Carigamers
Off Topic => Media => Showcase => Topic started by: The_Dark_Goddess on November 26, 2003, 10:20:10 PM
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ooooooookay....via much prompting and a heavy dose of boredom i have decided to start this thread.
we have a few here to showcase visual art but nothing on writing etc whether it be short stories/poems etc. so i figure i should start since there are a lot of writer's on gatt, as well as artists.
i guess i should start with a piece of my own since i did begin the thread...
Death
Death is Gentle
She shall treat you with care
Death is Kind
She shall show you the way
Death is beautiful
She has the eyes of stars
Death is Loving
There is warmth in her sweet embrace
that's the only thing i have the guts to put out right now, if you show me yours, i'll show u more of mine.
so...what have you got?
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A darkness draws upon my soul
Stealing the essence for its own
Causing my heart to beat faster with fear
Crawling in the darkness, in dispair
Just beyond the reach of my sight
Coming closer and closer within the shadows
The thumping of my heart beats louder and faster
Feeling a tingle within my body
The anxiety is getting to me
Jus wondering what really is there
In the Darkness beyond my reach
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Denied my kin..... essence of salvation
Left wandering in an aimless nation,
I shut my eyes, there is no hope
Within lies the strength to cope,
This dust, this life,the rain, the dirt
to escape from this pain, this hurt,
Cast out of Heaven and scorned by Hell,
on this earth I do dwell, searching, aching, yearning,
for a purpose, a reason, uncomprizing truth,
Only frivolities of my youth
Denied my peace in violent dreams,
You don't hear my silent screams, my plee for help,
My last bid to save myself,
to reclaim life, my soul and pain,
and go through this discourse again,
I choose to live, I choose to fight,
From shadowed being, to fiends of light,
And at this point, I take a pause,
to sharpen up my skills, my claws.
Ony to begin again, battle hard until the end,
Now will cease this hurt, this dreary fight,
To be crowned Legendary Dark Knight,
I now have purpose, I now know why,
I finally beat......Devil.......May........Cry!!!!!
Woohooo. I beat DMC on Dante Must Die level... YAY me. :lol:
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woi i will put some of my poems here
soon
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Ah a writer's thread...
Hmm, lemme wax up some good stuff then I'll get back to ya'll :P
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yeah man umi n eva! i KNOW d two of allyuh could write so no holding out on me!!
so who else?
oh, and imperial, that is a BOSS piece of writing!!!!! :lol: :rockon:
G_pinkie's stuff isnt too bad either, i like :)
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A sniper's rifle
ends a life
a tear so stifled
of a lonely wife
why she asks,why
hmm,forgive me,i just made that up
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an extempo haiku:
in front my pc,
i watch my drive defragment.
3 more drives to go!
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This is the poem i put in the think bout death thread
I dream these nights of the people long gone
Death that took them in his arms
Away from loved ones left to mourn
Tears that roll down my eyes
The thoughts of good times we had together
The memories will last forever
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you dont need to rhyme and you dont need to reason, all you have to do is write :)
this is pretty cool, and yeah pinkie, i saw that in the death thread.
but all i seein is poem/verse type thing! i know pple have more than just that! let's see some short story extracts or something!
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I have a story on a Shakespearean porno. Do you want that? lmao.
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imperial...your @$$ is gr@$$...and I shall be the lawnmower :shock:
get that titanium cup and get it mc fast!
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If u want short story u not gettin any from me, i gots none. All i have and all i gots are poems :mrgreen:
Golden wings through time and time
Guide us like the stars in the sky
A beautiful vision in my eyes
Yet so lonely i feel a heartache in me
Pain so strong that brings me down
Yet i walk as if unaffected
Yearning, Yearning forever more
That keeps me standing, waiting, hoping, dreaming
And i feel deceived caused it never truly happened to me
Why in life it is so hard to find
That special something inside
Yet others find it easy and uncomplicated
My opinions i feel is not worth a cent except to me
Some people say i don't try hard enough
But life is tuff for me, not as easy as it seems
As all things are different, so are we
It is simple for others, but not for me
Maybe i have little faith, or don't try hard enough
But that is how i live my life
Jus hold me and try to understand
Words don't matter but action does
But the ironic thing is all i hear are words
But i see not any action
Notice i may be quiet and you see my personality
Words don't make a damn difference to me
Yet i complain not except to myself
How i dream of a life sweet and serene
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Hey, be careful for what you ask DG. roflmao
Nice stuff there Pinkie. Very much abstract, but unique all the same.
The bitter-sweet art of rhyming ownz me though.
They shootin!!!!!! Ahhhh, made you look
you're a slave to a page in my rhyme book.
Nas is tha man.
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Thanks, and considering i have never shown most of my poems to anybody, so i never really had anybody to tell me what they thought about my work
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Writer's work is only good if its shared with others G_Pinkie
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yea, this is my piece of dredness that i wrote a while ago. I don't know how many people can relate, but read it, it's actually better if you read it outloud or so I've heard, but hell, do what you want, i just need feedback.
