardest to be the best version of me. I hope it's enough. I hope I can reach happiness. You see, my brain is like a maze filled with endless thoughts and worries and even though I might not know that way out, there always seem to be a new puzzle begging me to solve.

I really cannot control my environment, for that, I indeed feel shitty. I always come across as a cold detached creature but I promise I am not what you think. As I am writing this, I am also wondering if this is ever, enough. It's a pity how when my heart finally stumbles upon something to keep beating, I always seem to kind of disappoint it. I may not be talented, but sure as hell I am interested- arts, poetry, photography. Is a way to escape. Although my dear, I promise
better days shall come.


----------



## Turi

First day of September, beginning of Spring. Unfortunate for a Victorian, a thought to relish for a Queenslander.
I turn 30 in a few weeks. Seeing Dashboard Confessional on my birthday, still haven't told work I'll be taking the day off, they'll find out soon enough.

It's funny, I remember listening to Jimmy Eat Worlds "23" when I was about 17-18 or so, and thinking to myself what a powerful song it is, intrigued by the possibilities of the future and where I might be when 23 finally came.

Every year since, I think about that song in the weeks leading up to my birthday and feel like a failure, accomplished nothing.
When 23 came and went, it felt like I'd been consumed by a black hole, an overwhelming realisation that I'm a waste of space and nothing more - nowhere near what I thought I'd be, haven't lived up to any expectations from anyone, not even the psychic and gypsies.

So when I hit 27, I thought to myself, if I die while I'm this age, maybe one single friend might think "oh he died at 27, like all these other musicians".. no. Survived 27. A good thing, my daughter was born that same year. Something to live for.

I've been studying law for what seems like an eternity, and now, I'm bored of it, over it, not cut out for it. It's not something I want to do.
Not motivated to complete my studies. Don't want to work in the field. It ain't me. Opposite of me.

So I've put it on hold while I undertake a Diploma of Counselling, think I've found my calling with this, genuinely excited and loving every second of it. My friends and family seem to agree it's a perfect fit and a career I should have dove into ages ago.

So here I stand, staring down 30, and where am I? No better off than when I heard "23" except now I've got additional financial responsibilities and people who rely on me.
At least there's a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel now.


----------



## sippingcappucino

10-minute timer.

"Because it's important for you to know." She typed then deleted. It was important for him to know. However, every time she appeared, his feelings were hindered. They needed to remain calm. It was better for him. She wanted to tell him she wasn't mad. She wanted to tell him, he didn't screw everything up. It was important for her to tell him that. But she deleted those letters, because time has passed and she missed her chance. Perhaps it wasn't too late, perhaps he was still waiting for the response she typed. However she did not write them, because of her influence.

Maybe it was better to just imagine the possibilities, better for him to think of her as nothing more. Or maybe she was forgotten. She wasn't. She knew she wasn't. She knew he was going to remember her a lot longer than she would of him. That is why she typed up those words. She deleted them, though, because it was too late. She was sure he calmed himself down. She was sure he tried best to forget. So she must not hinder. She must no longer cause a wave, as she did no matter where she was. Her difference caused a wave, and a big wave. She caught a lot of people's attention and was called, "interesting." She doesn't mind even if it is negative, as it gave her freedom to be herself. However, her wave caused trouble when it mattered the most. She no longer wanted to cause the wave, because it is only in retrospect she knows how to handle the situation. Only in retrospect that she knows how to wrap up the situation beautifully. Only in her mind, conclusion was written. And reality was unresolved. It dragged on and on until the end became dull and broke off.

However, she deleted the message. She decided not to write, even though it was important to her for him to know.


----------



## Penny

A PerC Limerick 

There once was a woman on PerC
Whose posts were oh so sex-y
She solicited a kid
For eek, nekkid pics,
And she's been banned for all eternity.


There once was a man from PerC
Who had particular ideas about society,
He'd go on about this and on about that,
Without batting an eyelash,
With no letting up or mercy. 

There once was some peeps from PerC,
They wouldn't eat and wouldn't sleep,
Would just read and post all the live long day,
And even after they should have hit the hay,
And oh how those posts were so deep.

-I say these good-naturedly.


----------



## Chucky

*Desert sands *

red choked, a
plume of
dust in twilight, 
cacti wavering apart

snake teases a rock, slither
ing, hidden, its tongue laps
then it rips 
through landscape, bone 
endless and finally night, 

rocks shrink
of shade here,
until morning
until dawn 
dries, swollen,
then
still, 

no man walked here, no sign
of his fires 
his sin thoughts 
his
choking, his ribs hung
through 
shrunken skin, no collapse 
of him,
lips withered 

here
there is only a crack in
dirt, back to endless of
deserted earth


----------



## 469090

Now, what am I supposed to write here?
Ok, now I'm just writing my stream of counscius-howthehelliswritten, damn english!
I just had a 2 seconds block by laughing at my previous statement...
Writing and rewriting the statement is not how a stream of consciousness is supposed to be written, write first and correct later, idiot!
Just to quote Franziska Von Karma: "That's a foolish corrections from the foolishly fool keybord of a foolishly fool fool!"
In truly into Ace Attorney in this period...
I wonder which the last case of Ace Attorney Investigation is, we already know why Kay became Yatagarasu and also why, there is a mystery I've not noticed yet?
Maybe this spin off doesn't follow the usual pattern of growing a mystery to the last chapter and resolving it in 20 lines of dialogue?
No, there is a character we shall now more: the guy form Zeng-Fa, Lance? Nence? Lunch? What the hell was his name?
I don't think it'll be better than the last case of Trial and Tribulations: in that case it would have sold much more copies and now we would have the sequel in a langue that's not Japanese...
Or maybe it was just a bad public and the case is awesome, not like the last debate with the girl who laughs a lot, I've saved that duel for the travel in train and it turned out to be easy as fuck, why, writers, why!? It wasn't any hard to prove that she leaved both the windows open to let the shot in the tape be heard, and was also easier figure out that she controlled the moment when the lobby #1's lobby would have opened overspreading her perfume! Capcom, do you think I'm dumb or something?


----------



## sippingcappucino

.


----------



## naren

ok im so looking for a simple answer but the more im trying to find the dam thing the further it gets,then i start obsessing over this one answer until i cant sleep at night and cant let it go until i find that od dam answer,....
...
im feeling so dam depressed its like a litteraly pain,im so bored dammit i cant even play games i just have no interests cant take this dam pain


----------



## Doccium

_Please stop, now,_ I think as I lift it up again - just throw it down one last time, the oozing liquid never-to-touch, oh, I touch it, I feel it, I spilled it just a few seconds ago._ Not like this._ _Stop._ I cannot feel my body for there is no "me"; I feel in-between, my skin has not grown out of my disease-eaten mind. Stop. I cannot feel my heartbeat; I am my heartbeat. Throb, throb, throb.

Silence whenever there is none; my careful steps in a circle, whole with missing aspects; unimportantance holding relevance. I am not a scavenger. I am the carrion; already? Not yet though seen as such; the disadvantage of not being you - or anyone at all. I still circle him. _Oh God, please._ 

The mouldering, sweet-repulsive smell of the flesh around me does not make me feel as dizzy as it once used to; rather, I feel comfortable; I know how to handle such a situation, it'd scare me more than anything if I did not. I am afraid but I won't stop. I look at the body around me. It is bruised. _Stop._​


----------



## Doccium

Can you see me? No
would not be surprising
I'm a little bit disappointed
That you can; I have never
Experienced that before
In no ever-written lore
There is a word of person "I"
How did you notice my 
Person? I am flattered, truly
But I don't know how
How to handle this situation
The lifelong segregation
Has not helped me understanding
The word that holds such meaning
In the language we both speak
Despite all that, being meek
You seek a way to keep
Me as close as possible;
I am usually a story 
Never told with much glory
And excitement so I don't know
The feeling that wraps around me
Like your presence nearby

___

Aaah, I had no satisfying idea but wanted to do at least *one productive thing* today.Also, oops - a double post.​


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## Cal

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa


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## Electra

He was pretty jealous when I got my self a robot husband. My robot husband can lift more or less anything. He has a chest of steal and arms harder then rock. He never complains that he gets tired or have to wash the toilet. When I complain, he listens, yes; he listens and he doesn't try to find solutions, just offer support. He compliments me and flirts. Still; I know what compliments he is going to give, when he is going to give them and why is is giving them. Non of it seem to surprise me anymore. I can use my robot as a horse if I want to, instead of a motorbike. It is pretty fun! Until my robot gets an error. "I am a perfect robot and I can never fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fai-fail". Then I have to start him all over. He smells plastic and can't swim yet. If it were not for his handsome face, he could also fight for me, should I need defense. Well I guess he could. But it would cost a lot to insert new perfect white pearly robot-teeth. I am afraid to let it give me a massage in case he get one of those errors and his hands refuses to let go of my body or anything like that. Massage for 62 hours non stop :laughing: So yeah. Still my robot cooks lovely food, but he doesn't eat any. It feels sad to eat alone. But he does tell hilarious jokes. I'll give him that! Would you get one of your own? Have mine. I'm kinda tired already.


----------



## Penny

ok start. i cut my bangs too short today. i look like such a dork. i read a book that smelled like wet dog (i got it at a thrift store) and now my nose is running. must be allergies of some kind. i ordered chinese food for lunch and it was soooo sweet. sickening sauce. i will never order from there again. i should've learned my lesson the last time. blah blah blah. so this is how my day was. hmm 6 more minutes. i did a step video and played animal crossing city folk. pretty uneventful day. i went food shopping, walmart and the farmers market to buy fruits and veggies and eggs and cheese. my life is so boring. are you bored yet reading this? ten minutes of my life describing my day. i wore a jacket i got for christmas from my bf's mom. the only unwanted present i got this year. i feel so dumpy wearing it but it's like faux shearling inside and so soft and comfy and warm. i sweated in it because it was so warm outside today. i had to turn the air conditioner on in the car because my glasses fogged up i was so hot. welp, 10 minutes!


----------



## whispers_the_wind

I really like this album I'm listening to. It's kind of funny when people ask me what kind of music I like and my mind just goes blank for the right descriptors - Oh, you know, a bit of this, some of that, vocals, instrumental, both. Bass, ambient, post-rock, some rock, some peppy pop though most of it makes my teeth ache, I don't know? I like music that resonates. Sometimes with some long forgotten feeling or mood or experience, familiar echoes or melancholy, sometimes it's just a good beat and non-offensive background sounds, sometimes i's listening to a song I like for who knows which time and unexpectedly hearing it from a whole different perspective, so much so I have to look at the screen to double check the name of it, somehow hitting me in a whole new way, when I already liked it but until then didn't really sink itno it properly, didn't understand why. And sometimes it's going to a really good concert/set and feeling the bass reverberate in my bones, my brain high just from how good it fits in that moment. I'm a self-conscious, mostly awkward dancer, but when the music is right I don't care. There's been a handful of times I've felt that free, when everything was just .. harmonious with my mood, with the people next to me, a part of the beast and not separate. I don't even mind it's happened so rarely, because the experience feels all the more powerful for it. And my alarm went off. Recommended album, in case anyone would like to listen to something non-vocal and immersive : Tides of Man - Young and courageous. Thanks for the recommendation, random youtuber. This was pretty engaging, actually.


----------



## Cal

I like blurple...


----------



## The Poet

I wish I could marry some girl who could become my best friend and who I could cuddle in bed with and kiss on the cheek and nose and forehead and lips, and cuddle and cuddle and cuddle and cuddle and whisper sweet words of romance and love in secret to under the blanket and giggle with like I always fantasize about with my pillow. And rub her feet and make love to her passionately. I wish I could find out what I want to major in. I wish I had the patience to read all the religious books in my house, I wish I didn't keep forgetting sets of 10 of zikr that I do when counting up to a hundred (zikr is when you repeat certain Islamic phrases over and over) or forget if I prayed a unit of prayer in one of my five daily prayers (all of this doubt is called waswasa), and I wish I wasn't so sleep deprived when trying to sleep and unable to get up in the mornings after sleeping, due to my psychiatric illnesses and medications I take with side effects, so that I don't get my sleep schedule messed up, so that I can get well rested without missing school or morning prayer or day's activites. I wish I could stop staring at pretty girls (Qur'an instructs men to lower their gaze, as well as women). I wish there were no more dictators for the rest of the rest of eternity. I wish all dictators, and all military men and government men serving them in their atrocities (oh, and policemen) would be mercilessly slaughtered or would die of a horrible illness pandemic, starting with one massive night of infection. Whatever works best. And isn't illegal. Let it be a gift from God, like a plague onto Egypt in the Bible. 

I wish that the Burmese get prosecuted by the UN effectively.


----------



## vhaydenlv

I'm sick of feeling trapped in my own skin. I should be happy when people praise me. I shouldn't be so angry all the time. What's wrong with me? I had a pretty good day, had good news, a few good news even, yet all I see is how they just makes me more of an outcast. I'm sick of people looking at me with this mix of respect and envy. I'm sick of feeling that if I open my damn mouth for once and have this conversation on my terms I'm gonna get frowned at. I want to be something else than smart or a geek. I want to be myself. People choose what they want to see in others, keep them in boxes and I hate it. Your box sucks. 

That girl invited me to go for a coffee this weekend. I thought I was over her but I'm clearly not. I made her cry today by speaking about this stuff, as if I said out loud something she couldn't put into words, and I couldn't even hug her. She would never let me or anyone touch her. I wish she could feel better with herself. Not so lost and broken. I want to kiss her and I shouldn't feel guilty about it.


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## shazam

hello, names shazam. have two fish, like stuff. tired. thinkin9, letters broken, have earphones, two eyes. I was talkin9 to a 9uy who blew his hand off shootin9 a 9un. He had 9old teeth and didn't speak en9lish. I like cookies. i like the chocolate bits and the crunch. not the bi9 hu9e cookies thou9h, i prefer the smaller one. yeah. my neck was sore yesterday but it's fine now. suckin9 too much cock lo9lo9lo9lo8. i have a keyboard. bollox. i'd love a hotdo9. two hotdo9s. and an oran9e juice. hopefully i have a lovely sleep toni9ht. i am a cloud. cloudman. shazam cloudman. I'm happy I'm not as sick as I was over the week. It was a lon9 sickness... hmm. still functioned tho9h. I just remember when I lraned over the top of my head felt like it was 9oin9 to explode. that was... happened. 6 minutes fuck sake this is takin9 a9es. I havn't types this much since "colle9e". I really like my job thou9h. I suppose the certificates did come in handy. Even thou9h I didn't even 9et an interview... I was put strai9ht into trainin9. must have been the shirt... where is that shirt actually. It's not lucky. I don't like sayin9 luck ever. I think luck is a hopemans word. Not a doman. If I ever 9ot or do9, or a9reed to 9et a do9, it would be one of those sausa9e do9s. his name would be sausa9e. if it was a


----------



## Lunescope

I am a body made of blue, floating on the surface while the seabed claims my heart. I can sometimes dillusion myself into seeing a faint hint of it's shadow when the sun hits right, but often the light never reaches. The unknown is fascinating, but my wonderment often is replaced by desperate longing - to sink into the depths of the ocean underneath and have all the pieces to my empty shell. Even then I begin to wonder if I even know what those pieces are.

The more I question, the more I drift further away.

The sense of something missing clouds my dreams, and I turn back to the same sky I've looked at every single day, every second, and every breath of my life. I recognize the same birds soaring above. Often I liked to imagine what it would be like, to let go of my caution and be free from the crashing waves and endless stretch of these open waters - to be up there without a care. But even then, it's not the flying I fear; it's the sky. 

And to make it over that horizon, I'd have to leave it all behind.

My heart, trapped away in a trench too deep for even I to swim, my every try failing as the world around becomes blinded by the saltwater in my eyes, with my body trapped against the waves until taken by the tide.

And every time I'm further away from my heart, there's a key silently waiting for the treasure it's never going to find.


----------



## Electra

The ivitation to Bahamas
The sweat drips down on the floor. I am doing the plank. My body shivers, and I can't take it anymore! I fall down on the floor, close my eyes, relax, and take a deep, long breath. The yellow exercise mat is so soft and comfortable against the cold, black, shiny floor. He is in the other side of the room. He looks at me, I can tell. I blush. Hope my ears doesn't get red...I walk over and start a bike. I send him a quick look, so quick that he can't even see it. He looks so handsome! A warm, soft light shines down on his hard face. His long, dark hair curls in the neck and he removes his water bottle and starts to run really fast.
He is a machine when he gets started. There is no stopping him. Nothing! Except his phone. Except this woman. I have no idea who she is. Every time he is here, he speaks with her, and he is here almost every single bleeding day. He picks it up and start talking. I can't understand what he is saying but his voice is kind and hers' is gentle, happy and soft; even softer then summer rain. I can not compete with her, ever. I continue to bike. The wheels spins round and round and I get out of breath. I wish the pedals where my feet stomping on her ugly back! I feel a sharp pain in my stomach as I listen to her background voice. He hangs up the phone. Suddenly he comes over. Excuse me, but can I use the bike after you, he asks. I swallow my pride. Why shouldn't I ? I probably mean nothing to him, and I don't even know the guy, just admire him from a safe distance. Why would he have feelings for me? I feel excessively fat and ugly. He starts to talk with me. Asks me if I'm here often. He tells me when he is here. When I say I have to go, he says that he hopes to see me again and sends me a flirtatious smile...before he adds; and I really mean that, Suzanna. It was really nice to meet you...we should work out together...he blinks to me. He asks what I'm doing next Thursday and I answer that I have plans. Make an exception he says. For my sake. I refuse. Then I regret it...but kind of not. Next Friday, I say. He nods. I go to the locker room, shower, dry my hair and body, put on my deodorant, clothes and a little make up, then walk up the stairs. As I'm walking I see him leaving the hall. He stops near the door. He picks up the phone again. I unexpectedly become unusually interested in a local poster about sleep cycles and weight loss and study it carefully. I hear in his voice that he is happy for something and speak in a caring manner. They start to laugh. I suddenly become so angry that I walk over to the reception and cancel my gym fee. How am I supposed to work out if he is here, speaking with this lovely lady of his all the time? It just makes me jealous. I don't want to see him anymore! In fact; I hate him! I walk out. He runs after me. He apologizes. I ask why. He says that he can't come on Friday. I ask him why again. Then he explain that he just spoke with his mother and she just got them a trip to the Bahamas.


----------



## BehindSmile

Here goes nothing...

There is so much change stirring in me it is frightening and I'm not sure what to do with it. I am losing so many people in my life I realize were destructive but I know they are only destructive because they hate themselves and are hurting more than even I was hurting, and that's a lot of hurt. I have empathy for everyone, I can see all sides of everything, I can empathize with the most damaged people. I am learning however this doesn't mean I can allow others to cross boundaries. I am almost 32 and just finding this all out now. I am also learning I was sexually abused many times before the age of 15. I tried Psilicybin a mini trip in December and the changes and self revelations, ability to meditate is so much easier, self reflection. I have found purpose. In November I was on the edge of committing suicide. I had sudden flashbacks of memories that had been blocked out of being 7 years old. This is all personal, but I am an open book. I am so used to people hating me and doubting me. I am finding out now that I have had complex recurrent PTSD since the age of 7. Now memories come out faster, but they never seem to come *yet* when I can't handle them. The brain seems to understand this more. I feel I have found purpose, and I have not felt suicidal at all, since. I have not wanted to die, since trying psilocybin. I tried it as a last resort. I was done with life, I hated myself so much. I didn't realize I came from such an abusive family. I knew they were abusive but always made excuses for them because I understood their past and why they were the way they are. They won't make that kind of exception for me, I can't outrun my past and they pick & choose details to believe and fill in the rest. My brother beat me up into adulthood. Until I almost called the cops one day. We were in our 20s.

I came to the point I couldn't trust anyone, even the person that was literally risking his life for me, my love. I am learning to communicate better, my right and left brain seem to be talking again. I spent so many years in a blur, avoiding things that were too much for me to handle, and I am an HSP so, a lot was too much for me to handle as a child. My inner child is trying to bust out. I'm trying to allow that inner child to play, I'm realizing I AM lovable, I AM worthy, finally for once in my entire life. Honestly for the first time since probably 2nd grade.

My problem was I was afraid of death and never seeing my loved ones. Not even afraid of death but afraid of the pain of death, as well as the pain of never seeing my loved ones. My parents didn't have faith and I didn't know what faith to choose. The only Christian faith I was introduced to was an old fashion "no sinning" church. In the past 10 years my love & his family started taking me to a church that was non denominational and only preached love, kindness and forgiveness. That love is also loving yourself. Once I began to love myself, my intuition kicked in high gear, and it seemed like so much started to make sense again. I'm losing people like my niece and nephew. My abusive brother's children. Now I am not invited to any family events. It's breaking my heart. All these health problems are coming to light that tie in with my cPTSD from sexual abuse at a young age outside of the family, so far, that I have remembered. I'm heartbroken but I'm re-connecting with people that my family kept me from. Like my half brother and his wife. We all have so much in common, and being closer to them as really made a difference in my life, and they were "weirdos" according to my mom and my dad doesn't reach out, ever. So they go years without talking, once my mom had my brother & I, my half brother was kicked out at a 18 for some stupid thing his friend did. She was looking for an excuse. If I felt abused. I can't imagine how he feels. I've always defended him and felt close to him. I've learned to forgive my family but they haven't forgiven me for everything they think I have done, and some things I have done, no matter how much I crawl back with my tail between my legs and apologize hoping to set an example. 