Half-Empty
I see nothing special when I look in the mirror
I like dancing, but I’m no dancer
I draw, but I’m no artist
I sing, but I can’t hit the high note
I have a job, but I’m always broke
I run, but I’m no athlete
I play sports, but I’m not any good
I speak up, only to find out that no one was talking to me
I have a lot of friends who are girls, but no girlfriends
I need someone to be more open with
I kiss on the first date
I want to live alone, but I don’t want to be lonely
I defend other people, but not myself
I have a dad that hears me, but doesn’t listen
I have a mom that listens, but only when she decides to hear
I talk my mind; f*ck what everyone else thinks
I watch animes in Japanese, only to read the subtitles in English
I don’t like to wait, and I hate to be waited on
I may not always be right, but I’m never wrong
I read the last chapter of a book before starting the first one
I tell the truth to everyone, except myself
I don’t use the word ‘love’; it’s too dangerous
I would take a bullet for a friend, and die for my family
I have the right to bleed, but not just because I’m not a hero
I have the right to dream, even if I’m not normal
I am always late; never early, never on time
I drink socially, but I’m not a social drinker
I don’t give a sh*t
I let opportunity pass me by
I am quiet, if you don’t know me
I hate to be pitied
I know I must do something with my life, but I don’t know what
I eat for spite
I spend money that I don’t have
I am a ghetto youth, but not because I lived in the projects
I am smart, but not because I can put big words into a sentence
I wear clothes that I like, not just because someone’s name is on it
I believe the pen is mightier than the sword, or gun, or nuclear bomb
I believe in saying ‘thank you’, but not ‘please’
I mind my own business, but I’m comessive
I am not a great cook, but I can survive
I don’t get disappointed at myself for failing, only for not trying
I don’t look at the long-run of things
I never know that I’m dreaming until I’m about to wake up
I am not a good talker, but I listen well
I use pencils, mistakes aren’t as visible as with pens
I write but I wouldn’t call myself a writer
I think about doing things I’ll regret
I listen to all types of music; f*ck the color of my skin
I would try anything once, after that, I can decide whether I want to do it again
I write poems that don’t rhyme, who says they have to?
I lift weights to relieve stress
I sleep through the best parts of everything
I lack motivation and have no endurance
I adjust to change, but I don’t like it
I may smile, but not on the outside
I want to fly, but I can only jump so high
I can’t look at a glass as half-full; I can only see it as half-empty
Property of ShowTime Corp. Copyright 2003
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Whoa!!!! Very heavy stuff there man. Props.
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kudos to ShowTime
*bows low and pays homage*
takes a great one to bring the goddess to her knees :bow:
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oh alright!
since no one else putting any short stories or anything here yet i guess i will have to do it!
but i rel fraid so instead of putting something like my personal writing here i will put an essay from school :P
please note: i have neverbeen abused in any way, i do not/have not ever taken drugs of any kinds before and neither of my parents are either dead or alcoholics.
any information you find here was gleaned from my aunt who is a doctor and was staying with us at the time i wrote this. In fact, the mention of speedballing was her idea, and i thank her for it.
The Black Bag
They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. I wonder if that will happen to me, and if it does, what will I see?
I am trying to remember the good points in my life; trying to remember myself before my mother’s death, and my father’s interest in alcohol.
I was twelve when she died, it was maybe six months later the beatings started. It wasn’t until I was fifteen when, hanging out on the side walk with some friends, I first discovered what we referred to as “magic dust”.
“Here, Teri, try some of this. The feeling is completely out of this world, you’ll love it!” said Thomas, or Tommy, as we called him. He handed me a small black plastic bag, full of the white powder.
He was right: I did love it. In fact, I loved it so much I kept doing it. Hardly a day passed by when I didn’t take a hit. When my friends and I couldn’t afford it, we would steal money from our parents. Of course, whenever my dad found out I had taken some money, the beating would get worse.
But that was okay, it didn’t matter. In the sweet oblivion that was my high, I could forget everything. I could forget the pain of mom’s dying; I could forget the bottles of alcohol in my house; I could forget the hurt from my father’s beatings. It was all taken away, in less than a minute.
We had fun those days, real fun. It started with the heroine, then we discovered its big brother, cocaine. Usually it was one or the other, but one day Markie accidentally took a hit of both, and he told us all about it. The high was longer, sweeter; the drugs simply took you to new heights. Needless to say, speedballing became a regular thing for us.
By the time I was sixteen, sex and drugs were the only things that mattered to me. Actually, the sex could take a hike, though it was much better on a high. What am I saying? Anything was much better on a high.
Most of the people I knew did the drugs for the enhanced feeling; for the awareness and the feel of complete control and superiority. I heard about superiority from Jennifer, she does acid, you know, LSD; says there’s nothing like it. I asked her if she had ever tried speedballing.
Anyway, I think I am their total opposite. I do it for the numbness. The feeling that there’s no feeling at all.
Nothing compares to this feeling. It was so hard to keep getting there... it took more of the drugs; but those little black bags kept coming, so I was alright.
But I’m not alright anymore. I think I overdosed, way too much this time. Will anyone miss me? I don’t think so. Looking at Tommy, at peak high right now, he is too far out to know what’s happening to me. Markie and Jen are cuddled up with some pot and coke behind me. They won’t care.
All I can think about is this: what if I’m too high to notice my life flash before my eyes, and I miss the good times?
Too late now, I can see the darkness closing in…or is that the little black bag in my hand?
word count: 562
not my best work but all i have the guts to let the public read.
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rooooight.all my short stories on paper but i will write a short,short story for u.
THE DEATH OF A SNIPER
Jon pulled out his Karabiner 98 and crept into the thick undergrowth.He could hear gunfire and approaching panicked footsteps. "Sounds like they are retreating this way," he said to himself.
Suddenly everything stopped.And Jon could make out the feet of Allied soldiers.Shooting them from this close would be suicide as he would definitely not have time to reload his bolt action rifle.
Moving stealthily,Jon could now see their faces,war torn and painful.
They were discussing something,in English,Jon wished he had paid more attention in English class.
Jon could hear approaching gunfire and the Allied soldiers starting rapidly talking and doing ammo counts.Jon smiled to himself as he could see that they were low on ammunition. The soldiers now ran a considerable distance away from Jon and he now saw this as his oppurtunity.
Unveiling himself by crouchng out in the open,he took aim.One Allied soldier fell and like panicked ants they all ducked for cover. Jon scanned the area.He could make out a helmet.The Allied soldiers loved to snipe the little points off of the top of German helmets,Jon thought that he would snipe the helmets for fun.
Jon fired at the helmet and as he did,there was an almost instantaneous response of a single gunshot.Jon felt as if a bomb went off in his head and dropped his rifle.He now realised that he could only see out of one eye and that sight in his other eye was failing.
He grasped for breath and felt it harder to support himself and collapsed dully.Jon died,sniped by Androsovic,6th Scout Division,Russian Army who was hidden in the bushes.
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lol, ploy andro!!!
you know it isnt as bad as it might seem.
um...interesting concept?
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I mean nah. Everybody in herre could LEVEL wax lyrical. Great story there by DG. Nice poems by Pinkie and Showtime.
Andro, man, lay off the Call of Duty man. lmao.
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I make that up!thaz original Androsovician thinking right there brother man. and i know is u who was on jacques account...MUAHAHHA
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Huh?
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alrighty fellas, we doh care about who on what account so get back to the point please
andro it was kinda obvious yuh just make it up.
but isnt that the point of original writing...? make it up!
ty imperial.
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Yea it have some real good artists in here,
it would be better if we had some more ppl showin off they talents in here
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--PROLOGUE--
"Break apart my heart, because a red sorrow is spilling out from it...I want to smash it to pieces. As if I were screaming, I call out your name...But feeling isn't just by chance I call out to you now, with my tears...so just who are you? Sadness and happiness repeat themselves again. Forget everything, break it all off. Please don't embrace my longing secretly in your arms...because I'm fine just the way I am."
"..."
"Please stay by my side...ok?"
"Always."
"...I-"
"No, I promise."
"...."
He gently slipped his arms around her waist, reassuring her. She felt her eyes sting...and she gave up, allowing the stubborn droplets of water that had formed in her eyes to fall...
"Have you ever believed in someone with your entire heart?"
"Yes."
SHINJITE
CHAPTER ONE: HEART
(heehee,i wont post this just yet..)
what i did post was the beginning to one o mi mangas.
anyone likes?
lemme have comments! ^^
i do drawings and char sketches an stuff, we can post those too here?
(sorry,i dun do poetry ne more..>.<)
its ok for mi to put stories ne?i think im like the first....
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--PROLOGUE--
"Break apart my heart, because a red sorrow is spilling out from it...I want to smash it to pieces. As if I were screaming, I call out your name...But feeling isn't just by chance I call out to you now, with my tears...so just who are you? Sadness and happiness repeat themselves again. Forget everything, break it all off. Please don't embrace my longing secretly in your arms...because I'm fine just the way I am."
"..."
"Please stay by my side...ok?"
"Always."
"...I-"
"No, I promise."
"...."
He gently slipped his arms around her waist, reassuring her. She felt her eyes sting...and she gave up, allowing the stubborn droplets of water that had formed in her eyes to fall...
"Have you ever believed in someone with your entire heart?"
"Yes."
SHINJITE
CHAPTER ONE: HEART
(heehee,i wont post this just yet..)
what i did post was the beginning to one o mi mangas.
anyone likes?
lemme have comments! ^^
i do drawings and char sketches an stuff, we can post those too here?
(sorry,i dun do poetry ne more..>.<)
its ok for mi to put stories ne?i think im like the first....sorry if i disrupted anything
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i know it sounds like a bunch a tabanka crap but it isnt.
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Ur stuff is welcomed here Paine
and it is not to bad, would like to see more of it
and bring anything else u got, i sure ppl wont mind the drawings and ting
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Ur stuff is welcomed here Paine
and it is not to bad, would like to see more of it
and bring anything else u got, i sure ppl wont mind the drawings and ting
ditto on pinkie, plus the pics to go with writing will clear up any misunderstanding we may have about anything we read, so i welcome the pics if u can put them up :)
lol, it doesn sound a lil loveydovey but i prefer to give it the benfit of the doubt, so bring it on girl!!!