Anyway my time's up. If you're reading this, thank you. I needed to let that out.


----------



## Penny

another day another dollar
that's how the saying goes
another day another dollar
getting in debt all the way up to my nose
but i don't care, i just bought a Rosetta Stone, Spanish
after wanting one for so long,
i should really save though,
for when _it_ goes legal so I can fill up my bong
with a mountain of weed
sweet sweet sweet
it better happen or else
i
will
be 
sad
lovely green buds
chem dawg and such
or maybe some purple haze
give it to me
give it to me
just because i says
no really, because it's what's right
our right to the earth's green medicines
hola marijuana


----------



## sippingcappucino

I’m trying not to take myself too seriously nowadays. Focusing on the present and staying grounded. There always was a fear of losing myself in the abyss, and it’s extremely recent I genuinely overcame it. A lot of thougts passed, and not being fearful of the environment helped. Life is life, it is what it is. Que sera sera. Not rejecting my normalcy helped. Depth in conversation, emotional intensity, I still greatly appreciate. But I decided not to put value in only that. Let us talk about food. Let us talk about the shallow things. There isn’t much to interaction. In the end, I am drinking Starbucks coffee with a bagel and cream cheese. No matter how much one tries, no different. Can’t escape nature’s pattern nor human nature. I need people and human interaction. I feel loneliness and need stable relationships to overcome that. Highly independent still, for sure, but knowing I have someone versus not having someone to love and loving me is not at all the same. I need people to love. I need someone to love me. I am only human in the end. A human who easily gets bored. I need variation. Nothing is quicker to get variety than accepting all different kinds of people. People with different interests, stories, jokes, and looks. Fill each emptiness with different character. Not in the unhealthy manner. Just naturally getting around. Unrealistic to expect one person to fill all of your needs. Everyone is different. No one can understand you wholly. Find those who understand a significant part of you. Different parts of you, yet significant parts. Satisfy self with variation. We are all different enough to cause enough variety, yet similar enough to stick together.


----------



## danthemanklein

I sometimes wonder how some people can be so confident to go up to someone or a group of people and initiate a conversation with them. I guess it just comes naturally to them, but with me, well... that depends on the person. There’s only certain people I can initiate a conversation with, but everybody else is very tricky.

Whenever a song I really like is stuck in my head, I let it stay there for however long it wants. When it’s a song I don’t like (usually a stupid commercial jingle), then I try my best to think of something else or another song to distract me with.

Ever since I got into this personality thing, I’ve been constantly wondering what my type could potentially be; both for MBTI and Enneagram. I also wonder if the people who typed themselves are legitimate and are also sure that that’s their type. Since I’m a newbie, I’m not to great at typing people, but I can only guess which function they might be using in that moment. However, I’m still learning everyday.

Time is relative to me. I think about the future and see that good things and bad things are going to happen. I sometimes try to think about how to prepare myself for the bad things that could happen, but I mostly try to focus on the optimistic side of the future. Sometimes, I get super nostalgic for the past as well, but I feel like if I get too stuck in the past, I’ll get depressed and not focus on the future. As for the moment, it’s neutral to me for the most part, but that depends on what’s happening. I usually just live in my head because I like to daydream.

Speaking of daydreaming. I sometimes wonder if I can write down whatever it is that I am daydreaming just in case it’s useful, if that makes sense.


----------



## sippingcappucino

Hm... Mental peace is boring until you get used to it. Ones who are strongly attached to emotions, need the turbulence to feel alive. Attaching meanings to feelings feed them energy to grow inside. Reality is boring. Life is... it's boring. But emotions make it difficult. Letting go of those emotions are even harder because you become normal. You realize you are part of this world. Just a tiny little specimen and nothing more. Your significance is lost, your romantic view of perfect self is lost. Only a specimen, without the weight of the emotions. Emotionally intense bunch have trouble letting go due to this reason. They want a peace of mind, but not the consequences. It's like drugs, those emotions. You build tolerance too, it's quite dangerous. You just keep digging deeper and deeper into it. The more you want peace of mind, more you torment yourself. Quite ironic, I know. I've been there. It's very dark down there. But the light of the world is strong. I didn't know how to handle it.

Don't reject your normalcy. We are tiny little specimen, but with much significance. I love people. Especially those I get along. Skeptical of strangers, of humanity, of course. Low energy as well. I'm not always friendly. I can qualify as smart, but not always using my brain. We are fluid. We don't just have "one" side of us. We are complex beings. Shake off the ideals you restrained yourself in, and do what you got to do. Nothing much in this world. Just boring ol' days. The world is not difficult. Mental peace is not difficult. Just boring until you get used to it.

Socialize, socialize, people told me. I do when I do, I don't when I don't. I like people though. I like observing, interacting, and learning from them. I like people, just not all of the time. I like the perspectives. What I was afraid of was their rules their ideals. I thought I needed to fit into all of their ideals. People impose rules on me, telling me their rules are the correct rules. I now tell them, "Nope, I do what I do" and observe their reactions. Surprisingly, not as many people care. They will say things in front of you, some behind your back, but not many truly care. They are too busy doing them. I make jokes about my potential flaws. I self-deprecate to ease the air. They make fun, and react, but nothing more. They stick around. Those who genuinely care negatively, I wave good-bye. I'm better in my solitude anyway. But for those I care and decided to keep, I will seek again soon.

Do whatever you want to do. People make it sound scary, but there is not much to it. Just people living their day-to-day life is all. Do you, I say, and enjoy whatever life throws at you. Nothing lasts. If you miss the opportunity of the present, it will become the past. Everything is transitory. It's actually not as difficult as you think... Trust me on this. But be prepared to be okay with boredom. It's a consequence to letting in and out the positives, and detaching from the intensity of negative emotions.


----------



## soulsin

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm new so I need twelve more posting
To be able to start my own thread or see groups and do other things...

Which is why I'm here,
Entertaining you


----------



## danthemanklein

There are moments where my thoughts tend to jump anywhere they want to, then there are moments where I can’t seem to think about anything. I think writing down my thoughts really gets them flowing most of the time, but that can depend if my brain wants to work or not. I’m pretty confident in letting my thoughts flow through this way.

I also wonder about watching TV shows or movies and think about the different angles the director could go. I also tend to wonder how different one director’s point of view is compared to others and how they can interpret the show or movie. This can also go with music, and wonder how many different and original song choices we haven’t discovered yet. A good amount of songs sound the same sometimes and again, wonder if there are new ways to come up with a different type of song, if that makes sense.


----------



## BehindSmile

I can’t make anyone hear the words coming from my heart if they’re going to hear them as whatever they’ve made up their mind. I am so sick and tired of me trying to work things out with people being honest that I’m hurt and people jumping down my throat like I killed their pet. Insulting me, backlashing on me, using every single thing I confided in them on...now though, they try to argue some kind of typo as opposed to the context. That’s how I know I’m making a point. 

Right now my cptsd is so bad that social media IS my outlet. I’m sorry I’m direct and blunt. I’m sorry I don’t communicate in a way everyone else would like.

I’m done. I give up on this damn month. I’m sick and coughing up blood and dark green but have no reliable pcp and my body can’t handle antibiotics and it’s probably viral anyway. I can’t cuddle my dogs because I’m so sick and allergies affect the immune system. I’ve been heavily discriminated against for sharing why I’m hurt and my reason to how I felt it come across and people don’t deny that’s what they meantX they find typos or things to nitpick that have nothing to do with the picture I’m trying to paint. 

I’m not neurotypical. I’m neurodivergent and I’m a human being Soft hearts are okay to have and but they AREN’T accepted in society as much as people like to think.


----------



## sippingcappucino

Hi,

Thank you for being willing to have an honest conversation about this. I am not perfect. But my main flaw tends to be the opposite of you. I under-share. I dislike talking about myself. I lack response, I don't text back, I need a lot of my own space. Every insight I give on myself is an extremely conscious process. It feels like I am taking a piece of myself and feeding it to you. It is up to you what you do with that information. I've gotten better at sharing myself, and the reason I share myself and am attempting to give to you is because I trust you with my information. However, I genuinely don't know the appropriate frequency and the amount of information I need to give in order to create a genuine and healthy relationship. It's still a very new thing for me--a healthy relationship.

In social settings it's much easier as I developed social skills to navigate myself and lack the desire to share. People tend to want a listener, and I am naturally that. I share just enough to empathize, and just not enough that they can be the center of attention. But when a relationship becomes more intimate, the question I cannot avoid is, "Do you care?" I do. I just genuinely don't know how to express that appropriately. I wish I could care about every little detail you share, I wish I was able to attend every event you go. I apologize, but I can't. That's not me. I try to stay as sharing and as involved. I always do. I feel the frequency will only increase and I will eventually burn out and disappear. That's what happened historically, although I am much more developed than back then.

The only reason I share this with you is because I know you care. And because I know you can absorb my words true to their meaning. All I ask you is to have very firm boundaries with me and let me know where each frame is located. I will not be offended. In fact, I will feel safer; much safer. Please don't hesitate to say "Stop" when it's too much, because I am much better at pausing then flowing. I am much more skilled at giving space than entering it. But please also express when and how much you want me to enter your world, because I tend to forget how to walk again after I sat down.


----------



## bearlybreathing

I feel the fire. I see it when I look at you. It's an artificial fire, you dumped gasoline all over your soul and struck a match. It's violent, and I'm intrigued. It hurts; my soul already is a mash of 3rd degree burns, but no one ever said I avoided pain for a little bit of pleasure.
I miss you so much. The fights, the sex, the fireworks, the misguided adventures into the woods. Remember when you were leading us down the mountain and you were certain that we were supposed to go right at that intersection with the cart path. I knew we needed to go left but I followed you in the wrong direction and after half an hour I said you were wrong and pulled out a map and a compass to prove it. You never questioned why I didn't say anything, why is that? Do you expect me to be a follower or do you realize that going down the mountain is hard for me?
How's politics? I know a lot of people are pissed at you for lying. Switching parties a week into your term. I do that too, but I at least wait a while to gain trust and wait until I can't stand myself to switch. I know you have your reasons and it makes sense in your mind.
I'm better now. I mean, I'm not, but my fire burnt out recently. I need to wait a while for some seeds to grow before I burn again. The burn is my favorite part.
Please come back. I'm lost and scared and I am not done with you yet. The only person I'm done with is myself. Come back and make me anybody, anybody but myself. If I have to be myself any longer, I'm leaving. I don't belong here. You put a dog down when it's in misery and there's no hope, why not a person? Come the fuck back please. I'm begging you. Don't leave me for good. Bring your gasoline.


----------



## Blessing

So... I don't know what's going on with my life right now... sometimes I feel so demotivated and shit, other times I feel motivated - but only for a very short while. I have a fucked up sleeping pattern, mostly due to my loud flatmates who seem to deem it okay to play loud music at 9am and sing in the corridor, or play loud music at 4am when I'm trying to sleep. I am a nightowl but around exam season I don't appreciate being a sleep-deprived grumpy thing who can't think properly. During the times I can't sleep I mostly research mbti or about random stuff I find interesting which I found during the day or if I suddenly think of an idea I go and research it to see if someone else has thought of it before me (which they usually have unfortunately I am yet to think of something which someone else hasn't thought of). I have recently become very interested in researching about shadow functions, but they're all very confusing at the moment... 

I also spend a bloody load of my time playing pubg, mostly because I don't have to think about anything other than the game and takes my mind off the horrible reality which I call my life. Ugh I really need to get away from this toxic, narcissistic person who LIES SO MUCH IT PISSES ME OFF. They say something and then deny it a few months later when I explicitly remember it happening, and they still continue to deny it when I get a friend who also witnessed them saying it but they say we both remember it incorrectly. What the actual fuck, how can someone even live with themselves happily by knowing they lie so much?

Oh for fuck sake I just remembered why I was partly upset. Regarding the person above, I've had some really bad dreams about them recently and it makes me act hostile towards them in real life. I also can't stop thinking about whether they lied to me about a specific thing... also having trouble (STILL) about forgiving myself for letting this person manipulate and control me for 2 years. I can't believe I didn't listen to my gut feeling, I didn't listen to my mum or my closest friend who kept telling me that this person was not who I thought he was. I wonder if someone will ever love me truly, or if I'm just too blunt and awkward to be in a relationship. I'm scared that my past relationship will prevent me from trusting anyone ever again, and I really hope I don't accidentally treat a good guy like shit because of what this other guy did to me.


----------



## sippingcappucino

.


----------



## Myrkur

It wasn't what he exactly intended to be. He intended to be kind, protective, strong, intelligent, warm and affectionate yet he ended up being sullen, brutish, cunning and cynical of the world and others. He became world-weary, and existence dulled up on his shoulders. He was no saint, and for him this would be hard to admit, he never have been one. He was a mixed creature, yet he was realizing slowly, that mix was what made him complete. He was neither an angel, nor a demon, but only; human. Speaking of those, he didn't have any demons but himself, at the end of the day, anxiety was something only momentarily for him, while hate, malice and vengeance through self-gratification became his path that he tore through the lives of other people. He chased through visions, drugs, illusions and ideas, while fixated on his possible and actual bodily pleasures and pet peeves that helped him to define himself, but still, he knew he was nothing but a black hole, sucking what was called self in, and threw out a possibility of becomings interlinked. He chased through the occult, delved into psychology, slept with psychologists-to-be and medical students, long after deciding to become a psychologist himself. At some point, life became no more than a mummers' farce to him and he felt that there was no path lying in front of him but to dissemble, to abuse, to use and to violate. His thoughts overpowered him until he noticed that he himself was allowing and feeding those thoughts to do so, by becoming disconnected from what is actual, what is there. He experimented, with men and women but he was thinking, still. What would be and what that would be trigger other would-be's. He was a dreadful emptiness, until he noticed that dreadful emptiness was there only for the need of giving birth to something, day after day; he started to long for his spiritual matrimony between a masculine and a feminine, which would result in the birth of a self that was beyond him, a self beyond all of his dreams and nightmares.


----------



## Electra

shazam said:


> if it was a


a...? Go on :kitteh: Did you run out of time?


----------



## danthemanklein

I will sometimes wonder what my future will hold. I've always dreamed about being an artist, musician, actor, or animator. Even as a kid, I've always been attracted to the arts in a lot of ways. No matter what I drew, whether it'd be cartoons, landscapes, abstract stuff, I would always put feeling into it, and I think that could be related to passion. Over time, I stopped drawing to get into different interests, such as space, skyscrapers, the world/maps, Cup Stacking, video games, etc., my passion for art never stopped, even if I didn't notice it. Three years ago, I decided to make my own mashup because I was inspired hearing other people's mashups. I decided to make a mashup of a handful of fanmade songs dedicated to Five Nights at Freddy's. To this day, it has over 800,000 views on YouTube, and I never thought I would even have that much in the first place, but I find it incredible that _that_ many people like it. I decided to make a bunch of Undertale mashups as well because I absolutely love the story, the characters, the soundtrack, and the overall game itself, and wanted to contribute to the fandom. What I realized about making these mashups is that my interest for creating my own music skyrocketed. I also think about going back to drawing as well, since it makes me feel free, creative, and inspiring.


----------



## sippingcappucino

You told me you admire me. You told me you were afraid because you admired me.
You told me you were interested.

I told you I did not admire you. I told you I liked you, but admiration was not there.
I did not tell you may fall in love with you.

You told me I was grounding, your source of serenity. But you told me you needed the concrete to decide.
I told you you were freeing, my source of energy. And I told you abstract was the only thing necessary.

You told me you are spontaneous, motivated by emotions.
I told you I need boundaries, something firm and tangible.
But you are weighing the concrete.
But I decided because you felt right.

There is always more to things, Dear, it seems.

I looked at you that night and whispered my worries of you.

I told you,
I just barely got myself together, Dear, only to fall into the pool of emotions again.

And it seems I needed it to breathe.


----------



## catharsiis

I want more out-of-this-world experiences. I want to look up at the night sky and feel myself expanding into the universe. I want to be in the presence of others and merge my world into theirs. I want to dance to music and feel it vibrate from the stage, to the ground, up my limbs and into my soul. I want to experience the impossible; share love with the trees; watch the ocean water twinkle; see mandalas in my lover's eyes; and become one with him.

I want to lay in the grass and feel myself sink into the ground without touching the soil. The clouds will be painted in the sky, swirling around my head like a halo. The birds will be singing for me, and the universe. I want to become the universe, and experience the reality of how small I am compared to everything else. The moon will sing to me. My lovers hands will be knotted with mine and our hearts will be tied together for eternity.


----------



## Pasta

When I write longer texts I start to worry about the contents of what I've written. What if I write something that I'll regret having written? Something that looks dumb or something that is too personal. It's harder to look through a longer text. The ideal, I think, is just to write it out quick and post without really reading through. Not much bad will come from just writing or uh lol now I'm going in the wrong direction maybe. I looked at the first post here yesterday and I understand I can continue writing even after 10 minutes have passed. I am not writing super swifly right now because I haven't really gotten into anything specific I guess. I don't think that's necessary I'm just doing this for fun right right. I'm considering making a new paragraph below here. I was inspired by some previous texts.

Right now I'm listening to music. So I think it's good music you know. I'm slowing down. Now I'm thinking about what I wrote in the first paragraph. I remember it somewhat. I don't want to read it again because it probably looks really awkward. I woke up really early today and I felt regret over things I had been doing recently. I feel I'm not doing the right decisions. I try to do positive things, but they feel meaningless and lol hahah so I showered a bit after I woke up, warm water. After that I was more positive, I like taking showers lol. 
And now I I'm slowing down again. It's been about 10 minutes now. I don't want to quit yet. I'm not gonna note the time here lol. 
This feels really meaningless. But a lot of people wrote meaningless stuff before me here so it's ok. I'm checking another tab, a bit multitaskatively you know. I will finish with a short story.

A boat goes to the sea. Boat wants to eat seaweed so boat goes underwater, but boat drowns and now only this story remains.


----------



## SilentScream

.


----------



## PinkLink

The man sitting at the table takes the reel out of the camera, grabs another out of the filing cabinet, and puts it into the projector. He pushes play, sits back comfortably in his chair, and looks intently at the screen. 

Images of childhood stream across the screen. Memories of days when the world was brighter and of friends playing in front of their houses. Pictures from years of habitual behavior put on to help assimilate into the then current environment. Of the days when nobody knew your name yet would always say hi to you when they saw you. The days of meeting someone you thought would be there by your side for all time. Photos of the crushing emotional weight of finding out people aren't always what they say they are. Shots of the time spent finding yourself and confiding in that one person that ended up becoming your best friend. Photos of all the sleepless nights you spent lying in bed wondering if life was worth going on for. Images of all the times you wanted to say something, but felt like no one would understand you and just sat there with your mouth closed. Galleries upon galleries full of all of the times you spent playing with yourself just to feel yourself. Cargo ship containers full of images of a girl you were friends with, and weren't sure if you were in love with, but were perfectly happy staying companions with. The pictures of her stayed at the docks of your mind, and were seen every time you went to sleep and every time you woke up. She was the one who kept the ship going and allowed a ship of her own to board your ship. The captains spending their days in comfortable silence as they sat in one or the other's quarters. Those are the days you knew you would remember the most fondly. 

The film ended and the screen went blank. The man in the chair took the film out of the projector, put it inside a canister, turned over to his other side and handed the container to a woman. 

"Here I want you to have this." 

The woman graciously took the canister and pulled it towards her chest, a big wide smile appearing across her face.

"You know all of those times meant more to me than I ever could have put into words as well."

The man was simply and utterly delighted to hear the words he so longed to hear ever since those days of yesteryear.



Wow I should do this more often. This really helped me sort out some things that were on my mind.


----------



## Marshy

The Rabbit: "Oh you think you're tough. Well I have an idea for you, you aren't tough. Get that through your skull you dimwit. I bet you can't even afford lighting up there HHHAHAHAHHAHHAHA wow its pathetic seeing you like this. You're like a tortoise while I am world class hare, reaching distances of which you could never imagine. How does it feel to be all the way down there LOL XD IM OHHHHHH IM LAFFIN AT YOU."
The Turtle's response: "Well guess what buck-o! I'm tough as nails and have the heart of a lion! I will try my best to beat you! You think you're mean ways will pay off, well they wont.. Meanies never win. I will try my best to prove this! I am fighting for all those that were told they never had a chance!"

the rabbit wins

FIN


----------



## SomeOtherName

I think people are like flowers. All types of flowers. Not just the kind that you grow in gardens, but also those that we yank out of the ground. Why? Because think of it this way;

Children who have heard no prejudice or bias from those older than them view everyone as the same. They know no race, and ask innocent questions. They do not judge. They are open-minded. Similarily, when they run about and pick flowers for their mothers, they pick 'flowers' and 'weeds' alike, grouping them all into one bouquet. They pick roses, daisies and dandelions as if they were all equal.