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Death will befall the greatest of men amidst the tides of a tempestuous sea of unbridled fury....Such is my will. - The Imperialist.
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Death will befall the greatest of men amidst the tides of a tempestuous sea of unbridled fury....Such is my will. - The Imperialist.
i like it.
but what is it?
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Yea im still tryin to understand it
???
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what is this?
dark goddess plz explain
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what is this?
dark goddess plz explain
explain what?
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ok apparently we both confused lol
*sits back*
*knows not to visit here anymore* :)
allyuh have fun
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Showtime, the dark goddess beckons,
an imperial force thay cannot be denied,
tho unseen bullets whisper past
The paine carries us swiftly
her flippant voice guiding our tired hands
pinkie grasping pen tightly as we
bare our soul hoping
to be found worthy
of the critical GATT eye
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Showtime, the dark goddess beckons,
an imperial force thay cannot be denied,
tho unseen bullets whisper past
The paine carries us swiftly
her flippant voice guiding our tired hands
pinkie grasping pen tightly as we
bare our soul hoping
to be found worthy
of the critical GATT eye
that's kewl :-D
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I like :lol:
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alrite ppl
i am giving u all my newest work
did this saturday nite
something keep me from sleeping
so i wrote what was floating in my head
1st poem
28/11/2003
Lost within the dark,
Burning with deep angst.
Forces a silent scream,
That echoes within the confines ,
Of my scarred being.
The pain helps me realise,
That i am still alive,
Just lost in all the confusion.
My vision focuses,
All costumes and false pretenses,
falls away...
I see the world for what it is...
Shadows made by fake light.
Away from all the pain,
There is no hate.
Hate is not within me,
I still do care,
I still sweat the small stuff.
Maybe it's my big scarred heart,
That lets me care so much.
Makes me hate myself.
But that's just me,
I can't change me,
Just like I can't change the way I feel.
The pain will remain there,
And That's why I will continue to care.
----Vijay Ramnine
Property of Jay9 Productions.
i got more but soon...
all from the same nite.
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i find guru shoulda add "pun intended"
lol :)
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My feeble attempt at a short story
The air was filled with the screams, and explosions of firing weapons and artillery, demolishing anything which was threatening their existance. Humechs fought above the raging battle, smaller and more versatile than mechs, assisting the aircraft and coming at times down to help every once and awhile their counterparts belowand other ground restricted vehicles and marines. The battle wasat its fiercest in days.
"X squadron, whats your status"
"Shit Sir " came the reply "They killin us out there, they got countless class 1 humechs a few bombers and zector A aircraft, snipers and marines are messin up us, Sir it plain hell, we need backup if we gonna continue here sir"
"Dammit, i'll send the A squadron to give you backup while you retreat, get to red squadron and help them give cover fire for the rest of us, we got to run from this battle, it make no sense fighting"
"Yes sir, would report back when we make contact with red squadron"
"All squadrons prepare to retreat, A squadron backup X squadron"
There came acceptance from other squadrons over the radio transmission.
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that was rather short
my short stories does be real long
i would call that a parrable
but it was good
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Now this one is a bit of an old one I wrote a while back. Aye Imperial and Pinkie-me and both a you hafta bounce a day...compare work...
I’ve forgotten…
By: Evangelion_01
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I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To feel the pain of a bruise
As you fall from your throne
And life hits you harsh reality.
No blood…
No scar…
No pain…
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To listen to another person
To hear their feelings
And opinions
To mediate for what they speak
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To be held in another’s arms
To feel the warmth of a hug
As I fall
I get up again…
No hug for me…
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To hear a loving word…
To hear inspirational thought…
Phrases to spur you onwards…
Silence: my companion
Thanklessness: my reward
Is my hard work for nothing…?
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To feel compassion once again
To actually care
To feel emotion
Towards a fellow human
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To bleed when I am stabbed
The maroon river
The fluid of life
I pay no attention to it anymore…
I no longer cry…
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To hear another voice
Deep within myself
To listen to myself…
To sort my emotion
That tangled mess of barbs.
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To even hate…
To detest another person
To despise
To repulse
To disgust the presence of another…
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To even love anymore…
I have left myself
In the darkness
Of my destructive past
An empty shell
A walking vessel
Seeking what I cannot find…
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To be myself…
To smile…
To frown…
To love…
To hate…
To be happy…
To be sad…
To torment…
To ache…
I have lost my human self.
~
I’ve forgotten
What’s it like:
To be a friend to myself.
I see nothing
I feel nothing
A human I was…
Not anymore …
~
You have been my companion
My soul mate:
My ever-present friend.
But now I leave you
To wander the world
To seek my purpose once again…
Just as lost as before…
~
Have you ever felt like:
You know nothing of your purpose
And your humanity has left you? …
You have been a friend…
A companion…
Nice to know you…
Goodbye…
Who were you anyway?
Oh yeah…I forgot…
Copyright@ E-Vanguard Prod.
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that's rel decent pinkie, not bad at all, maybe u should try somemore if u feel so inclined.
yay! evan posted.
i like it :)
makes me think, and remember, even if its about forgetting.
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wrote this poems same saturday nite
Why I Write..