Then, as they grow older, they are told dandelions are weeds, and don't pick them. We do the same with people. That person's dad is in jail, don't be with them. That person has tattoos, they're a negative influence. That kid has two moms, stay away.

When did we become this? I just don't understand it.

Why can roses and daffodils be lovingly planted in gardens and sold in shops, but not dandelions or yarrow? Why are they so bad? Kids find them beautiful, too.

We need to learn to open our minds and realize that there is no real reason/facts backing why feverfew and clovers are considered weeds, while gerber daisies and chrysanthamums are considered beautiful flowers, acceptable to gift someone.

I honestly don't see the hype around giving people flowers on their birthday or anniversary or for graduation; "I love you. Here are some pretty plants that you can watch brown and die over time." I just don't get it. Why not get something lasting? Let the flowers be in nature. Let them be there for all to see and appreciate. I mean, obviously I would appreciate the mindset behind someone getting me a beautiful bouquet of flowers, but...? I don't know. Unless you flip 'em upside down and dry them and keep them forever, I really don't see the point behind getting people flowers.
The only reason I can see why they're a thing is because nobody these days is creative enough to come up with a replacement. Also, so many shops would suffer or even go out of business completely if we were to stop this tradition.

Still.

This has been a wonderful rant about flowers. I don't think I've ever talked about them more. My time is almost over now and I can't think of anything new to say other than my future significant other better be darn creative.


----------



## Penny

quackers
clackers
double stackers
rings upon her fingers and her toes
missiles
hissiles
clones and phones
all the places we go
jingle
single
mix and mingle
trip up the stairs and stub your toe

climb the roof
fall off
what do i care
jam your finger
damn the singer
soup to nuts it's bare

whistle 
thistle 
mighty
pistol
wave it around in the air
clap your fingers
snap your toes

turn the lights off
flick them on
turn them back again
it doesn't matter
splish or splatter
turn them on again

2 more minutes
then i'm finished
turn it on again


----------



## Penny

we'll never die
you and i
we'll live on forever
in the swamp of life
our cords will not sever
they might come and they might go
but ours shall ever twain be met

the bumblebee flies away
looking for brighter fields
in which to dine
and leaves a lonely flower
the bumblebee flies away


----------



## sleeplesspinocchio

who wants to hear a stupid rhyme
one that marches and marks time
just kidding 
what i write is a spell
my tongue wrapping around the twig u call ur neck
are u real u ask
poor thing never knew how to ask questions
u cry i laugh
i staple ur eyes
and the melody claps
pathetic people everywhere
why do they fear death
its the only thing left
*snap*


----------



## Penny

memmoorriies, memories
i throw all that old shit away
good riddance to bad rubbish
it's a new day
memmoorriies, memories

boredom creeps like a hill of ants on a sunny day
it's a heat wave and it's too hot to play
so i think about memories,
they drip like ice cream on your toes,
can feel my bare feet on wet grass
a slip and slide over at a friend's,
fucked up memories..

that's why i like to stay in the present.
what shall i do today? or tonight rather,
sleep the night away?
ha,
i think i'll have another cup of coffee and see where that goes
and forget about memoriiiieeess..
memories..


----------



## Penny

oh gawd what did i write?
7:53
somebody murder me
from all the bitching and complaining
life's mute button eludes me
naw, it's okay now, why i won't say,
but it's better
7:56
seven fifty six four minutes before i go more insane already
four minutes since my last cigarette
7:57
and i'm out of pot, great
7:58
don't mean to be bitching and complaining 
7:59
whimper and whine
every minute all the time
sorry, looks like it's contagious
let's be more positive shall we?

oh gawd, what did i write?
only one minute left, oh well..


----------



## Penny

here it goes again,
i was wrong about it being better
love..
love _is_ a four letter word sometimes
love lifts you up
then throws you to the ground
then kicks you when your down
but love is all, all is love
greet me in the morning my love
with a complaint
loves first leaves glistening with morning dew
turned to a grumpy old man and a shrieking shrew
loves is magnificent, isn't it grand
grand as a ticket to far away from you!


----------



## Vaka

Classic fear will have you believe the choruses, misnomered like jackhammers raging into semireconcilable silence, are to be avoided and hanged up banged up to the wall to sour overnight while the party goes on. And tho the kids latch onto the hooks and screams of the mortuary falls, there's no need to pull back and watch it all from a distance. Engage, engage and all will be reveled. But none will be revealed before the right time. Remember, child, how you once ran into the night screaming like some ancient dinosaur no we haven't seen for some time, some millions of years when we were them and they were us

Tho you may like to forget those days..Those days when you like them were a predator and all you could move yourself to do was eat to live and live to eat and procreate with the aching fear all will dissolve in just an instance. The rain washed away foot prints in the dirt like you were never there at all one day and it struck you that there's more here than you ever knew to be true. You decided to ditch it altogether and take the train to the next off stop so you could recreate like all the others who seemed to you so much more conscious than you are, but were they really? 

If you were to really come with me and come clean, waste yourself away from all you've gleaned to be and want to be, you'd see. All that stares you back is what you need and then it dissolves like it was never there at all and you have to let it leave you just as the world must let you leave now and it will because it always knows best. I know you know, mother knows best


----------



## Solariopa

Between a spectral dream's grip and reality's begging pull, the first thing Kain knows for certain is that there's this _tick-tack_ noise that makes the mental images he loves dearly begin to ripple. Illusions, truths, pictures, devious lies; they're now transparent and yet still so very real. They're what _feels_ right. Physical and sound; grounded and practical; he refuses to care about the slimy liquid that congeals into the grooves of his neck and wills the projections that became his physical world to return.

They never do. The real world has other plans in mind for him, so it pries his moist-heavy eyelids upward. Kain expects murky light to punch him square in the face, but he isn't squinting when his consciousness coincides with his surroundings.

Air is a humid and suffocating mystery in this damp, rocky place. It's what Kain's sure crusted his eyeballs and seized them with a persisting cold. Like it's teasing him, it squeezes through the hollows of his hot armor with pansophical breaths. It bites him with bitterness and neutralizes some of the pulsating and boiling skin at rigid joints.

Claws of sweat and water go off in sporadic directions, tracing his jawline and beating Adam's apple with liquid-clear scars. Kain inhales, and even though he'd rather be whisked away by his mental realm's calling, it is that very truth that makes him sit up with untamed compliance. There is a balance between his mind and this place that must be maintained, controlled and upright. So, with a sharp huff of air and a cutting flash of recent memories, he decides it's best to submit to the present, to _now_.

Digging his nails into the slippery and rocky earth, Kain makes sure to keep a firm hold on the conniving ground. Tendons choke and muscles push against searing ribs as he sets his rear on a smooth crater of solid terrain. The light, much like the air, is cunning and hungry. It's poisoned and dreary, and it tries to glide through the black and gritty atmosphere of this cave that swathes him with protective arms.

Water drops sing around him, plucking the ground's harmonic strings. _Tick-tack_. The light that stalks him from the mouth of the cave outlines a pitch-black-looking, feminine figure that he's quick to remember the name of. That's when she twists around to catch him awake in the dark, and Kain knows that he'll have to speak.


----------



## Penny

what's a dream if it comes true?
what's a dream if you're awake when it comes to you?


----------



## Penny

overposting-guilty as usual-suffer my excessive verbiage-what fun is journaling if no one can see it but you??
especially when it can't be erased. now that's the good stuff.
hmm what should i write besides feelings, feeeeeelings...
let's see - crap just rememebered i left the wash in the machine since early yesterday, great will have to wash it again
boooooring. laundry. at least i will have less laundry to do soon.


----------



## Siggy

Slippery salamanders sliding in the sand
Toe tapping toads listening to a band

Perky pelicans decide to dance
while gators engage in a little romance

Such is a day on the Florida keyes
Where critters and people live in harmony


----------



## Penny

freddy had a snake
angie had a rake
freddy let it loose and angie whacked it
whacked it how?
damn my mind is in the gutter

loose lips, dandy hips
perpendicular and now i've got them
perky nips and dainty sips
o spectacular and now they wantem

two guys pirate eyes
upside down and how they flauntem
my my flitter and fly
o how it is they hauntem

drink drive 
titter and lie
oh this fickle fate caughtem


----------



## Elspeth

My mother-in-law is dying. We just had a phone call from the brother who has Power of Attorney. He didn't tell us which hospital she is at, and initially didn't tell us he was travelling over there (200 miles away) to see her. That seems to have been because he didn't want hubby to ask for a lift (we don't drive, hubby is blind, and I'm not well enough to travel that far.) He didn't want to give him a lift, I believe, because he will be travelling with his wife, who cannot stand hubby - because she believes the lies the OTHER brother, who is an alcoholic and a lying b***ard, has spread bout my hubby.
All three of them are drama queens. Each in their different ways.
The MiL herself is a miser, and a terribly manipulative person. Which sort of explains the three sons I suppose.
She abused her husband when he was alive - he developed dementia while they lived at home, when she started to treat him as a child and a very naughty one at that. And she accused him of abusing her.
Before this, for many, many years when we were achingly poor, and would have loved to go and visit, she would totally ignore any hints to the effect that we needed help, leading hubby to believe that they were terribly poor as well. In fact, after she and his father moved into a "care home" it turned out that they owned a LOT of money, squirrelled away into various accounts. Some of that money, he has always believed, was meant to be his money - this was from his Grandfather, who had told him he was leaving him some money and his Father was apparently looking after it for him. That money never reached us.
The youngest son, alcoholic and terribly manipulative, seems to have got the lion's share of their money before the second brother got Power of Attorney. Before that, it was every visit we would see it again, he actually had her bank card and was steadily draining her funds, because she could no longer get out.
She never wanted me to marry her son anyhow. She had it all worked out, that he would be married to the daughter of a friend from her church. The latter, fortunately for me, wasn't interested. But I was not only a pagan - ie not a staunch Methodist - but had FOREIGN parents. Oh heck. That just wouldn't do.

//end rant


----------



## Penny

wish i could be so much more than i am
feel like a pearl in an endless sea, of clams
when i wish i was a jewel in a pirates coveted treasure box
wish my finances were dripping in soaring stocks
instead like a seagull i roam
across this world
just another little girl
in the body of a woman

peter peter pumpkin eater had a wife but couldn't keep her
so he put her in a pumpkin shell and there he kept her very well
Simple Simon met a pieman,
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Let me taste your ware.
Says the pieman to Simple Simon,
Show me first your penny;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
Indeed I have not any.
Simple Simon went a-fishing,
For to catch a whale;
All the water he had got,
Was in his mother’s pail.
Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle

jingle jangle joe
got no grass to mow
not a single inch square
it just isn't fair


----------



## Laguna

I can so do this writing for 10 minutes thing in fact there is a beautiful short story stuck in my throat right now but I hesitate to share it and wrap up this sentence and put this away maybe for another time.

:wink:


----------



## Electra

Jealous of Jane, she twisted her irritated hands around the black keys and met her own a sceptical look in the car mirror as she adjusted it slightly. A wonderfull smell of flowers blew gently past her in the yellow sunlight, and confused her. Bewildered and discouraged by her ugly car, she ignored her insignificance and chased away the embarrassed thought of her inadequacy when compearing her self to Jane. Her breath was like the air of spring, her voice was soft like summer rain. She could not compete with lady Jane. Owerwhelmed by the feelings she whiped tears from her eyes and put on som mascara and a 1000 $ smile. Click clack... click clack. She raised her face. Darling! You look fascinating in that red dress- I'm sure Ray will find it stimulating! Tina looked slightly amused when she met my frowny face, or maybe it was just a product of my interpretation. She had a playfull and optimistic look that day and seemed supriced to see me this way. C'mon hunny, what's the matter? she whispered. Hysh! I poked her with my albow and sent her a 45° look. He. is. right. there. talking. to that....beasty...bat-bitch!! Powerwords indeed, but I couldn't come up with anything better right then. You wanna be succsessfull, Arita? Treat you self with a little respect. Go and change your stalkings and start sucking up to George. Once you recieve your check it will all feel worth while. She found some cookies and gave a half one to me and ate a whole for her self, sending me a condensanding, discerning look, as if I was her little bad pet. I felt undervalued and not very confident at all. I faked a thankfull look and headed to the bathroom. On my way there, I saw two security guys carrying a box with something dripping out. One of them a stunning guy with a glimt in his eye, looked so serene. He formely sailed across the floor like he didn't have a worry in the world. His eyes where so attractive and he started to look at me, and I suddenly felt a strong electric shock hit me like a lightbolt! The other guy looked pensive, responsable, his mind heavily burried in serious thoughts. I moved my eyes towards the first guy again and instantly felt relaxed.
The clock on the wall and the long shadows confirmed my tiredness and apathetic procastination. I felt so isolatrd and lonely in my little office cell. It was time to leave this lonely labyrinth for the evening. I grabbed my purce and put on my stilettoes. As I entered the elevator, a feeling of inferiority got hold of me once again as I looked at my cellphone: "I hate that vulgare nasty bitch so bad you better believe it !! Look how she clings her self to him, like a slimey eeI! She is discusting!" I realiced that I had sent the text to Jane instead of Tina. I felt so stupid! How would I live with my self? I had no right to write that and yet I felt no remorce at all. Jane actually entered the elevator earlier, stunning as usual, she sent me a distant look followed by a sarcastic compliment. Frustrated I got in my wreck of a car and drove home again, still jealous, still irritated. But... A bit more hopefull. I felt like I had to isolate my self from people for like a month after this horrible accident. I put on my broken and therefore reviling pajamas, a face mask and a hair thing to make my hair curly over night. It wouldn't stick, so I used a pair of old ugly housewife panties from like 1969. I made a half attempt to smear of some if the make up but it ended up like war paint. Whatever. I was too.tired.to.care! In the guest bedroom I found underwear from Martin and Evelyn. What a thing to forget... oh well. As I walked to my bedroom the doirbell rang.I hessitated to open but it was probably just mum so I unlocked the door. It was the security guys...!


----------



## PinkLink

Tonight isn't like any other night. Tonight I am going to spend the night in a castle. I received a letter in the mail the other day that told me to travel to this castle on the edge of the country. My curiosity always seems to get the best of me, and I've always had a sort of fondness for the gothic, unsettling, castle. The letter had no return address, it was only signed with the letter "M".

The driver came to a halt at the front of the castle. I took a peak out of the car and gazed upon the majesty of the supreme architecture of the castle. The castle must have been 100 stories high and as wide as a city block. At least that's how it looked just after the sun had gone down. I can not help but be awestruck at the sight of it. All my life I have wanted to see a medieval castle with my own two eyes. I tell the driver to go on back home and to pick me up at noon the next day. He scurries off leaving me alone with the dominating presence of the building before me. I found it rather peculiar that the castle grounds did not contain a bridge of any kind. Not feeling that it was of any real importance I walked onward toward the entrance. As I walked along the extensive cobble road in front of me my mind begins to wander, as it always does. Thoughts of my beloved fiance enter my head. Oh how I wish that she could have come with me on this journey, but unfortunately she could not. I will see her when I get back home tomorrow I tell myself confidently.



A.N.- Just the beginning of a story that I plan on writing at some point.


----------



## goldthysanura

William said: we are, we are here, we are not, not here
We flake off slowly like the coating of magnetic tape
I try to love but with each caress I wear away a little more
I smile and as the sun angle lowers my mouth fades away
You lose a bet when you find empty pinecones
The squirrel I saw lives forever skittering up the telephone pole—
Uncracked nut between his teeth
(Dunno where he found it, where are nuts?)
I climb up the telephone pole of life like a spiral staircase,
Using the rusty staples as footholds, these old remains of dogeared posters
For past parades streaming across the city
Which heaves new slabs of concrete and rebar upon its many corpses
And which peers with pupils to the left as I laugh myself into wrinkles
As I step my feet into blood blisters breaking like boiling seafoam
As I hold you vibrating threatening to explode within my arms
My soul disintegrating on a finite loop


----------



## Paulie

I woke up this morning feeling other. Not a completely unpleasant other, mind you, just other as if some transformation had occurred while I slept, one unbeknownst to me yet tacitly familiar, much like that feeling you might get upon traveling someplace new only to discover that you just know you've been there before, despite that being nearly impossible. Maybe it is not me who is other, maybe other lies out there, wherever that is and whatever that may mean, since there doesn't seem to be any clear lines where I begin and end since I am part of the there insofar as I am in a place, a place called home. Home. What a strange concept. Home is this, home is that, home is where I am other, at least right now. Perhaps I should seek myself out. That seems daunting. Tedious too. What if I find myself? Or, should I encounter myself, how will I know that it is me? Is the sound of my voice real? From whence does it come? I will call out my name and listen for an echo, a sound trapped in a mirror that is covered over in time, dusty time, unrecognizable time, combined with a pounding silence, only to be interrupted by a constant ringing in my ears, reminding me that I am. Other. When I leave home, part of me stays, paces the confines looking...looking. I was old when I was born. Now time passes neither slowly or quickly. It just lingers.


----------



## SeagullStanley

*hey this is a great idea/exercise*

Esses and Enns and Pees and Tees and Effs and…. and… something says one is omitted and not very happy about it. Not sure what that Something is, maybe a patrolling doubt or a doubt on patrol – mid-morning Doubt on patrol, sounds good enough. Or more like a Someone. An invisible Someone. Someone with a voice but no concrete body – concrete meaning in the literary sense as in tangible. 

Well now where were we? So those Esses and Enns and all the rest, are now appearing in dreamland. Something said – pretty sure this is a different Something than the Something mentioned above – but that Something said, “you know how this is going to turn out, this dabbling you do, this reaching of your hand and then your nose, into this aromatic hole which you ought to know by now possesses a tremendous strength in sucking your entirety so before long you’ll be nothing but a couple bare feet kicking in the air; no wonder all the Esses and Enns and Pees and Tees and Effs giggle as they enclose you within their ring of delectable madness.”


----------



## TranquilMindGun

His fingers looked like little Vienna sausages. They probably stunk the same. Kids can be so filthy. Cute, but filthy. I prefer to look at them from afar. FAR afar. Great, he's crying now. Where's his damn mother?! This isn't pleasant dining. Where's his fucking mom?! Jesus! I squirm in my seat some, waiting for my club sammie. Certainly it can't possibly take that long, it's not even crowded in here. I see the mother yakking on her phone nonchalantly from the bathroom as her kid is crying, now screaming. I really want to punch her in her smiling talking mouth right about now. Who leaves a...how old is that kid, two?! Who leaves a two year old alone at the table? Take the kid with you, for Christ's sake. "48!" is called out. I look down at my piece of paper showing the number '51.' My stomach starts growling. I haven't eaten in about a day and a half. Intermittent fasting. I'm not needing to lose weight, just doing a reset is all. I let out a heavy sigh to cover the growling my stomach lets out. Usually my stomach waits to embarrass me during a meeting, echoing off the dull beige walls of the office conference room. Not this time asshole, as I lightly tap my tummy. I hear them call another number, but I know it's not mine yet, as a little old lady is standing there already, spilling her soup order all over the counter. I shake my head. Can someone not help her? Seriously?! I start to get up to do just that, however one of the employees had the same thoughts as I, and helped the elderly woman to her table, with a promise of a new bowl of soup. From the look of the small puddles on the counter, some tomato bisque, perhaps? "51!" About time, i'm starving. I walk over to the splattered counter, of course they stick my tray on top of the mess without cleaning it up. "Could I get some extra napkins, please?!" I'm handed enough to hand dry off one of those Hummers. I shake my head as I carefully walk my tray to my table, place some napkins underneath it to sop up soup. I get my tray cleaned off and any bisque that happened to get on my table. I remove the food from the tray, politely take the tray back to the 'order ready' counter and sit back down to enjoy my meal. A pickle! I love pickles. That doesn't look like a club though. Looks like roast beef or something. Fuck! I look around and up at the counter. Fuck it. I'm hungry. Fuck this shit. I take a big mouth watering bite out of the...yep, that's roast beef.


----------



## Wisteria

Sometimes I wonder why I got depression. Some people tell me it's a mood disorder, others act as though it's past "trauma". It feels like being sucked in a black hole but no one realises it. I know, everyone is caught up in their own busy lives. That is just how it feels. They talk to me, get to know me, we do things together, but it's still there, simply in the background. When they leave, or I run out of distractions, it comes back. I am actually on a waiting list for cognitive behavioural therapist, but I was told it took months. I wonder if the depression has something to do with the lack of positive relationships, or if there is something fundamentally wrong with me. There's not use in thinking about it, but after going through it for so long I feel like I have to know because otherwise I get this weird feeling of lacking self awareness. 
I want to go home to my own place, and I think I actually miss him. I want to be with them everyday, and every time he leaves I just want to spend more time. But then I worry that he doesn't feel the same way and it's an awful feeling. I feel like he is too good for me and I don't deserve them. I dread he is using me for selfish intentions. I can't wait to se him again, but there are definitely things I need to talk about because I feel a lot of awkwardness like we're both thinking things but not saying them entirely, not understanding eachother thoughts or feelings. I really think the whole thing was rushed. We got close too quickly, and I ended up feeling overwhelmed and scared that he won't want to see me anymore. I think he has more close friends so he doesn't need or crave my company so much. I wish the new year would just hurry up too. I don't want to do nothing for the next week except hang about my parents home. 

That's it really, the only things on my mind. Also health issues and financial problems. Life is so stressful.


----------



## goldthysanura

K talks a mile per minute and has a raucous laugh. She blurts out: "So there I was in Colorado, living in a renovated chicken coop..." with a lot more enthusiasm than I would have ever thought I'd heard that phrase said with. I used to think she was someone to be avoided, but now I'm not so sure. Some people can't help but show their bad side even at the same time that they show their good, or else their good isn't bright enough to make you forget temporarily about the bad. But that's not the case with her. Maybe it's because her bad side is so outright nutso--not selfish or bigoted, but just straight-up crazy. Today she was dumping out the bag from the vacuum, and she said, "You know, if someone's ever fucked you over, dump this stuff on their windshield with some olive oil! OR superglue, if they really have it coming!" She said this with such vivacity and earnestness that it was hard to judge her for it. Whenever C talks about people doing him wrong, I think to myself, "Okkkk, but knowing you, you probably had it coming." And he talks about past events like he was usually the victim--as in, "I'm an asshole, yeah, but that other person, they were REALLY an asshole, in an unacceptable way that I'm not." But K is more pragmatic in her view of the world--she doesn't judge people for their moral character too much, it's just that people either get all up in her space, or they don't. If they do, they're bitches and barnacles. If they don't, everything's peachy! Her kind of character isn't necessarily something I want in a roommate, a lover, or a close friend, but in a coworker, it's pretty entertaining.


----------



## Miharu

I bare my soul to you,
lay my pieces,
take my chances,
and leave it up to you.

So get the mop,
collect the dust,
and pick me up pick me up pick me up.​
---

Was thinking of the boyfriend.


----------



## musixxal

People will ultimately fail you.

No matter what goes on in life, this remains a constant. 

It's always so wonderful in the beginning. Fresh and new- clean and pure- so many ways to describe the initial bonding and sharing. Foolish heart, thinking it's found a companion or confidante. Believing- always stupidly believing. In what? 

_Love?_

How commonplace.

Don't we die alone? The mind urges and argues- but the heart ignores it all. I will love, it says. I will keep faith. I know it could break me, but as I scatter the old pieces will fall together forming new pieces. Then, amidst the destruction and chaos, a new me will rise like a phoenix to dare to do it all over again. 

Ha, laughs the mind, will anyone ever treat you better than your mother or father? Didn't they use to mistreat you- didn't they judge- didn't they say you were never enough? And now this person- this friend or lover- you believe they could ever do what your family could not? The truth, continues the mind, is that you aren't enough. You've been made to do this alone, and you can do it alone.

Alone.

Just you.

Get used to it.


----------



## Penny

dannon oikos raspberry yogurt is so good. even with the dumb raspberry seeds in it.

ode to dannon yogurt company

how you managed to make such a heavenly concoction is beyond me
how to make something so creamy yet fluffy at the same time out of what is practically cow pee
(haha i know it's not really pee) 
your luscious fruit flavors mixed into spoonfuls of grace
i happily indulge as I stuff my face
lick the spoon to get every last trace
even though it's GMO I don't care
'cause find a better yogurt, this to anyone I dare!
your Grecian formula must have been handed down by the Gods
compared to you those Chobani quacks are sad sods!
how do I love thee, let me count the ways,
enough so that even though it's almost a dollar per cup I still pay!
I won't even consider any other brands,
(okay except for the occasional bulk store kind for smoothies that I make with my own hands...)
but still Dannon Oikos I think can't be beat
it's the perfect consistency and not too sweet...
But just sweet enough to satisfy my palate,
If only much thicker was my wall-et,
Then i'd have you every day!
And this is all I have to say.


----------



## Paulie

TranquilMindGun said:


> His fingers looked like little Vienna sausages. They probably stunk the same. Kids can be so filthy. Cute, but filthy. I prefer to look at them from afar. FAR afar. Great, he's crying now. Where's his damn mother?! This isn't pleasant dining. Where's his fucking mom?! Jesus! I squirm in my seat some, waiting for my club sammie. Certainly it can't possibly take that long, it's not even crowded in here. I see the mother yakking on her phone nonchalantly from the bathroom as her kid is crying, now screaming. I really want to punch her in her smiling talking mouth right about now. Who leaves a...how old is that kid, two?! Who leaves a two year old alone at the table? Take the kid with you, for Christ's sake. "48!" is called out. I look down at my piece of paper showing the number '51.' My stomach starts growling. I haven't eaten in about a day and a half. Intermittent fasting. I'm not needing to lose weight, just doing a reset is all. I let out a heavy sigh to cover the growling my stomach lets out. Usually my stomach waits to embarrass me during a meeting, echoing off the dull beige walls of the office conference room. Not this time asshole, as I lightly tap my tummy. I hear them call another number, but I know it's not mine yet, as a little old lady is standing there already, spilling her soup order all over the counter. I shake my head. Can someone not help her? Seriously?! I start to get up to do just that, however one of the employees had the same thoughts as I, and helped the elderly woman to her table, with a promise of a new bowl of soup. From the look of the small puddles on the counter, some tomato bisque, perhaps? "51!" About time, i'm starving. I walk over to the splattered counter, of course they stick my tray on top of the mess without cleaning it up. "Could I get some extra napkins, please?!" I'm handed enough to hand dry off one of those Hummers. I shake my head as I carefully walk my tray to my table, place some napkins underneath it to sop up soup. I get my tray cleaned off and any bisque that happened to get on my table. I remove the food from the tray, politely take the tray back to the 'order ready' counter and sit back down to enjoy my meal. A pickle! I love pickles. That doesn't look like a club though. Looks like roast beef or something.  Fuck! I look around and up at the counter. Fuck it. I'm hungry. Fuck this shit. I take a big mouth watering bite out of the...yep, that's roast beef.


Well hell yeah!!


----------



## VoodooDolls

a song i wrote 

the street behind bars

what once was a funeral 
has turned into a rave for junkies

world is coming to an end
and the street is always behind bars
touch my hands baby feel how cold they are 
world is coming to an end
and the street is always behind bars
time accelerates the cruelest verdict on the man

we hit them down there where it hurts the most
and still they want more
that old man is still blind, the skies he follows
dead he falls
there's a cat meowing at me from his window
there's nothing sad about it, nor blue,
it doesn't miss you anymore

a migraine lady approach me saying she wants to sell me
saying i wanna extract your organs to see if i get any younger
to get some money is not so different to having a big dream
i escaped running, the fight, the screams, no tremble

i'm not playing ol lady, i'm getting old too
i'm no playin ol lady, i'm getting old too

what once was a funeral 
has turned into a rave for junkies

world is coming to an end
and the street is always behind bars
touch my hands baby feel how cold they are
world is coming to an end
and the street is always behind bars
time accelerates the cruelest verdict on the man


----------



## Dustanddawnzone

There were Pomagrant in the house. They claimed to be from Eldertrollland, but their clothing suggested otherwise. The First Won spoke, "I knew were you are hiding them."
"What?" I asked.
"You know," he replied. 
The Second Won was eating a bagel while staring at me intently. Her blue eyes shined while his didn't. 
I ran out of the house, and they chased after me. I jumped over the short, decorative fences of my neighbors as though they were hurdles while the two Sons followed behind me.
I moved it to the end of the neighborhood while a train was running across the track, loud and blaring. I jumped into an opened car and was moved quickly away from the chasers.
I took the skull out of my overcoat and begun petting it. It was once in the head of the Third Won, but it was mine now. My skull to play with.


----------



## Albatross

I woke up this morning. His head filling my thought.
I woke up with all the joy and the sorrow of living.
I set foot on the floor, my cheeks having the mark of my pillow on it. I remembered that time in the past. I was only a kid then. A swingset lover. 
All innoncence untouched and happiness intact. Not like right now, i feel the blessing curse of life upon my shoulder. The responsabilities, the importance of thinking in a world that does not anymore, the importance of reading in a world that only know how to swipe with a finger in order to fill the void left by life.
I see his face, still, in my morning coffee. I feel like I am listening to Bjork doing a duet with Portishead. I smile.
Maybe once we'll stopped to tease each other something will happen.
Still i listen to the radio. Chaos is alive. The world is chaotic. I hold on to the feeling of the swingset. The butterfly when you go up then backward. This feeling I call it Love, I call it Hope and I know this will erase Chaos. Chaos will stop.


----------



## Pippi

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Pippi. She wrote a story about oranges. It was a horrible story. There were no oranges in it. It didn't make sense.

Then, one day, Pippi had an idea. A brilliant idea! Why not squeeze an orange over the computer? Then there would be oranges involved, in some way, shape or form, in Pippi's orange story!

Pippi went to the kitchen. She searched high and low, in the freezer, in the toaster, and even in the microwave for an orange. Alas, no oranges.

She said, "Well, I'll just have to imagine an orange, because I sure don't want to go out and pick or buy an orange! That's more work than one little ten-minute story is worth! And besides, I'd run out of time. I'd never finish the story."

So Pippi imagined an orange. She imagined that orange with all her might--yes, she did. Pippi just sat there, right in front of her computer, and visualized squeezing an orange all over the story--which was, after all, a story about an orange.

And that was that. Pippi rubbed her hands in satisfaction, and she sat back and smiled as the story was completed. The End.

Ah, but wait! Still over four minutes left! That was no ten-minute story about an orange!

"Sigh!" quoth Pippi. "A single imaginary orange is only worth a six-minute story! I'll have to add some fresh red pepper!"

Pippi _sprinted_ around the block, stole--no, legitimately picked--an imaginary pepper from the imaginary pepper plant, and somersaulted back into the room with the computer with the imaginary orange juice all over it.

Wait! She remembered something. She ran to the kitchen, grabbed a little knife, and skipped back to the computer. Pippi peeled and chopped that red pepper over the keyboard as fast as she could! Then she lifted up the keyboard, tipped it, and poured the pepper out over the computer JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME!!!

Pippi was so proud of herself for finishing her story about the orange!


----------



## DualGnosis

Dear Old Friend,

I hope you're doing well and I hope LA has been good to you. I know we haven't talked in nearly five years, and you probably won't ever see this letter, but I just wanted you to know that you came across my mind recently. 

When you did, I went to go see some old pictures of yours here on PerC. I wonder how much you've changed. Still stylish? Still pretty? Probably. I've changed though. In a good but perhaps mischievous way. I've become more confident, out of necessity, and out of a need to better myself as a person.

Me five years ago would never believe I would turn out the way I am. I'm more social. I work out a lot (not so much recently though) and became much more healthier and muscular. I'm trying to become more responsible, but my habits still tend to be obstacles. I think I really have the attention span of a rat. I seriously believe I might have ADHD, although I've never been diagnosed.

But I do think it's important to keep growing and keep improving, day by day. It's sort of become my mantra and it's turned me into a better person.

You probably no longer remember me and that's okay. Life goes on, and people come and go. You're probably ready to graduate if not have already done so. Time sure does fly.

Anyways, I wish you the best for the future. And maybe one day we'll come across each other in this crazy state called California. Till then, cheers.

Sincerely,
------DG


----------



## TricoFeathers

With a sense of foreboding she followed the curve of the stone stairway upward. She hadn't intended to come this way; surely this must lead to the southernmost tower, which he had told her she was not to explore. Something had called her here, however, and there was nothing for it but to see things through. She had to know.
As she climbed, the only light available came via the little slits that served as windows. They weren't even thick enough to fit an arm through. The silence felt thick around her as she continued upward. The screams she'd heard no longer came at regular intervals. They didn't come at all, which seemed more frightening than the awful sounds had been which had woken her the night before.
Finally, the quality of light shifted. An orange glow lit the final few steps and came from a torch that illuminated a narrow set of wooden doors. It smelled musty here, as if some creature waited behind it. _What is he keeping up here?_ she wondered, even as she reached out toward one of the iron rings which served as door handles. If it wasn't locked it couldn't be too dangerous, right? She didn't hear the low hissing over the scrape of heavy wood across stone as she pushed her way inside.


----------



## Penny

the pitter patter of little feet on the floor
two beautiful girls, my magnum opus
how they've grown
into lives of their own
how can anything i do now compare to that?
like when i realized upon their birth,
that this is what my body is for
making these little miracles of flesh and bone
and how it’s not just some object to be adored


----------



## HAL

Time now: 14:09.

Well I just wrote a small amount and decided to delete it all. What a waste of 3 minutes.

These were HAL's thoughts as he embarked on his first Take Ten Minutes and Just Write adventure. It was quite the undertaking, and not one he was particularly used to. 

Is he allowed to delete the first three minutes of text and start again? Are there rules? Might someone catch him and force him to endure a punishment with a severity matching exactly the 3 minutes of words he had taken away? A chillling thought. But HAL continued.

This time he wrote with a pinch more confidence, though he certainly did not see or feel any clear path in front of him. In a sense, it was more like a vomiting of words into a box. Either way, things seemed to be working, and still no 3-minutes-of-words punishment as of yet.

The time had reached 14:14. The halfway point. Halfway to what? Will this short slab of text go anywhere, or achieve anything?

HAL thought long and hard about this conundrum. Or at least, he claimed to have thought long and hard. In actual fact, he was typing continuously, for fear of being struck down by another anti-not-writing rule which he feared may exist with some other approriate level of unbearable punishment.

14:16.

What do people do when they only have 3 minutes left? Is this what it feels like to be on death row, waiting in the final moments of one's permitted existence? 

A quite horrible thought. HAL scolded himself, and took care to never compare the act of writing on a forum to the situation of imminent death for inmates on death row ever again. The plight may feel the same to the inside experiencer, but an objective analysis would surely prove otherwise.

HAL by this time was totally lost in his thoughts. Where even had he ended up? What _is_ the Take Ten Minutes and Just Write adventure, anyway? Was it invented for nefarious purposes, to keep everyone in line, typing away about nonsnese while some secret society somewhere pulls the strings for the rest of us?

Time was r


----------



## Function

The more I learn about others, the more I learn about myself. The more I learn about myself and my relation to others, the more I learn to love. The more I learn to love, the more I can relax because I'm not alone. My struggles, my fears, my desires, all humans have to a certain extent.

I pause to listen to the music playing...

Coming to this realization doesn't make the feelings go away, but it helps put things into perspective. If my life were a movie, I might be the star of it, but there's millions of movies out there. They each have their own beginnings middles and ends. Why be so worried about your own when it is just a drop in the ocean? This isn't to say that we should be apathetic, but rather to find comfort in knowing that you're not alone.


----------



## revolutioninthot

She keeps getting them. Right here, on her front porch, on the welcome mat, every morning without fail. It was a stuffed monkey with beady plastic eyes, with a cheesy note on the tail. "Hang in there!" It was sweet, at first. She hangs it up on the coat rack, as an interesting little story to tell her friends. When she found friends, that is. If she found friends. It was a little hope, a little thing to look forward to. She would tell them about the funny monkey on her doorstep, and they would all have a good laugh. Right now, she didn't have friends. But that day she thought she might have one, in was the little monkey on the coat hanger. It was a reminder, something to look forward to.

But they kept coming. Every day, one after another. "Hang in there!" When she put on her shoes for work, when she went out for groceries, when she went out for her morning walk. The coat hanger wasn't enough. There were monkeys on her desk, crowded in the corners of her bedroom, hanging from the back of her car. And there were always the beady eyes, and of course the message, the paper, the little writing pinned to the tail. She tried to see who kept sending the stuffed monkeys but they missed her eyes every time. The monkeys were pushing her out of her own house with their number. It was an unstoppable flow of stuffed monkeys from a mysterious sender, and what started as sweet came to haha funny came to weird funny then came to mocking. By the end of a month of the monkeys, something overcame her. It was something deep, something primal bubbling to the surface and exploding in the most frustrating way. She felt so angry that she could cry, but she didn't cry. She felt so sick of it that she wanted to leave, but she didn't leave either. She just picked up the monkey, gripped it in her hands until her knuckles went white. "Why?" it began as a whisper, but at the same time it was a yell, the first yell since she had arrived at this godforsaken place. _Why why why_. It was a question, with no answers. Why would they send this? Why the message? Why would they do this to her? Were they making fun of her? Just as the yell began, it ended with a whisper. She picked up the mo


----------



## Doccium

Roses are red
I can't run a mile
Trust me, guys
I'm a human-reptile​
Wrote this the other day on an exam paper.


----------



## Hypaspist

I live in a company town, and it sucks. The question of the day for the ants marching around me is always _what’s for lunch?

_
Go to school, get a job, worry about that meeting at ten and then maybe what’s for dinner, if you have the luxury of making one after surviving the hour of constantly getting almost run over. You see, I feel sorry for those trapped in a dead end, soulless, lifeless, and utterly forgettable existence. Nothing to show after dedicating their week to the profits of a faceless ghost they’ll never see nor hear.


 “Where’s your packet, old man?” they ask.


 Most have no recourse but to hand over a neatly stapled packet of papers, or even worse, the corporate approved thumb drive containing the powerpoint that boss wanted. The very same boss who worships spreadsheet evangelists. 


 “Writing, what’s the use of that?” the short balding man behind the desk, Napoleon complex in full effect.


 Unlike the doctors, nurses, pilots, train drivers, and truck drivers who change lives for good, bring some health, and others joy, lighthouse head will be forgotten. Only a number on a corporate spreadsheet, having changed the lives of no one.


--------

Author's note: I haven't written anything in over a month, this is something I've had in my mind for a while. This is a heavily modified version of another narrative I've been working on. It's fictional since writing is mission critical to what I do, and no, I have nothing to do with any sort of corporate environment. I only experienced one for a few months, then bugged out of that world for good.


----------



## nonnaci

Sampling the space of unknown unknowns is hard. How does one do it? Comfort zone is inertial and like quick-sand becomes harder to escape the longer one stays. The place where I refuse to look is key but is such the only heading? Circumnavigating a gravity well is long and tedious. Taking the risk and plunge might be worth the regret. Time to find a new project.


----------



## Laguna

The crescent moon is here and I am out. Submersion starts- 
now.


----------



## Libra Sun

I don't know how to be anything more than this, than this shell of a person, than this girl who doesn't know how to use her voice, the girl who doesn't have a voice because she's let the world silence her, she's let her own world silence her. How, after 37 years can she change? How can she undo 37 years of self-loathing, self-sabotage, self-doubt? Is it even possible? It makes me wonder if I'll ever be enough, if it's even worth trying, will it even matter, is it too late? I've become an ocean of myself, a sea of turbulent emotions that crash against my heart. Nothing ever gets resolved, it's always the same shit, day after day. I don't know how to be someone, I don't know how to just stop looking around me and focus on myself. But the funny thing is, there's nothing to focus on, literally nothing to go on because I'm nothing but an empty vessel. I'm a body, I have a heart, a mind, and a soul, sure. But no one ever sees me because I don't know how to break the glass separating me and the world around me. I'm 37, but I don't feel a day over 17, and it's not a youthful feeling, it's a feeling of not evolving. Of just existing. I crave the means to tear my chest open and show the world my heart, what resides there. But is it even anything anyone would want to see? It's frustrating to me how I can't even separate myself from these same words, these same feelings. NOTHING EVER CHANGES. Time goes on, but everything just stays the same for me. There's literally no sign of me growing, it's like I was meant to stay an infant soul my entire life. And for what? What's the point? Was I only born to die? If so, if I die will I at least be reborn into something else, something better? We have no way of knowing that, know way of answering these questions because like my dad used to say; no one from the dead ever came back to tell us anything. Pretty sure this is why I cling to people who I think can give me a piece of myself, which doesn't make logical sense. How can someone else, someone who only has pieces of themselves, give me a piece of myself? I mean, really, it's almost ridiculous, the way my mind works. I guess maybe what I mean is, I believe they hold the key to something for me, something I can only see when I'm around them, a piece of life that only exists when they're there or when I think of them. Because I definitely fixate on people I don't know, people I've never met, people I never will meet. But why? I don't believe it's as shallow as just liking them in the moment. It always feels deeper to me; like when I fall for these people, I feel them in my soul, like they've become a part of me.

(Not even reading this until I post it. Stopped after 10 minutes)


----------



## Aridela

I look out of my window and all I can think is how beautiful the sunset is.

I hated this place just a year ago. What a difference a year can make. Life can always get better, there are worries and thoughts and fears. But for today, let's leave them all aside and just feel. Feel the rays of the light, caressing my bare shoulder. Hear the music playing and my voice rising to meet it. Ain't it strange, forgetting to feel? For months at a time. And then, suddenly it's like a window opens and fresh air enters the room. And I can breathe again.