Anger...
Boils deep within me,
I am ready to lash out.
I want to smash your face in,
But I do not fight,
because of anger,
I write.
Love...
Lights my soul aflame,
Brush my hands against your face.
My lips against yours,
Tasting your beauty.
But i will not rush into love,
I will write about it.
Pain...
Tears my soul apart.
My heart is shattered,
Millions of pieces.
My soul is on the verge of tears,
But i will not cry.
Instead i will write,
And let my words,
Make this world know,
Why i cry.
------Vijay Ramnine
property of Jay9 productions
29/11/2003
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way too much teen angst in here.
Later!
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ey guru ah did not see androsovic in that story.FREE URSELF FROM AMERICAN SLAVERY! SUPPORT COMMUNISM!
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way too much teen angst in here.
Later!
rotflmao
well why dont you PUT something else in here?? obviously it wont change unless someone makes a move to do so, why not you?
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*me twirls his pen*
Still yet to see some better work from the silent ppl :P Let tem come test we ^^
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this poem was written 3 years ago, when i was 15 years old, when nothing was right and good and everything was wrong and bad...
Property of Zero-X a.k.a. Adam Lum Yue...Hope u Enjoy!? :D
Pleasure or Pain???
Whenever i see your face...
Is it pleasure or pain?
Whenever i see you smile at me...
Is it pleasure or pain?
Whenever i pick up your scent...
Is it pleasing or painful?
Whenever i think of you in every way...
It's either pleasing or painful...
Why do i feel this way?
Why should i feel this way?
Is it just me? Or is it just you?
Could it be i'm in love?
Or maybe it's just lust...
My mind conflicts with the body...
And my heart with my soul...
It's so confusing that i'm at a loss...
Yet some people will look at me and say 'Yous a boss!!'
Can someone help me?
Can anyone help me?
Instead of adding to the pain...
Help me to ease the strain...
This is tearing me inside...
Even if, you don't see it outside...
I try to be happy, not to be sad...
But sometimes i'm glad, and also i feel mad...
It is so pleasing to see, hear and smell you...
Yet it's also painful, when i'm with you...
If i knew what to do, i'd do it in a minute or two...
But since i'm so lost, i don't know a shit to do...
All i can do is be alone, in the darkness of my mind...
Where no one can find me, not even friends of my kind...
They will try to help me, but they can't even help themselves...
Yet they are willing to take their time, to help me with my problems...
Many emotions run through my mind when i see you...
Love, lust, sincerity, shyness, fear and even jealousy too...
When i see you, my brain goes to overdrive...
I try to calm down, but it keeps going 'till i lose my mind...
I'm so in love with you, that i am willing to bear this pain for you...
Even though you are partially the cause, of this unbearable emotion too...
Now, i don't know what to say...
Except that, i hope i come out of this ok...
Copyrights to Zero-X a.k.a. Adam Lum Yue...Hope u Like it... :D
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I don't normaly write poems but i guess i should start. This is part of a story I was writing and i took the name of the star and used it as my gatt name, LOL.I don't normally show ppl this if it is crap tell me but not to harshly plz and tell me how to fix my style.( Goddess u always making the thread i want to make b4 me yes)
Dust had gotten into Ickori’s eyes and the wound on his leg seared in pain as it continuously bled but Ickori stood up, if he had to die he was going out with a fight. Adrenaline must have been pumping extra hard for him because he could feel the dust particles in his eye but he could still see clearly. He looked around his once beloved village which was now nothing but debris and saw a sea of bodies. Blood had stained everything. In the hand of a villagers’ corpse that lay next to him was an old, very unfashionable sword. But Ickori cared nothing of how it looked at all; he grabbed it up and held the handle unnecessarily hard with his both hands out in front of him. His wound had now opened up more and blood was pouring out of it, he was putting more pressure on it as he stood up but he was feeling none of the pain he should have… at least not yet.
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AYE!!! Ickori i rel sad :(
i was supposed to get a copy of that before you posted anything remember? yuh brother stickin in giving me my copy *goes off and cries*
and on another note, i like it Ickori, it shows great potential, one or two things can be fixed...I WANT THE COPY I WAS PROMISED!!!!!!!
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NEW Poem IYMC :P
Wrote this one last night...Wasn't feeling too well though...
Just for tonight…
By: Evan Kimori (Eva_01)
I see a star up in the sky…
So far away…
If only I could be one, so far from everyone.
This maze called life.
Am I anyone?
Am I anything?
I see this star up in the sky…it’s something…
The empty paper before me
Don’t know what to do.
Should I just write?
Another story of my life,
Or just another plea for life…for attention…
for love…?
Or should I just die tonight?
Join that star in the sky…
Can someone believe in me tonight?
Can someone see me tonight?
Can someone be at my side…just for tonight?
Maybe I’ll just go lie down…
Close my eyes.
Let the tears wet my pillow…
Those tears.
Those useless tears…
Of fear…
Loneliness…
Hatred…
Anger…
I want that one touch
Just to make me feel alive again
Like I’m someone, something
I exist, I breathe, I live…
Good thing no one can hear me.