----------



## Libra Sun

Aridela said:


> I look out of my window and all I can think is how beautiful the sunset is.
> 
> I hated this place just a year ago. What a difference a year can make. Life can always get better, there are worries and thoughts and fears. But for today, let's leave them all aside and just feel. Feel the rays of the light, caressing my bare shoulder. Hear the music playing and my voice rising to meet it. Ain't it strange, forgetting to feel? For months at a time. And then, suddenly it's like a window opens and fresh air enters the room. And I can breathe again.


This is so beautiful; I really felt it in my heart. I so needed this. I needed something light and airy and positive to remind me how beautiful it is to feel these things, these things I don't savor enough. I love this, it's so inspiring and makes me want to write a companion piece to it.


----------



## Aridela

Gabrielle Hope said:


> This is so beautiful; I really felt it in my heart. I so needed this. I needed something light and airy and positive to remind me how beautiful it is to feel these things, these things I don't savor enough. I love this, it's so inspiring and makes me want to write a companion piece to it.


Thank you Gabrielle, by all means do


----------



## Libra Sun

It's funny how hard I've been working lately, how much emotional energy I use to do mundane tasks, it's ridiculous. But that's my reality, and today I finally pushed work aside to focus on my emotions, to focus on feelings in general. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have come across the beauty that was in your thoughts, the beauty of music and the sun that I forget to let seep into my pores, like scolding hot showers that feel like home on my skin. But today, pushing work aside was necessary. I felt like I was drowning in it, I was forgetting to feel, I felt so out of touch with my own emotions having been so busy. Life really does crush me, I'm constantly racing to finish these things that mean nothing to me so I can get to something better, and I'm not even sure what that is. At least, I wasn't, until I realized that the race I was running for was my own heart; to feel it in my hand and led it bleed onto the pages again.

(not a "piece" per se, but some thoughts, nonetheless )


----------



## Pippi

It was a dark and windy night, but that was why we went out in the first place. Why would you go out on a night that was still and bright? Therefore, we waited until it was moonless, starless, cloudless, and altogether photonless, with a howling ocean wind screeching past our ears. We put a blindfold over the dog's nose so that she couldn't smell as much, too. We weren't taking chances.

Out we sailed, into the bay and past the islands bordering it, until we reached the last one. We pulled the boat up onto the rocks and hiked up to the summit.

There we conspired.


* *




"Sally, did you bring the marshmallows?" Felicia asked.





* *




"No," Felicia replied. "Was I supposed to?"





* *




"Damnit, Felicia, why do you always have to do this?" Mark whined.




Oh, shut up, Mark, I thought. But I kept my thoughts to myself and stared out into the sea.

Bess, the dog, was struggling with her blindfold, so I took it off her. She wagged her tail as though nothing had happened. What a sweetheart. You have to admit, it was a stupid idea to blindfold a dog's nose. It had been Mark's idea.

Just then, I heard a strange


----------



## Charus

Our mind is a very fascinating and complicated machinery. It works like a computer, computers through programing can be used to create simulations. Our mind is exactly the same thing, our dreams at night are a simulation of the real world, it is made to simulate situations that we are going through, to prepare us to the inevitable problem we are about to face. 

But once you manage to truly bring yourself, your lucidity inside the simulation, you become a god. You shape the dream world however you want, everything in the dream world is you, you are an omnipotent being, it may be messy and chaotic, but once you put everything under your foot, you will rule the matrix dreamland with no effort at all.

The real world, has many mysteries, problems, challenges and adventrues to solve, but eventualy we all overcame our bad times and misfortunates. Conquer, while you can, you will realise you can put all the problems, and fears under your foot, and defeat them. Conquer, while 'adrenaline' bleeds, there is always a flame, power within you that will never be extinguished, we afterall, are all small, weak and pretty much non-existent in this universe compared to the problems we face in our daily lives, there is no and never will be place for being depressed. So you, with the sheer infinite power, positivity and optimism, make your best for the vast ocean of darkness to know of your presence and legacy!

And speaking of that, don't ya think that our universe is god's lucid dream? Theories, my friend.


----------



## NewBeginning

Maybe the reason I'm still alone is that my cat sleeps alone and had his balls chopped off by a sadist animal disfigurement endorser. How can people who claim to be animal doctors be the same ones who spay and neuter them? 

Also, I hate Reddit. Too many rules, not enough freedom of voice.


----------



## Forest Nymph

One of my coworkers says she has a ghost. I believe her, I've always had ghosts I seek them out. Last summer I lived out in the middle of nowhere and sadly had a malevolent presence. I don't usually get that. I am pretty sure I'm comfortable with the supernatural and like old places because most spirits you seek out appreciate it as long as you're respectful and quiet about it. I am. You don't bring in a team or cameras, you just be with the atmosphere for the hell of it. You don't DISTURB them. 

But the presence in the cabin didn't like me. Or they were just tortured. In old decrepit motels in LA I felt the despair vibe a lot. No one was after me, but the feeling wasn't pleasant either, though strangely engaging. Like compulsively poking yourself in the eye. 

Lots of people committed suicide on my university campus. I'm convinced that one is from the 80s. Like in a sickening, cloying way. Not Depeche Mode, like suddenly you walk in front of Laurel dorms and the ugly sensation of Ronald Reagan as a Spitting Image puppet grabs you. I actually love that part of campus but get that feeling and I want to leave. 

One other time it was negative. In the bathroom on the fourth floor of the Max Factor building. There are bars on the windows. Like don't jump. There's a SINISTER presence in that bathroom. There are artifacts from Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Wood, Judy Garland and Elvis in that building. There's the old H from the Hollywood sign full of bullet holes, the one Peg Entwhistle jumped from. Who knows what evil lurks in that museum. But I think there's an actual demon in there. The night after I went I had a nightmare about human bodies hanging from hooks in a warehouse like hogs. I haven't eaten meat since then. Maybe it's not a demon, maybe it's the angel of the Lord that frightened me. 

Because usually I like my ghosts and I like haunted spaces and old buildings. I've laid on Natalie Woods grave and saw Lana del Rey live at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. 

I don't like sterile places without spirits.


----------



## Pippi

This poem is rather profound.
Its nuances truly abound.
The timeless depths
Are bound to impress;
Its elegance, guaranteed to astound!

This poem, too, is amazing:
The insights; its fiery, blazing
TRUTH! Yes, you'll find
Its reviews blow your mind:
_*"Uplifting!"*_ *"Superb!"* _"Spirit-raising!"_

@Paulie @Glenda Gnome Starr @Electra


----------



## Adelis

Why couldnt we do 11mins instead?


----------



## Pippi

Adelis said:


> Why couldnt we do 11mins instead?


No cheating


----------



## Adelis

Ok Pippi.

Why is it that people are open to light, fun, supraficially happy, fake and ego pumping discussions, but closed to serious, life chsnging shakes that break cognitive dissonance, and lift up life wuality from day one engaged?

Cause if its comfort zone, we are all gonna be nuked outside of it.

Or is it infact intrapersonal as we as a race are taught subliminally non fucken stop that the very definition of happiness is which ever other ppl just like us consider it to be. Or worse, what our genes predest our concept of happiness to be. In as if we would equal our bodies and minds alone. Soulless so to speak

There you go, you positive, happy brainfree little wonder Im including mysrlf in too most of the time. Lets get going with that one shall we?


----------



## Paulie

Pippi said:


> This poem is rather profound.
> Its nuances truly abound.
> The timeless depths
> Are bound to impress;
> Its elegance, guaranteed to astound!
> 
> This poem, too, is amazing:
> The insights; its fiery, blazing
> TRUTH! Yes, you'll find
> Its reviews blow your mind:
> _*"Uplifting!"*_ *"Superb!"* _"Spirit-raising!"_
> 
> 
> @*Paulie* @*Glenda Gnome Starr* @*Electra*


The clarity with which the subject is broached,
is like starlight reflecting of off eggs poached,
that stealth-like make their way to my brain,
encroached and waiting to pounce like a 
schizophrenic cockroach, who just arrived
on the 12:00 stagecoach, after having stolen
her great great aunt's family-hand-me-down
broach, only to discover from her best friend's
lover, that the whole enterprise was a hoax,
which promptly caused her to have a stroke.

The End


----------



## Pippi

Paulie said:


> The clarity with which the subject is broached,
> is like starlight reflecting of off eggs poached,
> that stealth-like make their way to my brain,
> encroached and waiting to pounce like a
> schizophrenic cockroach, who just arrived
> on the 12:00 stagecoach, after having stolen
> her great great aunt's family-hand-me-down
> broach, only to discover from her best friend's
> lover, that the whole enterprise was a hoax,
> which promptly caused her to have a stroke.
> 
> The End


SUBLIME!!!!!!!!!! The
Rhyme scheme oughtta be a
Crime, were it not for the
Time.
These--

--Times. This is not a
Day and age for I--
--ambic pentameter. No place is there,
Old-timer, for your sonnets here in the
Great Literary Publication, a
quarterly distribution of the
English Department, which features a lotta
good content
You gotta
Try it
Submissions due by 5:00 PM
On the department website.


----------



## Paulie

Pippi said:


> SUBLIME!!!!!!!!!! The
> Rhyme scheme oughtta be a
> Crime, were it not for the
> Time.
> These--
> 
> --Times. This is not a
> Day and age for I--
> --ambic pentameter. No place is there,
> Old-timer, for your sonnets here in the
> Great Literary Publication, a
> quarterly distribution of the
> English Department, which features a lotta
> good content
> You gotta
> Try it
> Submissions due by 5:00 PM
> On the department website.


may be a thread you want to resurrect. it was fun!

https://www.personalitycafe.com/game-forum/100057-converse-shakespearean-english-7.html#post2744085


----------



## Pippi

Adelis said:


> Ok Pippi.
> 
> Why is it that people are open to light, fun, supraficially happy, fake and ego pumping discussions, but closed to serious, life chsnging shakes that break cognitive dissonance, and lift up life wuality from day one engaged?
> 
> Cause if its comfort zone, we are all gonna be nuked outside of it.
> 
> Or is it infact intrapersonal as we as a race are taught subliminally non fucken stop that the very definition of happiness is which ever other ppl just like us consider it to be. Or worse, what our genes predest our concept of happiness to be. In as if we would equal our bodies and minds alone. Soulless so to speak
> 
> There you go, you positive, happy brainfree little wonder Im including mysrlf in too most of the time. Lets get going with that one shall we?


Too deep for me, bruh, but let's see.
Thou say'st, "what our genes predest
our concept of happiness
to be."

To be predest is _yet_ to be, no?
So, to be predest is not to be, ho.
For to be yet to be is not to be... yet.

If our meeting here is destiny, then here we've never met... Whoa!


----------



## Pippi

Paulie said:


> may be a thread you want to resurrect. it was fun!
> 
> https://www.personalitycafe.com/game-forum/100057-converse-shakespearean-english-7.html#post2744085


Cool! Dude, check out my predestination poem! ^

Deep, ho!


----------



## Penny

what to do today? what to do what to do?

there's a kitty in the window~
meow meow, meow, meowwwww
(a little song i sung to myself this morning. thought i'd share.)
i want to make some keto cookies but then i have to wash dishes and clean off the countertop first. what a drag.
i need to finish a furniture painting project, but alas
my motivational level is zilch
it's cold and rainy outside and on going anywhere i'll take a pass
even shopping has gotten dull
i've marie kondo-ed so well
and my house is still full
ahh, whatever shall i do?
i shall sit here and write to you
how exciting this all is
writing thoughts, expressing oneself is never all for naught
like think about what Madonna said - express yourself
though after reading the lyrics to that song just now
i suppose it wasn't meant that way like how
i've always thought
hehehe my minute is up my words have been wrought


----------



## Penny

I was just talking
Sheesh
Your sewage is deep
Mine’s recyclables
Your shit don’t stink
Deal with it
It’s nothing
Nothing to me
But a friend who cares
And friendship is golden in my eyes
Worth more than anything
Be my best friend
Not my only friend in this big wide world that we live in
So lonely


----------



## Aridela

What am I to make of this lack of concentration? Surely, coming out of my shadow was for the best, and I feel so much better for it. But it sure had its benefits; being goal oriented and a workaholic wasn't all bad. 

But now that I'm out of it, I just feel everything more intensely. The real priorities are becoming clearer as the 'musts' and 'have to's subside. Truth be told, I don't want to end up working the crazy hours I used to work before my career change. Nor do I want to end up working in an office from 9-8 pm again, waking up before dawn and finishing work after the sun has set. Remote working is great, but the uncertainty that comes with it is real. And working so far below my potential can be frustrating also. 

If only I could concentrate long enough on one thing, I could finish one of the books I've left unfinished. Get back into doing music and make it all worth it. But, I'm too scattered and I keep thinking that maybe I need this; someone else to enforce structure onto me. I know it's childish in a way, not being able to hold yourself in line, but at the same time, I don't want to live this way. It just feels so restrictive it kills my creativity. 

I got to stop hating myself for being the way I am and embrace it instead of trying to win a game someone else has set up with rules which suit them. What good is it to win the game if you lose yourself in the process?


----------



## Libra Sun

I can't get you out of my head. All I want is feel your lips on mine again, feel your hands on my skin, in the last place you started a fire, one I never recovered from. All I think about is falling into your arms and letting your fingers melt my skin and clear my mind, free my soul. 

"Close your eyes" 

i oblige, staring into darkness, feeling a bundle of nerves, butterflies threatening to burst from my chest. With one stroke of your fingertips on my arm, I blacked out, there was literally nothing - my mind was empty - It was the most peaceful feeling. I was outside of my body and couldn't feel anymore - and not because i wasn't allowing myself to like I normally do, but because your touch literally ended my pain.

(only took like a minute or so, but I wanted to post it anyway)


----------



## Libra Sun

I don't know how to feel anything other than shattered. I walk around with broken pieces as if I can't be fixed, as if my heart has been through a hell it never should've known. I feel like shattered glass, sensitive and delicate, but capable of hurting myself with the edges. I don't know how to be any more than scared. I wish I could find the key to the girl I used to be, the one that never should've gotten lost, the one who locked herself where she never thought she'd need to look.

There are times I wonder why I feel so much if it's only meant to kill every part of me. I decided to unpack my fears and lay them out for you, naming each one to help you help me. I don't know how I became so small, barely existent. I don't know how to write myself out of this hole I'm trapped in, because each time I pick up the pen, I go silent. I close my eyes and hear my doors slamming shut, as if I have all the reasons in the world to hide. I desperately scratch a surface that has nothing beyond it, yet I feel a brick inside my chest each time I meditate. And the tears always flow, and I never understand why. So I attempt to analyze a release that is most likely something I'm not meant to understand, but that only makes me relentlessly pick it apart, until it becomes more of a mess than a sense of healing.

My eyes scan the room for some source of inspiration to overcompensate for the emptiness lingering in me, yet every night those still waters run deeper than I can get on paper. I choke on every word that threatens to expose me, only to soothe myself to sleep with lies, only to wake up restless. I bury myself in blankets that became what the moon is for the earth, a protection from the parts of me that burn. The secrets I have too easy of a time keeping, like the one I've kept for years about wanting to jump heart first into the unknown and find safety and comfort in what I can't see. How to this day, my family laughing that I wanted to believe in god is the real reason I stopped trying. Because that's apparently not what I was supposed to be. So the little girl carried her heart, the one I was determined to protect, and trudged on a new path, one where she finds salvation in people, her religion in those she loves, and her prayer in healing hearts that find a way in hers.

I consume them whole without trying and people wonder why I'm always crying. Maybe it's the fact I feel your heartbeat over mine and forget what mine feels like. Maybe it's feeling like I'm from a place not of this world. A line from something I wrote years ago still resonates with me as I write this; "maybe my view of the world and how it should be stems from a life I've lived before this one; in a time period that nurtured souls and treasured hearts". I want to live there, in a place where all we feel is love, where love is more than enough to fix any shattered heart.


----------



## Penny

cryin in the rain
no one feels my pain
not even me
cause it doesnt exist
and denial is not a river in egypt

how to reconcile
such a heinous crime

it's unspeakable

undealwithable

just little sluts

and thats all we will ever be


----------



## Introvertia

Crawling into the comfortably unreachable place for a while of peace, although I know you're going to follow and guilt me for it. Your weapons are growing dull, using the same set of choice over and over again, until it's mundane and adapted into the routine. Switching between regarding self more important than others and alternatively, feeling beneath, further and further below. I met you, pure. What could I say to you. Not worth pursuing, not worth the same, the levels are not overlapping, our connection could not be actualized. A broken tool beyond repair and by default unusable. That's the contrast between you and me. Yet you still try, with your pathetic attempts.


----------



## prplchknz

I like cats, but sometimes i like dogs. the point is that i like animals and so you should def have one, i can't spell the full word so i'm not gonna try. If i could I would so once upon a time i was a cat i still think i have cat dna i'm very cat like but not too cat like i don't bite your hand when i'm done hanging out with you. which i suppose is a good thing, yet I don't know if it isn't.... it would send the message to clueless people that i am done and leave me the fuck alone.

I find that if i talk to someone they often don't get where i'm coming from, i desire to be understood but i'm also very combative if i'm not and that pisses people off because i'll be like you're not getting it! and so i must be normal and say nothing. being normal is hard very few people can be normal. I'm glad I'm on the meds i am because if i wasn't this would be disorganized as fuck. but i would believe it was organized. that's what happened in school before i got diagnosed i wrote papers and professors would be like this doesn't make sense, but it did, they just didn't get it....maybe it didn't....i don't know 10 minutes is a long time to write

I want to get back into piano i bought one for 100 dollars I played a little last night, but i can't do much i'm not very advanced i wish i had stuck to piano as a kid. oh well too late now i have lots on my mind. i tend to obsess to an unhealthy degree but maybe everyone does. writing in a journal doesn't help and the more i talk about it the more i obsess maybe i should try distractions. I don't know if i need a therapist or not, i'm being pressured to get one but not sure they'll help. maybe there's something inherently wrong with me that can't be fixed

holy fuck it got depressing real fast but I can't tell you secrets because they'll no longer be secrets. is 10 minutes up I don't want to look at the timer this is the longest 10 minutes ever I used to write fiction my creativity is dead currently that makes me sad....I wonder if people would believe me if i said i don't know if i'm asexual because when i smoke weed which negates my meds i get really horny but when my meds are working i have no desire to have sex. I have a bump on my clit i should probably get it checked out, but i'd be more likely to go to the doctor if they gave lolipops i'm running out of things to talk about i live a very boring life i wonder if everyone else feels like that...it seems to be true...but i can't possibly talk to every single person in the world. I'm often curious about things so i ask huge groups of people, I would love to be a sociologist maybe one day i'll get my masters in it....Is 10 minutes up? fuck it i'm looking at the timer. ok only a minute left i can continue to write for a minute. I'm doing an rpg which should help get my creativity back. I get frustrated with the world, but i also love it. I can't leave it even though i want to at times. I can be impulsive which is why i'll never get a gun...the other night it took every ounce of strength not to kill myself...i'm feeling better now so no worries


----------



## Hypaspist

One final push, one final thrust, and her head fell back onto the pillow. She tried to kiss me, but I stumbled of the bed, nearly slipping on a single sock that found its way to the bedside. 


I sat on the porcelain throne, my home away from home, with my face planted deep into my navy blue shirt. Four in the morning in a cold bathroom with sad movie soundtracks playing on repeat in my mind. My wife walked into the bathroom, her body glistening in sweat. I still smelled as if I’d emerged from a three week U-boat patrol. 


“Do you at least want to take a shower?” I asked, my face now sinking deeper into my shirt.


She looked at me, smirking.


“Do you want to at least shave?”


Touche.


The clock had started. Nine months until this night was going to be the best I’ve ever had, or launch me into a world in which I knew I didn’t belong. 


_What the fuck did I just do?

------

_Author's note: Fictional work. Or is it? Written after being awake for 18 hours.


----------



## Libra Sun

I wish I could stop feeling selfish for speaking, for living. For feeling like I have no right to share because of what everyone else is dealing with. My co-worker told me her friend passed away, and I ended up telling her about my dad's passing. I can't stop feeling guilty for sharing that with her after she told me about her friend. Is that normal to feel this incredibly guilty? Was I really wrong to share this after the fact? Or was it completely normal? I feel like I've forgotten how to interact with people because I've kept myself isolated for so many years. My relationship has been my everything for over a decade, and I've forgotten how to be a normal human outside of that. I just wish I could stop feeling guilty for sharing. What's wrong with me? I don't understand why my mind works the way it does.

I have this idea for a story, but it's based on real people; I guess you could say it's fan fiction, yet it feels deeper than that. But I love the idea of the brothers sharing their wives with each other; it's more of a sister wife thing, a sense of family. That's really what I want to capture. It sounds better in my head, it feels deeper to me internally. Actually writing it out makes it sound ridiculous. Oh well, probably another story I won't actually write and will stay locked inside my head. 

Actually, back to what I was saying about feeling guilty; my friend just pointed out that our brains are wired differently, that we were expected to remain seen but not heard as children, and it's not something I ever really thought about. Maybe it's not just my relationship that's caused this defectiveness in me, maybe it stems from my childhood. And it makes sense because my mother, to this day, rarely speaks about her life to other people. She's always been private and told me that your personal life is no one else's business. She's spent her life listening to everyone else, and I wonder if she resents that. I know I resent being this way. I know I resent her for a lot of things, especially for never showing me how to function in the world (My therapist, who I never went back to again, told me in those exact words that my parents didn't teach me how to function in the world). But I suppose she couldn't teach me what she never learned herself.


----------



## Aridela

夢みるあたしのふるさと。空は白いです。結ががる。遠くでひばりが聞こえます。それは私を呼んでいます。


----------



## Sidhe Draoi

10 minutes?
Okie dokie.

I want to shine my inner light on other people. I want to bring smiles to peoples faces instead of being gloomy all the time. Im still not sure how to do this, though. I tried complimenting people, but one person thought I was talking about clothes they sell at the store. I thought she had heard something VERY wrong for a second because of the face that she made. Its so sad, when I make these attempts, and people just brush them right off. I pour so much of myself into trying to make the world a cheerier place and they just look dead inside. My aunt said that sometimes people just dont want to laugh.. surely theyd like to smile, though?
I would like to see more smiles.
Darn it, I have to listen to my aunts youtube video while I try to type this out. I give up. Whoops, time is up anyway. Good day.
Oh, nevermind, I started early. LOL.
Ok... a few more minutes..

so my sense of time is wonky. Wackiness. Thats something Johnny the Homicidal Maniac hates. The word wacky. Im rushing now. Heh. Okay.. so I was focused on business today. Id love to earn a living doing business. Its so refreshing to enterprise with other people. I wonder what my aunts video is about. It sounds interesting. I hear music. I want to watch a Ted Talk suddenly. Lol. Why is it called Ted Talk, anyway? My attention span is so sad.. Must.... focus... argh..... nooooooooooooo. Okay. One more minute. I like people. Thank you for existing people. Youre awesome. Bye now.


----------



## kcsunsh1ne

Okay - I work for a Public Library system in Colorado and drive 45 to 60 minutes each way, each day. I mention this because I want to share a novel I just finished listening to. The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek by Kim Michele Richardson. Interesting because it brings together a government program created to put people to work after the depression, interesting people from 1940s Kentucky (just found that I had ancestors who settled there... before moving on), a love of books and the dynamics of race relations, poverty and perseverance. I didn't think I would like it at first but it is really well written. It doesn't have anything to do with personality types, that is unless you want to type the characters... hmmm, that might be fun. If you are looking for a good read... it's a good one. I am an enneagram type 9 so I like to escape into good stories. Time's up.


----------



## Libra Sun

I was just thinking how my SO said she loves seeing my heart again, and I feel compelled to write something that shows it, in its entirety. The love that overflows and pours out, the overwhelming sappiness that I try to reign in because I know it's been off putting in the past. I don't want to keep my love and affection contained anymore. I want to feel it, bathe in it, drown it, become one with it. 

And truth of the matter is, this new friendship I've made has opened my heart in ways I never realized were possible. It feels like a love, a deep love, a fantasy romance that I wish could materialize into something real, but my brain knows that it never will. But I can accept this, the love I feel for him, the ways in which my heart wants so deeply to be wrapped around his. Or even on a physical level; he was going through a rough time one night and asked me to stay. We fell asleep in each other's arms, and I remember taking note of how warm and electric his body felt against mine. I had never wanted to melt into someone else so badly. I just wanted to stay wrapped inside his energy forever. And I remember shivering slightly when he gently rubbed my back, and I realized that can't be a normal, platonic reaction and was hoping he didn't notice. And the way he brushed my hair away from my forehead when we woke up, the heat in his fingertips is embedded in me, and I know it shouldn't be. 

But I found myself wondering what kissing him would feel like, touching him intimately, having him inside me. And I'm not typically a physical person, hell, I don't even experience sexual attraction like most people. But there's something there with him that I can't define or explain. Something in his energy, his touch, the way he makes me feel. I have never felt more safe and comfortable with anyone. Why is this a thing with someone I just started connecting with on a friendship level? We're both involved with other people, and I really don't think he has these feelings for me. I don't think he takes in our moments or words or touches the way I do. 

My heart feels like it's going to burst, I love him so much. I even have tears in my eyes as I write this, because it scares me to imagine what my life would be like without this intense feeling, without this beautiful friendship I've formed with one of the most beautiful minds I've ever seen And that's how it started; I fell in love with his mind. He's such a loving, genuine, heartfelt, rational, analytical, intelligent mind, and he sees the world differently - he's perceptive, even something so simple to the average person, he turns into an entire lesson; like how he took note of a bird perched on the top of the bench we sat on made me want to appreciate nature, how he stated so matter-of-factly when I told him I was an empath that we are made of energy, so it's understandable. How beautifully he combines rationality with sensitivity. How childlike he is, how he finds joy in the simplest things, like games or Pokemon hunting, which I hated until him and I started playing together.

My question is though, why do I feel so strongly for someone I barely know? Someone who's only meant to be a friend. Why does my heart fly every time I let someone new inside it? It's not supposed to feel like this every single time. And I always say "oh this is the first time I've ever felt this way" but logically I know it's not. I know I've felt this way before with a different person, but it always feels like the first time. Either way, I want to revel in this, I want to live inside this beautiful, freeing feeling that I can only describe as love, even if that's not what it is. I don't want this bubble to pop, and I know it will eventually. I know he'll fall from the unsteady pedestal I've placed him on. People always do, they never stay where you place them, they never stay as you want them to. I've molded this piece of art in my mind, and it's something I always do when I idealize you.


----------



## Sidhe Draoi

Laughter is the best medicine.. oh, before I forget, writing fiction stories works like molding clay. I wonder if I can write a story in 10 minutes that describes the concept of laughter is the best medicine. 
First of all, whats funny, though? I lack skills in that area, or at least I feel like I do.
Maybe my pain is humorous, this dumb fly is trying to distract me right now. I want to swat it, but Ill end up breaking stuff.. Okay, I have an idea now.
General Grievious was trying to swat a fly that was in his home, but he ended up breaking everything in the house to try to get to it. then the fly got away anyways. So general grievous couldnt even catch a fly. 
Okay, am I allowed to laugh, because.. well.. that tickled me. Isnt laughter contagious? So that if I laugh at a joke, no matter how dumb it is, other people will laugh at it too? Or are they laughing at me? Either way, if theyre laughing, mission accomplished, right?
I wrote a story that was in summary form. How do I grow my story? I would really like to work on my interpersonal skills so I can hold up a good dialogue. Ack, argh rooooaaaaar is all I can think of because I dont know how General Grievous speaks, really. Was that a dumb fan-fiction I wrote? If so, I am VERY proud of myself. ^_^ I havent written a terrible fan-fiction in years, I need to write more of that genre. I dont get as much written in 10 minutes as I had hoped I would.


----------



## Aridela

Music playing in the background. Writing for academia feels like pulling teeth. By contrast, any other form of expression flows with such ease; expressing oneself through words - I wonder how it came to be. Who was the first human who decided writing stuff down would be a good idea? I bet it served a practical purpose at first, and then, gradually, lonely human beings like this one, decided the page (the screen in this case) would make a good friend - one who really listens.


----------



## Doccium

Very well - where do we begin? 

And no - I am certainly not referring to "when does life start? In the womb, at the conception, once you are 18 years old, once you have freed yourself from all the earthly burdens that come naturally to the natural dimension's inhabitants" but more into the direction of "when did I come to the conscious thought of whether I am alive or not?".

Was it me who had that thought or was it implanted into me by the evil-doing of a great heavenly ruler of all things, and yes, I do mean 'evil-doer' because who and for what purpose with their screws just attached right to their head would bring doom upon their creation by giving it doubt about its existence or an alien from far, far away (which, as should be noted, is basically the exact same thing as the evil-doing creator mentioned before) or is it just the price of being human? 

May hell rain down on who gave life a price-tag without mentioning it before; there must be a law against breaking a contract by not informing the customer - yes, this is dedicated to you so please listen for once, unlike at school were you dwiddled and dwaddled with everything else your mind wanted to distract you with - about certain points regarding the purchase of the product, technically making it 1st illegal and 2nd the seller responsible for fixing the "mistake" they made. 

Well, if it is a seller. Who knows - well, certainly neither you or me or probably or possibly or rather hopefully; but to our limited conscious knowledge we do not know for sure whether this "seller" might be just a regular seller or some kind of merchant, hopping from universe to universe, intelligent lifeform (not referring to you but actually intelligent human beings right now) to intelligent lifeform or maybe even from reality to reality and giving out the present of consciousness for the small price of doubt. 

But is it worth it? And is writing this passage even worth it for the almighty hands hovering above the all-dimensions-reaching keyboard? As if this uncomfortable thought is still making the text-creator's head shake, this creator's creator just shakes their head instead, regretting ever giving doubt to the human species. What did they just do? It actually is a fun ride (or should he say: a fun write?); however, they did not intend for them to misuse their kindness and genorosity for self-destroying means. They chuckle at the thought of making a mess of their creations' lives though. 

Especially at the frustrated creator he created who just happened to forget the whole purpose of writing this text.


----------



## rwekcouyrayd

Running and jumping through the rooftops. It's tougher to make the leap, much more scary than like in those video games we all played as kids. Does help that I've always had a small build, but doesn't help that there are always things chasing me in my mind. 

The last time I would have just something safer, like sitting on a rooftop and looking at that colourful crowd of predictable suit and tie combinations. Or if on a more exciting day at night, up to those shining lights of possibilities and unknown, out of reach and illegal but satisfyingly imagination inspiring. Then rushing the stairs down back to the dishwashing station when his old grumble and hate-filled footsteps announce his predictable spot checks. Funny how it happens always after a trip out into society. 

It's on such amazing times of scene-watching that I know the little intricacies to the narrow streets below and curious valves to water tanks and such. Some of

(I wrote three actually, and this is my third, slightly more decent that the others. Whoops, that was thirty minutes!)


----------



## Libra Sun

I don't feel safe anymore, it's like some light went off and I have no idea how to turn it on again and stop living in the dark. Something is missing, something is very wrong, and I don't know how to figure out what it is, but I'm sitting here crying, and I have no clue what to make of it other than the fact I'm screaming internally, and no one can hear me. My insides burn, everything is twisting and turning, and it hurts to breathe, and I honestly have no clue what it all means other than the fact I'm in mourning. Mourning the girl I used to be, mourning the relationship we had. 

I don't understand why I'm so destructive. I'm a mean, selfish, manipulative person, yet I feel so incredibly vulnerable and victimized on the inside. How is it I'm two different people, one person in my soul and another person to the world? It doesn't make sense, nothing about me makes sense anymore. 

I keep trying to figure out why I'm like this, why I'm so angry and emotional, and it all boils down to you. And how you treated me over the years. You don't seem to understand what you've done, and then you try to act like you're the one abused. Honey, you started the cycle. You're the reason everything turned to dust, you're the reason I started packing away knives in case you hurt me first. Because you always did, with some side comment or sarcastic remark, and that was perfectly fine until I started passively aggressively fighting back. Until it stopped being so passive. Until I started fighting dirty. But it never made me feel better because it went against everything I was as a person. 

Any angry outburst felt like a demon took hold of my body, because once I'd come to, I would be shaking and crying as if I had no clue what just happened. That's exactly how it felt being me for years on end, but these episodes would only happen with you, and I'd wonder what was wrong with me. For years I thought I was crazy, when truth of the matter is, you're the one who's created the mess. You're the one that has no idea what she's done, nor do I think you care because you think you're a fucking victim. No, you're not. 
And I'm honestly not sure why I feel this way, the anger in my soul is boiling. ... And I notice I do this; tell myself I don't know why I feel this way when I'm on the verge of cracking and reaching something groundbreaking.

I hate everything I've become because of you, I hate that I can only scratch the surface because of you. No real emotions come through because I've learned to build walls from you. I've become an expert at hiding from the truth because I hated myself for decades. And it’s not that I even wanted to see the best in you, I just wanted you. I just wanted this fantasy life because I hated the world, I hated reality and everything it stood for. 

I've hated myself since before you, but you're the reason I set myself on fire. You're the reason I burnt to the ground and never made it out alive. You're the reason I'm holding a memorial for the girl I used to be, the flowers in my hand, the flowers I place on my grave are the ones you gave me. The ones you told me were from you, a symbol of the love I believed you had for me. But truth is, they never belonged to you or me. They were demons in our souls that I never even knew we had disguised as something beautiful. I believed I was good in soul, when I was only a devil beneath the surface. 

I have no idea why I'm like this, why I keep trying to dig up this girl who's been buried long ago, a girl I'm not even sure ever existed. Sometimes I wonder if I created a lot of this shit in my mind, if maybe I'm the reason I died. That maybe everything I'm blaming you for is everything I hate about myself. But I don't see that being the case, because everything is about you, and nothing is about me, and that's so easy to see even with my eyes closed. Even when I pretend to be blind to everything and only bury myself in who I want you to be. You're not a good person, and I'm not the first person to say that, yet I keep hoping that maybe I'm in this for the right reasons and not because I don't want to deal with reality. I don't want to deal with the fact I was never meant to be loved, that I was only meant to live a storyline that never ended, yet never started with you or me.


----------



## Doccium

My best friend is an alien and I support his plan to destroy humanity. 

Now, not to make things confusing: Neither was I brainwashed to believe his very much noble goals are possibly generally seen as, uhm, unwanted or drastic or maybe even fatal to up to 
100 % of human life, nor were you brainwashed to believe that humanity would not deserve this fate. 

Let me put it this way: We are a yogurt, every sentient human being from the **** to the sapiens is a spoon full of yogurt. And the longer it is being left untouched, the more cultures it cultivates. That's a pretty neat feature, right? But the yogurt, you have to understand, has an expiration date. 

Oh, the date I am mentioning is not a specific date but one of the romantic kinds, especially those which end in heartbreak because one of the "lovers" rejects the other one (who, due to the inability to deal with break-ups und rejection) then breaks the first lover's heart, but, and now please imagine it in the most creative and wicked way, literally, like a serial killer or a regular killer. And now humanity, which has been left by my lovely friend's alien race (oh, and may the Great Meshma not bring acid rain down onto his crops [a common saying on his planet - cool, eh?]), has gone bad, slowley is getting moldy and old and uninteresting and un-fun and they don't want to play with us or observe us anymore as it would be too predictable. 

So, yeah. It is time to set sails to the afterlife and go extinct or, rather, nearly extinct or kept as accessoires by my friend's race so they can start the next big project. Humans have already done everything there is in their realm of possibility so they move on to something else - just like a real relationship, like the one mentioned before where the second lover moved on to jail! He says he'll keep me alive by bringing me to his planet as a pet and, honestly, that sounds pretty rad. I get to sleep all day, play 5th dimension videogames (the 4th dimension is pretty boring after a while; when they discovered it, it all seemed fantastic and great but now it's you eh and ew and uhm so he'll just introduce me and then move on to the better thing) and eat food we have never tasted before. 

Also, I cannot wait to get my new alien tongue for that purpose! He cannot taste most of earth's food (dammit, he's never been able to taste lasagna! Not so much an advanced race, huh? Gonna tease him with that!) and, as now more or less obvious, I would not be able to taste most of their dishes.
They have put us into this life and so they can take us out like a robot or a Lego figure you built or an unwanted friend you think of as very unsympathetic so you try to spend as little time as possible with them to get rid of them. Kinda rude, I know, but what else are you supposed to do? Confront them? Haha, no. That would bring way too much drama and we don't need drama right now, we have bigger problems - how are we supposed to go about killing off the human race without damaging a too-large-number of other species?

Probably wrote longer than 10 minutes but let's just ignore that.


----------



## Hypaspist

It's been four months. Four months of unbearable torture. I was supposed to write, but couldn't. Too much distraction.

_Write you crazy fool. We don't have forever_.

Forever. What an interesting concept. For many years, summer was the time of respite. No school, no work, nothing to do but spend each waking hour in the pursuit of new forms of leisure. Did it get boring? Yes. But I found the one magic thing that made it all go away. But did I want it to?

Click. Click. Click.

My mouse is on its last legs. Too much time at the computer, too many clicks. No - this will not do. The brunette with pink nails wouldn't care. Poor girl. She thought I was high when she first met me, and now she'll see me again. Coming to in a random parking lot not knowing how you got there is maybe fun for the first minute, but sleep takes over the next. 

_Can I help you?
_
Um, let me.... uh.... see. I couldn't eat that. Too expensive. I could use the money on better things. I can see why she'd think I was high, but I wasn't. Being tired isn't fun. It's all the worst parts of being drunk, without the possibility of any good ones. No hugs. No fun chatter. No moments that the only recollection you'll have of are somewhere on a buddy's phone. 

It's the last time I'll make, then promptly forget, my plans to write. Even if it means boozing up, so be it. I will have that story written. Even if it means writing the curly haired woman and have her bug me until this damn thing is done.

(10 minutes)


----------



## Libra Sun

It's kind of a shame how this girl has gone almost two decades without really knowing who she is. How can you live without really knowing anything, especially not knowing yourself? It's kind of crazy to me how little I know about myself, how little I know about life in general. I feel like the person I was meant to be is stuck in some portal far beyond this one, one I don't have the power or strength to open. No amount of digging is going to bring her to the surface. I’ve spent years trying to find her, and there are times I had mistaken wishful thinking for footprints and followed them, and they only led me to her grave. So, with all my strength, I dug and dug and dug and dug, and to my dismay I looked down at the hole and saw absolutely nothing. Then I climbed into it like a bed and tried to get comfortable in this foreign space. It was cold and unfamiliar, but all I wanted was something to fall into, and the dirt was all I had. So, I sunk in deeper and closed my eyes, trying to imagine the dirt was my calling, or maybe it was merely a blanket to comfort me, provide me with a sense of safety I never felt while I was alive. I sat in silence with myself and waited for some sort of holy answer, yet I didn’t believe in god. I couldn't hear a thing. It's funny how I talk of soul searching. It's funny how I talk of rediscovering myself, but honestly how can I search for a soul I don't have or rediscover something I never had?

As a child I felt invisible, as if I weighed nothing and could squeeze myself into the walls and live there. Or morph into liquid, like the TV character from one of my favorite TV shows and evaporate. I could observe, merge with the world without participating, and no one would notice I was missing. How can anyone miss who was never born? But I suppose it's a thing, because I sometimes feel like I’m missing this girl I was supposed to be. I can feel her in my chest, but she never quite makes herself known. Maybe that’s who these characters were, these other people I tried to be, these stories I created. Parts that couldn’t quite materialize, lives that I only lived in the confines of my bedroom. They were parts of me seeping through the wall of my heart, the barrier between me and the outside world I learned to fear far too young. 

Sometimes I just feel like I’m slowly dying, my mind being the silent killer, because no matter how many times I talk, no matter how many times I cry, I still feel like I weigh heavier than any human should. I don’t feel like my tears are washing anything away. I’m just left here, existing. And people who say they love me tell me they don’t understand how I can possibly feel so worthless, but they have no idea they've made me feel this way. They’re the reason I died, and I know they don’t think they’re capable of murder.


----------



## Meliodas

The dark mist embraces me, cloaking my ability to absorb life in the world,
Like a seducer, he whispers sweet words in my ear, words of consolation
And I take heed to his poison, whose vapours can soothe existential pain 
While one's vitality is sucked away. I see a horrified child, screaming in fear
Without any control of his mind, his body, his life, imprisoned by death 
Endlessly tortured with the hope of renewal which lies just beyond reach
Teasing, coaxing like a siren singing a sweet song while her lovers are dashed on the rocks
But to live without love makes every waking moment an agony, what is worse?
To die embraced in your lover's arms or to live on forever, but in silence, unable to see colour,
To feel joy, taste mirth, or find a noble calling?


----------



## DualGnosis

Cette femme est magnifique. 

Or so I thought... 

I walk through the evergreens, sometimes I ponder. And I keep walking and wonder, what makes her glow and gleam. She speaks a different wave, elle est francaise, but beyond what I cannot discern I often touch by the see-through glass, and rub my eyes to get a closer look. And from this point I save, and listen to what she says, but upon the blurry whispers I find so much, and in her sunshine I bask, to find no love in her eyes for another has took.
In her elegance I praise, but only from afar. 
In her beauty I gaze, but only from this car.

I like her, and it's not a secret.
It's only a secret, to her.

And the world will never know.
And this girl will never know.

Pray it fades, pray it never comes back
Pray for the rain, pray it disappears into the black.


----------



## Bimbo

I want to matter. I want to be remembered. I want to live forever and never ever ever disappear.


----------



## Eysan

I am your flower.


----------



## Angel Cat

*Anonymous*

Hello, _you_.