I feel like God ignored me today…
Left me in the dust…
Maybe if I close my eyes,
The world will swallow me whole tonight.
That damn paper
It’s still there…still empty…
I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry…
Inspiration? Or lack of it…
Do me a favor…
Just be there right now…
Comfort me…
Make me feel alive…
Or something like it…
I don’t care right now.
Just be here...just for tonight…
Will you believe in me tonight?
Would you be there for me?
Never mind-I don’t really care…
Just be here for me tonight…please?
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nice one eva, i like it.
i will post a lil bit of another story i have somewhere..
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I was only four years old when I first heard that eerie tune, a song that stirred my younger self from the silence of sleep. I moved from the bed quietly, leaving my brother to his own slumber as I ran from my house.
I remember the crisp night air and the cool breeze that blew long locks of hair away from my face as I ran across the moonlit fields behind my house, arms outstretched as if to catch the night itself.
Outside was full of the sounds of night, the crickets and grasshoppers, and the little toads and frogs in the pond that was a way’s off; but all I heard was the song, the beautiful voice of a woman and the harping that had penetrated my sleep.
that's a few paragraphs of one thing...the only half decent thing i have saved on my computer.
there is a part two to that i wrote some time ago, but what do u think of that?
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Nice DG, i would like to see more stuff from u in the future, havent really seen much from you
(Will add some more poems when i get time)
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Nice DG, i would like to see more stuff from u in the future, havent really seen much from you
(Will add some more poems when i get time)
i am TERRIFIED of having the public see anything i write
...TERRIFIED!!!!
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That was real good DG but if you write so well u shouldn't be terrified of showing ppl.What sense does it make to have a gift and do nothing with it.
Well i never show anybody what i write either eh so.....
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i too lazy to write or maybe lack of time.when i havbe time,i show some of my better writings.MUAHAHHAH
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In writing, we reveal much of ourselves in the process. It's a window into your very being. The way you use words and formulate ideas can tell much about a person at times. It's just the fear of being judged or overly criticized in a open forum so to speak that prevents us from doing so.
Is there a reason NOT to be terrified?
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In writing, we reveal much of ourselves in the process. It's a window into your very being. The way you use words and formulate ideas can tell much about a person at times. It's just the fear of being judged or overly criticized in a open forum so to speak that prevents us from doing so.
Is there a reason NOT to be terrified?
point taken!
and yeah my writing is a big part of me, it's like reading or breathing.
recently my problems have been time and inspiration, and while i know you can be your own inspiration (and i HAVE been that for a long time) something is definately missing because its getting harder to put things to words and then to paper.
oh yeah! and i even with my "lack of inspiration" i have a very very serious problem: i KNOW i can create amazing characters and fantastic worlds with complicated societies or simple societies or both etc etc....but i never have anything to DO with it!!!!
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My characters eat, live, sleep, breathe as much as I do. Each and every one is an extension of my mind and thoughts. Nuff love to Imperial for his wisdom post there.
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I have written three poems but I want Goddess' approval before I post them so goddess check ur messages
This is the first real poem I have ever written.
Yeah wellI wanted to say that the emotion you are feelin at the time inspires u to write.
Am I correct.
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I have written three poems but I want Goddess' approval before I post them so goddess check ur messages
This is the first real poem I have ever written.
Yeah wellI wanted to say that the emotion you are feelin at the time inspires u to write.
Am I correct.
u are correct
u want my approval??!!!??!????!??? wheeeeeeeeeeeey i feel so special :( its so touching!!! omg...i cant believe that...MY approval...i feelin like a shillin...oh my gosh!!!
i read them, and they have it.
i didnt realise u post this b4 u sent them i just though u sent them, lol.
omg!!! *is flattered*
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Damn smiley!!!!!!
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Anyways, this is something I've been working on.
Still needs some work.
Now begins the end of my Salvation.
I beckon to her, return to me,
and she neglects that fact, the reason that we should be alone together,
through stormy weather and grayedish skies,
Accepting lies that this vicious life has to offer,
In my dreams and strife I think more of her.
You were my sweet release from earthly bounds,
You took me to new found grounds,
You remade earth and life to me,
You were the calm waters of my sea...my sea...
My sea of troubles, my sea of pain,
I would do it all again,
To feel you in my wary arms,
Never to be alone again....as I was before.
You left me here destitute and forlorn,
I've forged strength now to go on...with life, ever still remembering,
What we had, what we were, it was such a precious thing,
But you didn't think that at that time,
Now that I think back on those times.
My mind has entered this dark dimesnion,
Harassed by horrors too horrid to mention,
And from the wounds of chaos bleeds,
Crimson regret, my soul now needs,
Deliverance from this cruel, cold world of hate,
Farewell to you my fair......soul-mate.
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OH MY GOOD GRIEF. I write up one long long thing out of mind only to get some error page an it gone? Good LORD!!! No more direct posting for me nuh. Write in word and copy paste. Showtime don laugh at meh this not funny. Anyway. In the past I have been very love-crazy at times and most times that was when I wrote and my writing relects it, and I not sure If to put this here because all your writing so far seems to be broody and sad and kill yaself kina thin. I not too sure how alya will react to my happy-in-love vibe.