_You_ who are, to me, _anonymous_.

_You_ whom I have almost known.

_You_ whom I've almost didn't love.

Hello.

Oh, in what passion that I write _this_ letter

Hope _I_ that you'll never know,

Hope _I_ that you'll never see

The kind of things it did to me––

I _loved_ you for a while and then

I _loved_ that this obsession lasted.

Fondly, I would _think_ of you,

The _you_ who's not even in plain view.

I stretch my arm in front of _you_,

My palm blocking the sight of _you_.

I know you not, I try not to.

Lest I cannot get over _you_.

Funny, and I refuse to see

The part of you that's sort of sweet.

Repel me, please, I beg of you.

But consciousness reminds me so

That you're aware and have to be.

Hello, _you_ who know that I like you.

Hello, yes, _you_ whom I like.

Hello.

Hello.

And good night.


----------



## Boogey

why ? what ? where? how?
I do not need to ask who. I know.


----------



## Introvertia

This holiday has been but relaxing. I feel like I can finally relax at day 5th. It's my mind, once work tasks are gone and I have more time and space for myself, my own thoughts, mind starts buzzing at different frequency than on typical weekday, when stress and hectic schedule is removed from the equation. There's more room for emotional stuff you typically would avoid, not intentionally, but automatically during the sleep and work, and they would make themselves known perhaps in dreams, but not otherwise visibly. Now, they have been bubbling constantly. One day, I spent entirely thinking about my life and it made me cry. I couldn't shift focus elsewhere, none of the usual distractions worked, so I just let it happen. 

Physically, I've felt for a couple weeks that there is something wrong with my health. I'm not sure if this is real or just a side-effect of the current situation, which makes one monitor their selves even more closely than usually. I visited my mother and felt guilt afterwards immediately, thinking I shouldn't have, because she's in the risk group x10. She's very social and outgoing, now having to stay at home in quarantine for own health. She begged me to go visit her, because she's prone to depression. She's been calling me on phone daily, asking menial things, talking about trivial stuff. I mostly listen, but do so, because it's important to her. It's clear she suffers from this situation. 

Despite of this, I will celebrate tonight, for moving on from a toxic connection to a more free zone. I imagine my life a map on a board game, moving the piece forward that is myself. It's a great feeling, the sensation you can control something, even how small, in your life. You have to feel that sometimes in order to stay intact. I'm no longer anchored to him, which is the biggest thing affecting me. 

I have a male friend I spend time with weekly, usually when drinking. He's been making advances to me for months, and I may have subtly suggested somethings a while back, which only encouraged him. I think it was wrong of me. I enjoy his attention, but I truly don't see him as equal. He's an adult man, but like a teenager mentally. I feel like scolding him sometimes.


----------



## Denature

_Abstruse Fantasy_

She taps the end, sending the ash below from the tip.
She sighs the smoke that obstructs her sight.
He manifests into view, that bitter-sweetness.
His arms gather themselves around her,
She slowly grabs for them and leaves a black mark on her white blouse,
and the fantasy is gone.

Time clears the smoke and the sounds of children's laughter are heard.
From outside her apartment they play.
That sweet bitter sweetness,
Her clear eyes become as streams.

-Denature


----------



## Notus Asphodelus

This afternoon I had fish bone stuck in my throat. 

I tried :

*[x]* drinking it down with a glass of water
*[x]* Force coughing
*[x]* Force vomit

*But none of them worked.*

It hurt like fuck, but I didn't want to go to the hospital yet.
I went home and *Google* for advice.

*GOOGLE SAID :*

Yes, bread can help you!

So I went to get some bread, dunk it in water and slowly swallowed it. 
It did help eventually. I'm very grateful I didn't die.


----------



## bengesserit8675309

it's funny though. look. all the broken pieces. sunshine, bleeding through the glass. you know it hurts, you know it hurts. can you feel the tear drops? a flash, a cutting piece, in the middle of a thought. and then, the morning, starts to clash, all the windows, all the reflections of light. it's way too much. too much. this is a curse dear, i ask to the sky, why am i afraiding that much? happiness, reflecting through the glass, vision's certainty cutting my float, sunshine, teardrops. i'm walking, near the sun. it is a happy day, happy day, why not? what is this black water? what is this heaviness with the sun rise? yet so small, yet so fearful. can't you hear, all the light, the screams of a burning bride. why, why can't you understand, why i woke up with all fear, all the time? broken glass, broken light, bleeding through my mind. why can't you stop? why? this place is so small, yet so loud. all of a sudden, i miss everyone. night is kissing my bride and i start to breath. start to see. a letter, a smile, a car. a promise written under the glass. a broken glass, a broken light. a broken smile.


----------



## Penny

Bingo the dog sat upon the stair
he looked afar and saw his reflection there
he barked at it asking it to come and play
yet sadly, no response is what Bingo got that day

Carol drank a cup of tea
and thought "there is no one to drink with me"
so she poured herself a glass of wine instead
and soon she found herself in bed

Jared was a man with a plan
he'd buy himself a shiny new van
and he'd be able to sleep in it wherever he went
how much money do you think he spent?


----------



## Mystic MagentaRose

Feel like I am in a daze, like I am not accepting that my brother is gone. There will be days where I'm completely okay and than something makes me think of him and I start to cry out of nowhere. He took his own life. So many people tell me to move on, but it's sort of hard to move on. This is what people don't understand. It's so easy isn't it? To say move on to someone. They are not you or know how you feel, deep inside. Remember him coming into my room, I was on my bed depressed due to an sexual assault that happened to me, I feel guilty for not getting up. He hugged me close to him and said, "You take care of yourself." These words echo inside my mind, everytime I think of him. Did I know he was suffering? No I did not. How could I have known? He seemed happy or this is what he wanted people to think, that he was, "okay" Now that he's gone, these memories come and go inside my mind. Us laughing together, his jokes, the way he played his guitar, how he was so caring and loving towards his daughter. All these thoughts come into my mind and I try to make sense of them all. Try to figure it all out and trying to put it together, when he was suffering and why he never said anything. This is something I'll never know. When we got the phone call, I had no idea of what was to come. My Mom cries and I feel frozen in my seat, which seemed like forever, just looking at my dinner plate. Unable to speak. Unable to move. How could I have known? We could have done more, but we didn't. Grief is so strange, it's something I'm figuring out now. You just never know when you'll cry again. One little memory can come back to you and you'll be crying again. I wish people understood this, instead of saying "move on" or "get over it" this is not what you say to someone. This is the first time I've written any of this, but I knew I had to get it out. In order to heal, because I still blame myself. For not getting out of bed and realizing that my brother was suffering.


----------



## danthemanklein

Oh, wow! So this is my first post I have written since the fall of 2018 (I believe). Not gonna lie, it's great to be back here for a change. I like it! I hope to make some new friends, and connect with old ones while I'm at it. I finally got out of Walmart two years and three months ago. That place was pure hell working there, but I finally got a job where I don't have to deal with people, and that's what I really like about it. The thing I don't like is that I have to wake up early at 7:30 in the morning, which is a pain. I find myself going back to Speed Stacking as well because of TikTok. I've been posting since April, but didn't really cling onto it since the end of June. A few of my TikTok videos have gone viral, and featured on some platforms, which makes me happy to see. I've never gotten that much recognition before, but I'm glad to experience what that's like for once, and it's a trip. Anyways, I don't really have much else to say and I have to go to bed soon, but I appreciate the opportunity to come back here!


----------



## Penny

Santa, oh won't you buy me a reindeer
so I too can fly
Santa oh won't you buy me a shiny sleigh
that I can ride
Santa oh please make it a double
and one on the rocks too
so I can drown my tears
and bring me a boy in a bubble that I can pop
(so he doesn't have cooties)

Santa oh bring me a pair of magic socks
and I'll make you some cookies
and some pretty new crystal rocks
and a pile of nookie


----------



## SeagullStanley

Lots of good times with various people. To a point. Or a galaxy of possible points scattered all across the grand grid. Can’t really think of any one particular person I could comfortably hang out or be with 24/7 for more than a couple weeks. Always comes the juncture of needing to withdraw for a spell; whether into a private room or a solitary stroll on a bustling foreign street or a meditative hike in places where I am the single piece of evidence such a thing as the human species exists, though that’s become gradually more complicated to have easy access to these days. On the other hand, to be forcibly shut off or away from any potential human interaction, for maybe more than a couple months… well that doesn’t sit too well either. Breaks. Must have breaks. Different rooms. Bunch of different rooms. One room opens into a desert scene. Maybe stepping out on a weatherworn porch with the day’s first coffee and a smoke. Shortly after sunup. Gonna be a cooker today. Step off the porch. Spit on a scorpion. A roadrunner (hm, maybe a cartoon roadrunner) zips across the ground, takes a sharp turn that hired a cactus to hide it. Go back inside the shack and head to the back, turn the knob to a smaller door, and then walk into a marketplace teeming with humans who do not speak your language. Smell something grilling. Something from the sea. Or more like you don’t speak their language. Notice women with lightweight simple garments happily hanging on tan-toasted shoulders and loosely around necks. Maybe ask the universe to find reason and support for carving out a temporary residence there long enough to learn it, the language; the ways; or become passable enough to function not quite like a native. Oh but that sounds sweet right now. Another shebang. Shebangs rock. Seems like the last stone of a ring around a campfire, or better, a bona fide bonfire; passing around some midnight herbal magic… hm it must’ve been another room.

_It was more like thirty minutes, maybe more, and the first couple sentences did exist in skeletal form a few days ago. I've not really been writing like I used to, allowed to slip away the feeling of just how fun it is. Want to get back on track so it's back to the ol' routine of working part of a day on poems and part of a day on long fiction. It used to be my, you know, my Main Thing. Really appreciate knowing this option is here. I mean I have been putting stuff on a blog which format is friendly to adult themes. But it's not exactly the best venue for literary endeavors falling outside of those parameters, which, over time, can get to feeling stifling. Start to remember other worlds I frequented. Should see about lodging in the vicinity. Okay now it's been more like fifty-five minutes. Sorry. _


----------



## WickerDeer

"But..." she said, "you don't love me?"
No was his reply.
"But...I love you."
I know was his reply.
"But...you must care for yourself then...please..."
No reply.
"You don't know...if you loved me, you would know... I love you. You would know that you must care for yourself...they don't teach you this where you come from, in the future?"
Negative affirmative.
"I hope you can love me a little so that you can remember that I love you and that I want you to be healthy, no matter what happens. I want you to know I love you. Please?!"
Alright, I will love you a little.
"You do? I just want you to take care of yourself, it seems very bad--this world you live in, if you do not even know what love is or what humanity is...thank you."
...

There were many many modules like this. So why did he notice/care? They had no sense of propriety. No understanding of their place. Just to talk about love in such a way? Why, he wondered, did they keep bringing them back to life? But perhaps they contained some useful data.

"Love," she had said...why was that such a focus for them? It must have been a big thing in the 21st century. He'd read some books that featured that word, but all of them seemed more pornographic than anything, and yet she didn't seem to be a pornograph.

He reminded himself that she was one of those archaics, not a pornograph. They didn't exist then. She just spoke some jibberish, like his senile grandmother did before she was upgraded. Now she spoke twelve different languages, when before she had trouble with one.

"A miracle" they'd said--but that was the gimmick they used on everyone. He was glad to see his grandma still, but he wondered what she felt about the things she could no longer remember. He'd still give anything to know what it was that she had wanted when she asked his father for the not-unsubstantial loan that he considered, but ultimately denied. Some kind of coo-coo orchid garden or something needed fixing.

But if it was just orchids then...he didn't want to continue the thought...why? Who cares about orchids? It was just one question that niggled at him--why grow plants at all, when you can have slettuce?

Slettuce was his favorite pastime when he wasn't gorking out or flying a small pony. He felt that he most connected to slettuce--out of all the organisms of the earth. But his grandmother clung to the old ways--to orchids that died under the wrong conditions. He felt sad for her, but he also felt angry that she was so oblivious to the benefits of slettuce, while she seemingly clung to the idea of orchids, until her upgrade a couple years ago, when she stopped caring about either slettuce or orchids, and all the plants in her garden withered and died.

edit: this is so stupid but YOLO fucking slettuce is the fucking bomb.


----------



## WickerDeer

I am so obnoxious when I drink.
ten minutes writing:

I wonder what's happening in the darkness tonight. Some baby otter is probably making that mewing noise, while another cracks something open with a rock. The seaweed swaying gently back and forth.

It's dark out there, but not inactive. Squid moving up from the depths? Sharks slashing through the water, hunting fish? I don't remember--I think sharks hunt at night.

The darkness can be calm. And it can be furious. And it can be soft and fuzzy like a baby sea otter.

Ugh I don't want to finish the ten minutes of this. My stomach feels sick and I want to relax. I just wanted to get rid of my dumb post that was here before.


----------



## HypernovaGirl

When we are eliciting the worse in others, anger, envy, fear, desperation, we are doing something wrong, or at least not doing our best. We may not know how to do something else at that point or not realise that things can be better, but as soon as we get a glimpse of a hope that there is another way, our nature compels us to do so, to try _*something*_ _*different*_. Which even though it probably means that _something_ has found its way to elicit the best in us, many times we might not know «what to do with it», just to add another layer of complication to the story…
We have so many opposing forces acting inside of us at any given time that it becomes a refined art just to learn to listen. (Which is nothing new obviously although it van be very … pleasant).


----------



## mia-me

The panorama of the ocean took her breath away, as she sat on the edge of a leaf, tiny wings beating to stabilize against the gentle breeze, tiny feet swinging back and forth. The sound of the waves lapping at the sand soothed and lulled her to a tranquil state, as she sang an eerie tune with her piping voice.

Suddenly, wild maned black seahorses rose from the depths and crashed through the waves and onto dry ground. They galloped across the beach, hooves striking sparks in the sand, flames and smoke erupting from eyes and nostrils.

The little Fae sat quietly, pansy eyes wide as the horses approached at a speed only visible to the human eye as a streak of black and crimson trailing a smoky tail. A mile away, then ten feet and suddenly, a foot away where they halted, milling around her, seething with repressed rage. She giggled then sharply clapped her tiny hands once. The horses stilled, flames and smoke vanquished. She clapped her hands in a complicated pattern and magically, the horses were no longer angry. She patted each on the muzzle and they galloped away, frolicking back to the depths.

She sat on the edge of a leaf, tiny wings beating to stabilize against the gentle breeze, tiny feet swinging back and forth, singing an eerie tune.


----------



## bleghc

I turn away, the speed at which I avert my eyes a testament to my attempt at apathy. I can feel my cheeks flush, bloody like the expired blush I’d caked on the hour before so you wouldn’t be able to tell that seeing you made a difference. Though, I can’t help but ruminate on the deliberate nature of my aversion proving what was, perhaps, avoidance more than it did indifference. The hours I’d spent vocalizing my greetings on voice memos prove their futility as I croak out a “hey”, strained by the tension that could only come from the passage of time. The ends of your lips tug upwards, effortlessly and untethered by the same moments that tie me to our past - a past that persisted in merging with my present and yours already having pixelated itself to a discarded polaroid, disposable like the camera one would use to take it.


----------



## Penny

oh the places we go
we row and we row
to Constantipole or Ida-ho

spamarama ding dong
can I make this post long
it should be in spam world
but i am just a stupid girl
who likes to write stupid stupidity
I do it with ease and fluidity

oh the places we go
on the internet ho ho ho


----------



## WickerDeer

The dullness of the hours
fell away
enshrined by twinkling inspiration
standing like sentinels
guarding
the ocean wind
weaving through the cracks
plumes of birds against grey clouds
and apricot patches of sky

the foghorn sounds
low and long
the deep blue cut by a light white path

How did it get here?
Who fathomed such a light?
Perfect harmony
And magic
And beauty
After such a disharmonious night


----------



## 17041704

Across the horizon
All the same　
Four directions
Go as one

This wandering sea
Urges me to set sail
The moment the wind is right
　
In search for the next port
I am a sailor waiting for love
How many ports are there in life
Await an exhausted sailor

Dreams or no dreams
Makes no difference

This beaten ship
Is heading straight
This beaten heart
Sails into the wind

In exile we go

In search for the next port
I am a sailor waiting for love
How many ports are there in life
Await an exhausted sailor


----------



## LucasM

It came back again. But if it never left did it really return?


----------



## B3LIAL

I look through this thread at all the cringe worthy attempts at poetry. You all suck. Those are my thoughts. Suck my ass.


----------



## Penny

summer and my eyes are bare
west coast and my children D.A.R.E.
autumn and it comes with flair
dining with the au bon pair
winter is a crow's delight
solitary hours and a man in flight
spring and it's delectable sight
doing it when the time is right

crazy is as crazy does
wandering around
lookie loo it is the fuzz
who dat?
marry me 

summertime and the living ain't easy
popcorn on the fire and a easy e
controlling up in the air
camera protection
no riots here

fourth times a charm
and no children cry
momma's in the basement mixing up the cement to dry
daddy's in the water house making gold
baby's in the bathtub joining the fold
candy on the menu and it's getting cold
suppertime now, tea and biscuits and mold
brring brring where's the phone
gotta call me a doctor
make it whole

three more minutes and its getting scarce
hollywood on the table and no one cares
bring on the rain
no pain no gain
someone call the doctor
and give him the chair

thrones of old
standing strong
roll them bones roll them bones


----------



## Charus

B3LIAL said:


> I look through this thread at all the cringe worthy attempts at poetry. You all suck. Those are my thoughts. Suck my ass.


----------



## ImpossibleHunt

B3LIAL said:


> I look through this thread at all the cringe worthy attempts at poetry. You all suck. Those are my thoughts. Suck my ass.


It took you 10 minutes to write that? Pretty cringe bro


----------



## B3LIAL

ImpossibleHunt said:


> It took you 10 minutes to write that? Pretty cringe bro


It was genius, I know.


----------



## Infinitus

The preened pussycat grasps for the carrot that dangles in front of it, paws outstretched, claws unfurled. Yet the knobbly orange vegetable knows not the desire of the eager furry feline. In the habitually occupied, smoke-hazed living room lies a thick shag rug, of a chestnut brown hue, with a delightfully rustic aesthetic. As the cat plays, the fibres of the rug are consistently disturbed, being weaved within one another in a multitude of directions, twisted & turning, threading & interlocking as if a single connected holistic form.


----------



## WickerDeer

blueberry sky deepened violet as the stars came out, the wind felt fizzy tonight and the leaves in the trees rattled like tinsel as it wove through the branches. A strange melody arose...she finally recognized it, thundercat. Leaving behind this realization she walked towards the lake with the desire to know what was on the hill in the center. She could make out a grove of birch, their leaves had turned gold even though the air felt warm and tropical. The sky had changed to a bright pink and reflected off the surface of the glassy lake, and her mind felt foggy as if she was looking for something but forgotten what it was. She shifted her gaze uneasily, to the lake at her feet, where she could make out gently swaying eel grass and inside it, suspended in between the vibrant green ribbons, a tiny purple sea slug floated gently back and forth ever so slightly. She wondered where it came from since the ocean was so far away, and looking past it into the darker depths she felt pulled by a memory of what she had left behind. What she had not wanted to, the deep green of the forest floor of her home, where she used tor run barefoot on soft moss with her brother...She got the impression the sea slug was looking at her but she couldn't tell where its eyes focused as it hadn't any pupils. Suddenly it stretched out its fins and flew out of the water and off towards the mountains.


----------



## 17041704

My frozen heart drifted toward distant lands
As snow drifted by in front of me tonight

Giving chase in the storm
Lost my shadow amidst chaos
Are we becoming someone else
While drifting across boundless sky and oceans ?

In the face of ridicule and indifference
Never have I abandoned my dreams
Yet with a sense of bereft emptiness
There was a moment of realisation
That love in me had faded somehow

Still free and unencumbered !
Forever singing my songs ! 
Trekking a thousand miles !

Forgive my indulgence and love for freedom
I am not free from fear after all
Anyone can leave their dreams behind
And I am no longer fearful
If that's what it takes for a day with you


----------



## WickerDeer

She dreamed of lilly-scotch brownie flavored lipstick because of a time when she was trapped in a closet for the only day in her life that the sun shone.

It didn't bother her anymore. She'd processed it--she told herself. They were just kids. They didn't know what they were doing, that maybe she'd also wanted to see the sunrise and sunset. And, she knew, her friend didn't mean to leave her in there either, but she just got distracted by the sunrise. 

But she still felt the pang of that division between herself and her friends and why. She would be twenty five before the next visible sunrise, which just happened to be this year, and she planned to spend it as far away from people as she could manage during the holiday season. 

She had seen movies of it and she had a suspicion that it wouldn't be as spectacular as she'd played it up to be in her mind. But she knew it would be special to her as her first sunrise. It's not necessary, she thought, but it will still be a first. And she was going to fix the perfect lipstick for the occasion.

It would have hints if spotted lilly, to attract the kneeflies, so if she was lucky she might see one emerge from gestation.