True Feeling
I asked myself, what is love?
I know it’s what I feel when I see you.
When you stand near to me,
And just to breathe is hard to do.
When I see you and our eyes meet,
I start shaking, my heart starts to dance.
It’s hard to stand, harder yet to speak,
It’s like you put me into a trance.
But all this feels heavenly,
When I look at you, I see a kind heart, a vision of beauty.
I wish I could just come out and say I love you,
But I guess this will just have to do.
All this rhyme about how I feel,
Is simply put into a line or two,
There is someone I need in my life…
And, that someone, is you…
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I recreated what I just lost but I don't think It's got the substance what I wrote before had.
The Confusion
I like you, I know I do, Or do I?
But nonetheless you confound me so!
I finally get the courage to talk to you
My heart sighs when you say you like me too
And then you treat me the way you always do…
Confusion….confusion….
I’ll be more caring, more sensitive,
I’ll show you that you matter most.
When I see you I yearn for your loving touch,
Or maybe I’m expecting too much….
I’ll work out and become more attractive
I look inward an answer hoping to see
But maybe the problem isn’t me…
Confusion…confusion
There are others who I see,
Who are very attractive, even if maybe just to me….
Should I forget about you and move on?
Should I close us up. Open new doors?
I wonder how do you really feel, but I know I need to feel loved…
How will you react? What will you say?
Should I, Should I not?
I’ve never been more confused than this day….
I don't think It has much rythm but the writer is confused so maybe the erratic rythm adds to it.... It's also exactly how I feel so I'll leave it at that.....
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I dunno about the other writers but If you find my stuff Is seriously flawed or lame or that you don't like it please say so and If you can, give reasons. I don't just wanna hear the 'that's nice' that everybody Is accustomed saying I wanna grow.
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wheysssssss fault that real bad.
It have depth and I like your style of writing. I also like how you question everything, it really helps the reader feel like your looking for an answer to keep yourself contented, if you know what I mean.
Any way here is one poem I have written and with DG's approval.
In times of joy I feel sorrow
In times of sorrow I feel joy
Those who anger me anger themselves
I am without meaning therefore untouchable
Your words do naught upon my soul
Your lashes strike my back and blood seeps out
I fall to the ground with a cry but I feel none of it
I am the weakest in strength
Yet the most powerful in mind
Say what you want but I will always be victorious
My soul is strong so I am not harmed
By any physical attacks
Emotions kill me and have my soul to weep
Everyone has a weakness.
It has no name though....
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This be another one hope you like it...
A void lies inside me
Whilst I am full of hatred
The Darkness creeps upon me
I look into a dark unlit sky
A shadow is what drives me
One thought of my empty soul
Breaks any joy I could possibly have
The Darkness creeps upon me
My eyes are stained with blood of another
I can’t change what I have already done
Why would I want to?
There is nothing that can stop me now
But yet still….
The Darkness creeps upon me
How did I become what I am now?
Was there nothing I could have done to stop myself?
I know I shall be punished for the evil that I have done
All that I do is prolong the inevitable
I am infallible
This is my fate
The Darkness has come
yet another no named....
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Real ppl here could wax poetic. It's good to see that we aren't a dying breed.
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Dying breed....I think not.ppl just don't normally show there true skills.( but you imperial could surely show how to beat men in svc)
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ey guru ah did not see androsovic in that story.FREE URSELF FROM AMERICAN SLAVERY! SUPPORT COMMUNISM!
tho unseen bullets whisper past
That was for you sniper boy :lol:
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i have littlerally a ton of stuff, but written in my more "teenage angst days" lol so i don't think you guys would be interested in that...Not that much is new...
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Aren't we all rebels in need to express ourselves? The rage must come out.
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Indeed. But there is a lot more than anger to express....
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much much more than anger, i agree.
fault, i would love to tell you want u need to hear about ur work but at a later date, cuz i dont have the time to read now.
as for ickori, darling you dont need any permission of any sort to post here, much less my approval though i am flattered beyond words that you seek it.
everybody else: i waiting on more.
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Don't worry my dear. We'll bring out what we've done in a while. Currently I still working on my precious manga. It's gonna be the best work I've done. Just I'm wondering-Will anyone want to read it when I'm done? :(
Take hold of this one. I KNOW the name is ironic, but it's the name I gave it when I wrote it and for some reason I can't change it. Dunno if it makes much sense though...
Evangelion...
By: [ZK]-Evangelion_01 aka Evan Kimori
As I sat here and watched you go
Your tentacles tearing at my heart,
taking with you all you gave me
but taking all I know
You tear me asunder and crucify me
and leave me there to bleed
my maroon fluid runs a river
you stole my heart...
my soul...
my love...
You bitch....
You lost my love when you gave up,
as I would never have done
you saw an obstacle and left it there
insermountable...yeah right...
you were weak...
I was not strong...
I was a fool to see you covered my eyes...
in the prison of my own mind...
swathed with the fog of confusion
your pathetic love smothering my thought
you spoke nothing kind
yet I still cared
I held your hand
I kissed you goodnight
I embraced you eternally
as if I would be condemed to death
at that moment
yet you were so cold...
so unforgiving...
all the warmth I gave
your cold dispostion
dug me my own grave
now I bleed as I lie in the pit of my own depression
not a helping hand.
you turn your back and spit wrathedly
turning the knife ever deeper
you bitch...
you hypocritical vision of hell's hatred...