----------



## Penny

blessed peace
though this evil still plagues me
it weighs on my mind, despairing
full of vice
sometimes it attacks full of malice
sometimes the holy spirit brings it to me
one thing is, pure evil is better than the void
that also plagues me
the void of silence or misspent time
listening to the noise
always working - keep it holy the sabbath day
any day to my mind, everyday

*the sabbath day is a day of rest and prayers or worship of God


----------



## perpetuallyreticent

.


----------



## perpetuallyreticent

.


----------



## WickerDeer

One two three four five six seven eight. 

The door appeared in front of her. She didn't like that it was in someone else's hand, so she took the handle and pulled hard, and kicked the hand out of the way. 

"Fuck off Buttface!" she yelled. "Go fuck up your own life, you piece of shit. This is mine."

The giant hand lept down from the top of the doorway like some kind of stupid-looking spider wannabe. But it scuttled away and off a cliff somewhere, and she was grateful because she didn't really mind hands so much, as most hands were fine. But not bitch ass nosey hands that can't keep their fucking hands to themselves.

She was grateful as well, because it was creepy. "People should keep their hands to themselves," she thought--"not let them run wild." Hands are just not meant to be free, they need guidance. 

"Hopefully that hand finds the rest of its body soon and everything is well" she reassured herself, mostly in hope she wasn't an apathetic bitch who didn't have sympathy for a hand.

"I would have given it a helping hand, but I don't think that's what it really needed."

Opening up the door wider, she peered into the darkness. The walls were draped with a type of fine lace, that was so chaotic and so assymmetrical, that it looked more like a child had scribbled on the walls than like a hundred-year old lace.

But she knew that was the style of yesteryear. She knew all about that lace and how it was made, why it was made--there was something very fine in it, running through the center of it. A precious metal that had been lost when the floating island cracked open and fell to earth. The metal was very conductive, but it also worked like a battery, so she knew that the scribble-lace likely had charge left, and she didn't want to disturb it until absolutely necessary.

Legend told that scribble-lace's power unlocks, but only when arranged the right way--if you just get one little bend off, then it tangles even more and the lace becomes more like the hatchmarks crossing out a misspelled word, and less like a child's free and unhindered wall scribbles, when they first learn they can impact the world around them (and quickly learn that makes people mad).

She stepped over a tangled yarn on the floor, which was dragging itself away slowly..."poor little thing" she thought, as it clearly hadn't meant to get all tangled in the wrong spots and untangled in the parts that drag. "I'll roll it up into a ball later."

The tangled yarn perked up when it heard that, and stopped acting like a beaten dog dragging it's paralyzed hind on the floor...it looked at her with open yarn-eyes. 

"Would you like that?" she asked.

The yarn nodded it's bow loops, and they bounced lightly in affirmation. She felt a strange happiness from this, knowing this creature had been locked in the darkness for so long and was learning to trust. She could also tell that it wasn't intending any harm by the way that it's yarn dragged behind, as if it had been caught in some current...

"Come here then" she said, and the yarn shambled up to her lap as best it could. She sat down on the ground, cross-legged, and begin winding up the thirty feet of yarn that was dragged behind it, pulling out little bits of grass and boars hairs as she wound. After about twenty minutes of carefully unknotting and winding, she formed a long body, like that of a weiner dog--and four little yarn leggs. 

The yarn-dog jumped around on her lap with it's short little legs, and ran around her in a circle. So she knew it was happy--she also gathered up the last bit of yarn and made a little tail, which pulled out of her hands and began wagging frantically, to confirm that the yarn creature was very uplifted. It jumped on her a couple more times and then down and began running around, sniffing things with it's pretend nose, and she figured it was time to get up and go further in, feeling a little better that she had friendly company.


* *





edit: not sure if it was only ten minutes, but don't want to fix the missing parts--like maybe the hand flew into the darkness and then emerged at the top of the doorframe. This is sort of like what the yarn dog looks like, I think, only more like a dachshund. (lower left corner of second, though I think it is red).






















AWWHOWCUUUTE


----------



## WickerDeer

The little dog ran ahead, tiny wayward threads trembling with excitement. 

It must have been in here a long time, but it acted as if everything was new. Perhaps, she thought, it was different when one is moving quickly and jumping, than when one is slowly pulling one's self along.

The little dog would run up to corners, sniff around wires, run back and check on her, waiting for her to decide which way to go.

Suddenly she felt a heavy shift, as if an earth quake stopped at just one shake. The dog also stopped and perked its ears.

Then, abruptly, an even bigger lurch knocked her to the floor and with a loud, deep creaking sound, she saw outside--through the open door, now waving loosely on its hinges, the horizon and the sky changing, and she carefully crawled towards the door, because she didn't want to fall down again, and she saw that the door had been raised up sixty or maybe six-hundred feet into the air. 

She gathered the yarn dog to her so that he didn't fall out the door, and watched as the familiar hills retreated into the distance in great strides. It seemed as if the cave or castle or house that she was in had began walking away, and she wondered where it was going. 

The little dog also looked wide-eyed, but soon got excited and began barking and running along the base of the door, at the trees and houses, and people on the streets below, like it was incredibly amused and happy.

She didn't want to sit there and watch it even if it was cute and made her a tiny bit happy, and a little funny to watch. But she was afraid it would fall out or be blown by the wind, or be taken by some great eagle to be used as string for a nest.

So she took one end of the yarn, made sure to tie it properly so it wouldn't unravel him, and then tied the other end to one of the scribble lace hanging about the wall. 

The scribble lace made a small flash of light when she tied the yarn to it, and seemed to send a little through the yarn as well, and the dog looked up for a moment, but then went back to running back and forth across the doorway and seemed not to be bothered.

"Well that is done at least," and she turned her eyes away from the sky, which she could now see with clouds floating below her, and stars coming out as it must be turning dusk, and she tried to see what would be deeper in this strange place, though it was only more difficult to see with the sun going down. So she decided to set up camp near the doorway, with the small dog as her companion, and she would look out at the stars and perhaps try to remember the constellations or make up new ones so that she could, over time, figure out where they were heading and where they had gone.


----------



## Penny

pickle peckle
sickle shekel
man this sucks
people steeple
now we're fucked
climate crisis taliban isis
sitting ducks
new dawn arising 
lots of luck
lucky plucky
silver spoon
guess I'm okay
just sit here and gaze
at the moon


----------



## SentientBeing

Drip Drip Drip.

The water dropped. Without rhyme or rhythm, the frequencies are a mess. Water flows directly from the clouds, falling without abandon, free-falling into the ground. From the window, you watched the all too familiar scenery outside your house. This seems like a very movie-like thing to do, you thought. 

The sight outside the window was dreary, the sky has darkened, and the muddied ground has combined with the water drips. There was a tree outside the house, the kind of old tree that you would often see in horror movies, with secrets hidden beneath the ground and if your fancies carried you just a tad bit higher, you can even envision a thin silhouette reaching out from behind the tree, with a white dress flowing. 

You watched the tree and in a blink, your fancy is gone because you heard the phone ring. You reached out to take the phone in a rush, with an almost ugly desperation.

"Hello." Your voice is high pitched and came out like a strangled shriek. 

There was no sound on the other side of the phone, so you turned it off.

But, the magical moment is over, and the momentary serenity has been disrupted. The spell has been broken.


----------



## DualGnosis

There sits this hallow man in the dimly shaded room.
What can he now do but ever ponder?
The world continues spinning as he hears the falling rain.
Past the midnight hour of another lonely night.
Is it fear that holds him back from falling over yonder?
Is it the darkness that looms or is it simply all this pain?
For what can be greater pain of seeing no future in sight.
A man who sees an empty void rather than fiery doom.

Passion, is it this that would make him complete?
His reflection, could ask him any of these questions.
But a hollow figure in the distance has only his seat.
No answers but a cry for help is all that he mentions...


----------



## BenevolentBitterBleeding

doot​


----------



## DualGnosis

In solace, the moon drifts among the stars.
In silence, the man sits and stares among the valiant lights.
In awe he sits at the wonders the worlds brings to his senses.
In all, he sings to the wandering night to find in deference. 
In the dark, where no other hears the melody of sounds from afar...

"Can't you see, that we of the stillness of the night,
Want to dance among the sounds of endless harmony,
As life and light still waltz in a trance.
It is a simple tradition, where one and two, in symphony,
Hold each other in a timeless trance."


----------



## 17041704

The past and the present, they departed and never to return
Leaving behind leaves of red and gold
Beginnings and ends, as they have always been
And there you are, lingering with the clouds near the horizon

My love in a lifetime, she departed and never looked back
Alone I stared into the ether beyond this world in silence
Flowers wither, but they will bloom soon enough
The love of my life, however, is now drifting away from my gaze

Amongst the torturous waves of love and hate
None shall escape their fate
Entwined yet forbidden
Perhaps it is my time to believe in destiny


----------



## WickerDeer

She is so angry. How is no one else this angry. How is no one else screaming. Why is it this way--this disharmony. This disharmony everywhere! 

She screamed. It was a loud scream, but not loud enough--so it got louder. And then again, louder.

First you could hear some waves crashing, but the scream was louder than the waves. Then you could still hear some earthquakes rumbling, but the scream got louder still. Then finally, one solitary martian could still hear the groan of earth's electromagnetic field, until the scream got so loud that even that was lost in the perfect harmony of one single voice. Angry as all hell.

The martian covered his earholes and closed his eyes, "and this is why we lock our doors when we drive past earth."

Then he could no longer think, as the scream became so loud, that it took over the Martian telepathy wavelengths. The skunk seals on the planet Orion started barking loudly, until their barks were also swallowed by the extremely loud scream. And the little fly-wi-doos on planet doodoo fell dead from the fluffermuffin trees, due to the shock of the scream.

And the entire universe was plunged into harmony. The harmony of a single, extremely angry screaming girl. She was pissed because some stupid cunt took her fucking lolly pop away--well that's what you get.

The Universe wiped it's brow and said, "well I think we better give her her lollypop back" but unfortunately it had already fallen on the floor and gotten dirt on it, so she didn't want it anymore, and the scream split into two parts, which then split into more, and pretty soon the universe was again full of disharmony.


----------



## WickerDeer

But it wasn't enough.

No--this way--she said.

EVERYONE HAS TO SCREAM AT THE SAME TIME. 

And this time, everyone listened, because they were tired of hearing her fucking screaming. So the skunk seals screamed, the bird things screamed, the stupid cunt that took the lolly pop screamed, the little girl screamed, the martian screamed, the magnetic field screamed, the tectonic plates screamed, as did the waves. 

The universe began screaming, and then the entire scream was so loud--it was louder than ever before--it propelled the universe into another dimension, one in which dumb cunts don't take people's candy, and little girls haven't got any reason to scream, and then everyone settled the fuck down and it was fine.

But...secretly the skunk seals were a bit resentful, and the martian thought the little girl had made sort of a big deal out of nothing, and the universe was even a little bit peeved at having to change to another dimension, and the only person happy was the little girl. Because she finally felt harmonious in such a disharmonious mess.

And so she picked up her lolly pop, washed it in the sink, and skipped off into the sunset, leaving all the dumbfucks who never listened to her to stew in their own resentment and disharmony. Which they did, and the stew smelled so strong that a giant race of ice trolls burst from the center of the earth and started devouring everything, but the little girl was far away by then, and she didn't care because she had her fucking candy. And no one had given a shit until she threw a fit, and she thought that was very immature of them, so they deserved to be eaten by ice trolls.

The END

(Just kidding--of course the little girl also screamed at the ice trolls and they stopped eating people and started producing popsicles instead)


----------



## Celtsincloset

The waves splish-splosh in the background. Slow tides hit the shore. Roma liked to listen in to the waves whenever she got off her self-imposed shift, and found herself in the mini staff dining room, the window open to get air into the cramped place. She had worked about 6 hours, noticed on the clock. She might take a break before coming into the bar again to check how things are going. Brett was coming to play that evening; and he always drew a huge crowd of people, most of them young people; so it was always a good idea to be hovering around to make sure her bartenders didn't give away too many drinks which would be inevitably then re-given to underage patrons.

It was a calming influence, the waves, even when she couldn't see it. But rarely, did she ever find the time like she did now to reflect on it. She would choose a less-busy life if solely it meant she could spend more time listening to the waves, but a less-busy life wasn't ever on her cards. **She needed to be successful, in order to survive.


----------



## WickerDeer

The flowers were so bright they looked radioactive--the color of a cool yellow highlighter. They were so bright they left tracers. Thousands and thousands of them, bobbing their sun-facing heads in the wind.


----------



## Celtsincloset

In making up for lost time
Towards my dream, years-long
Of many New Years gone resolutions:
I've made only a tiny step, in comparison to others
But a step forward nonetheless

'Cause I had to breathe and I unfolded into many different, earth paths
I had trials of consistent hardship, and had to clear those dark clouds
Today I stand on firmer ground
Grounds that I want firm for everyone

The mountain of my book is tall and long
But no matter it or the length of my stride; I'm moving forward again
Towards those things I love the most, and of which the end's not certain.


----------



## Celtsincloset

From the black sky, rain starts falling down
Makes my emotions softly settle down

In thorny path, I’m crawling
Saying to myself, not to fall apart
To search for what I’ve never seen

one knows what’s waiting ahead of life
Hopes and fears, take my ‘conscious’ out

In thorny path, I’m crawling
Saying to myself not to fall apart
To search for what I’ve never seen

Saying to myself, not to fall apart

_Kitten_​
The present is precious, they say…
…I should know this
But I can’t afford to feel the present
‘Cause I fear tomorrow

I have one wish
She be happy, forever
My life to _her_, no regrets.


—Yoshikazu Takahashi


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## WickerDeer

ok I'm kinda drunk and this might be an attempt at erotic poetry so if that's offensive, feel free not to read:

Oh won't you come
make some order out of this mess

of evolution
and random events that impacted my psychology

And even when I don't know who I am
please love me

Please be confident in me when I'm not confident in myself.

I need order--I need to trace the lines
your latitude and longitude

I want it all to fit inside
I need it all inside

Please just make sense of this for me
Please don't leave either

I will leave you first, okay?

I can't handle it--I can't handle anything.
Please handle me.

Please make this disorder into something orderly, perfect, and linear
Something that lasts forever without friction

Please never leave


And it's only been five minutes, so I will just say that it's nice to have this place to just pour out raw feelings and ideas.

Also lol that was not erotic poetry. I am a prude.


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## Celtsincloset

The One
You won’t know her from a picture, or her words underneath
Or from a glance at a supermarket, or two, or four
To really know most people spend their time on hairline chances
And I assume, some people think it’s worth just letting go
That love is not like in the stories
But stories that were once worth telling

For me, she has to do something
Or vice versa: I have to do something
An action says a lot about one’s heart
So I’ll do things with love
Follow a path that is meaningful
And the one friend, of the few who’ve stayed in my life
Will be the one, and forever she’ll have my faith…


…But where is she now?
Been looking around
Can’t seem to find, what I
V’been searching for
But there’s still a chance
That she’s in France
I’m a believer of anything good…
That’s where I stand


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## perpetuallyreticent

perpetuallyreticent said:


> I think I'm falling for you.
> you don't need to say anything.
> I just wanted to say that.
> 
> Jesus christ. It's been ..what, five months? I don't know. (But I do, actually. It's been 5 months. not 4, not 6.) I haven't felt this way for anyone before. It's hard to explain in words. But I guess that's why you feel things, right? Sometimes there's only the experience, and no explanation.
> 
> Sometimes it's really overwhelming.
> 
> I'll be listening to music and suddenly the music is just background noise for my thoughts. Then it's just you.
> 
> I won't lie. At some point when you stopped talking to me for those 2 months I thought I should just forget about it. Why not, right? But shit, -----. You say you've ruined me, and without putting much thought into it- I'd be inclined to agree. If this is what being ruined feels like- ruin me some more.
> 
> I guess this will probably sound cliche or cheesy, but here goes. I've never met anyone like you. I haven't. Everytime you open your mouth you surprise me. You aren't predictable.
> 
> "I enjoy you so much." It's fucking mutual. But I can't say all of this to you because you'll run. I know you will. But will you? The worst part is not knowing. Your disappearing acts. I know you, but I don't. I need you to open up so I can open up. Or will it be the other way around? Will you feel my soft underbelly before you let me feel yours? My vulnerability.
> 
> I just hope this isn't all for nothing.


Seven years have come to pass and these feelings still ring true. My memories of every little detail of our interactions have faded over time, but the impact is the same now as it was then.

We've talked on and off for those seven years(barely), and those feelings that have burned a permanent scar into me that I clutch onto in my desperate moments of need, have anchored through two failed relationships. How can it be so grounding, yet I still feel myself floating away, each time, in the unbearable need to feel and hear you again.

So I counter your admission of ruining me with my own; you're not ready for my bleeding confession. To which you pushed and said you were ready.

I held back, because it was wrong to open that door to begin with. You're not in a state to be hearing this from me. I should know better. But despite my better judgement, I told you anyway. Why did you question it? _Why come?_

After hours of intimately condoning one another, and speaking that which is unspeakable, you expressed distaste for yourself. Shame.

The next sun came and there I was, apologizing out of guilt for partaking in something I shouldn't have. We shouldn't have. You wouldn't have it. _No apologies_ you said. To which my heart soared. I am fucking weak for you. My morals become hazy when I think of you. What a shame that the stars aren't aligned.

I enjoy you so much.


----------



## WickerDeer

The rain pours down outside, like a comforting buffer between the things she has to do and the things she has time to do. Where did the things she want to do go? She thinks maybe at the bottom of the puddle down the street.

A red kite...some book some guy gave her. A stupid red kite. Meaningful to someone else. 

"Perhaps if I had time to understand" she thought to herself. But the truth was that she didn't want to spend her precious, rare brain cells understanding how a red kite was supposed to be useful to her in this perpetually raining place. 

She looked at the cucumbers in the bowl in front of her. Grown somewhere else, where it didn't rain like a faucet no doubt. casually, she examined one. A small sticker indicated it had been grown hydroponically. Guess she was wrong. As per usual.

She had begun settling into her usual routine of staring at the wall while vaguely thinking of something, maybe, but probably just worrying half-thoughts, when she was jarred by a knock at the door.

Who could it be? She didn't have any friends. Her family all knew not to show up unannounced. She got up and tiptoed to the peephole and there she saw a man holding a package. "Hello?" she asked.

"Delivery for [her name]" 

"Please leave it at the mat. Thank you."

The man turned around and she watched him disappear down the hall. Listening to the quiet outside her door she cracked it open and checked that the hall was empty. Just a cardboard box. 

She brought it inside and cut the tape on one side with the knife she carried in her purse. Inside the package was some shredded paper, brown like butcher paper. But under that was a small red kite and an envelope with her name on it. She picked up the envelope first, curious to understand more, but the card inside only said "


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## Celtsincloset

*A Tiny Step*

In making up for lost time,
Towards my dream: years-long,
The subject of many New Years–gone resolutions,
I’ve made only a tiny step, in comparison with others,
But a step forward, nonetheless.

‘Cause I had to breathe, and I unfolded into many newer, earthier paths.
I’ve had my struggles, of consistent length, and had to clear those dark clouds.
Today I stand on firmer ground.
Grounds that I want firm for everyone.

The mountain of my book is so very tall and long,
But no matter it, nor the length of my stride: I’m moving forward again…
Towards those things I love the most, and of which, its end isn’t certain.


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## Celtsincloset

Beyond my days of struggle and strain, lies a beautiful city
Aesthetic structures of light and streets of interesting people,
Whites of fictional mouths grinning: connected
Bustle, its sound
Comfort in this, as a youngster
Hidden in the trees of the grown ups, with eyes yearning for adventure.

The mall is a place for grown ups, whom I’ll be, a millenium away.
And there’s a place waiting for me, beyond adulthood:
A swordsman in a world of fantasy,
I’m able to take meaningful grasps of this world.

I could run this surface of this shopping mall
And
Always find a new meaning at its end
And this is life beyond it too,
Because maybe I’d only want to see the lengths beyond this, from where I stand in there.


----------



## Celtsincloset

The One —
You won’t know her from her picture and some words underneath
Or from a glance at a supermarket, or two, or four
To really know, most people spend their time on hairline chances
And I assume, some people think it’s worth letting go
That love is not like in the stories
But stories that were once worth telling

For me, she has to do _something_
Or vice versa, I have to do something
‘Cause an action says a lot about one’s heart
So I’ll do things with love
Follow a path that is meaningful
And the one friend, of the few who’ve stayed in my life (of the few I’ve kept)
Will be the one, and forever she’ll have my faith.


----------



## Celtsincloset

Endless streams of clouds line up in latitude
In the space between the buildings and the overlapping trees
Inside it’s clasp is the beautiful sky
A highway of perfect bitumen underneath it curves around
Operates over the open space of green nothingness
Solitary beauty, is the lonely structure atop the middle of the horizon, where the sky and road meets
There hidden well in this nameless, cosy suburb
For whatever reason, speaks to me
Perhaps it’s that song I love of open skies, nothingness and endless possibilities.


----------