But as I rise
an angel gives me strength
extends the hand of loving compassion
grasp me close to your bossom, Father
heal my wonds, they hurt
I yearn for love...
you touch my wounds, they hurt more...
they burn, they writhe
but yet they heal
I rise, bloody but intact, the angels memory
gives me the strength to push ever onward
Am I capable of love?
Am I human?
DO I LIVE?
DO I EXIST?!
YOU SPURN, YOU LET ME HURT!!
I CURSE YOUR TWISTED LOGIC!!
YOUR IMMEASURABLE WISDOM...
You give so much,
you take from me what I love and care for
you let me hurt...
But I still return to your arms
begging forgiveness and love.
You wipe my feet of blood and bandage my wounds
and set me on my feet, an angels' memory to guide me...
But yet I carry onwards....
As I stand here and stare into the bleak eve of oblivion...
You place another at my side...
One who is enigma and emotion herself
but yet bears the ability to love and hate...
you make her love me, hate me, spurn me, ignore me...
give me depression, give me hope...
give me inspiration...
and yet so much more...
I ask myself the eternal question...
Can I live any longer? ...
Can I carry onwards? …
Come to me my fallen angel and ease the pain that I bear
Your love is all I want...all I need...all I ask for
Nothing more...
What shall I say to you but that I care
...I love you...
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The so named Teen Angst days are fueled by anger or at least frustration on some level when you think about it. Those are some of the most complicated times in most of our lives. It's usually the journey to find clarity that compels us to write. Unless, you're overly expressive about everything.
Your work might look like "I walked down the road today in search of potato chips and inhaled deeply, by far, it wasn't the best air I've breathed but I was satisfied with the certain consistency that the increasing levels of carbon monoxide gave to it." :lol:
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LOL @ Imperial
Now that's what you call expression man. :) I don't consider my work Teen angst btw-I call it expression by randomization of emotional episodes...:D
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Well, I have yet to see someone post something like
Daffodill, Oh daffodill,
I think of you and I feel well.....
Anyone got any upbeat writings to prove me wrong? I need the comedy. Wait, I'm definitely wrong, but people who would do something like this are usually "high" on life. lmao
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lol
yeah i have a funny one but it isnt on my pc i will have to type it up.
it was supposedly a chapter one of something i decided to name (cuz like i said it was for kix) uh...i cant remember the name...but um, it was something funny.
if i ever have the time or inclination, i will type it up for u.
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With regards to my last poem.... Would somebody forward a message to one Ms. Sparkle Ferreira if you know her...I need her to understand I'm quite pissed. lmao
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Ok If I see her Imperial X(I highly doubt it) I'll tell her for you.
Another poem from me. Written quite a long time ago A bit too rhymey if ya ask me...
I want to talk,
But don’t know what to say.
Only to express myself,
Any possible way.
Maybe this is one of those times,
When words do not count.
They are now all but powerless,
Though they are incredible in amount.
It isn’t what to say,
Maybe not even how to say it,
They say it’s not the game that makes it unfair,
It’s a matter of how you play it.
No matter what I said,
I doubt it would come out right!
I just don’t have the confidence,
To say it loud alright!?
The world may think I’m crazy!
But this is all their fault!
All the unattainable, invisible standards,
Are what make me feel like naught.
I sit all by myself,
Even though I’m in a crowd,
I really do not hear a thing,
Even though it’s all very loud.
Forced to turn the inside out,
And the outside in.
I cry while I ask myself,
What was my devious sin!?
Was it being different?
From all the people here?
Well it doesn’t matter now!
I’ll always be me so there!
I have no idea what to call this. I had a name for it but I don't like it anymore.
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Bigups. Who would have thunk it that people who speak so little can say so much? I did....but that's another story.
I have a some one line poems or something one of which I would like to share with you.
*dims lights and goes up on stage wearing all black, with shades and a beret.*
*place darkens and spotlight hits me*
*snaps fingers*
"F)@K YOU!!!! And I was done.........."
*pongo drum rattles furiously as the masses show their grattitude with vigorous applause*
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imperial rel gettin carried away :shock:
please, stick to the topic m'dear
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LOL Imperial is a beatnik oui
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Level badness yes Imperial. Dem doe noe how we'z do it. BAW!!!! Baddest poem alive. **** YOU!!. BAWW!!
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Level badness yes Imperial. Dem doe noe how we'z do it. BAW!!!! Baddest poem alive. **** YOU!!. BAWW!!
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I'd usually do something like this when I was in school during english class. I was actually talanted enough to get away with cursing infront of the teachers. Either that, or they thought I was the seed of Satan or something.
It's all in the setup though. Addressing the class with a crumpled up scribbled up piece of paper adds to the perceived level of depth.
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Serious? Man, I gonna HAVE to try that one day!! :D
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Trying to be Satan's son doesn't get you many friends man. lmao
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good grief, what HAS this thread come to??
somebody save it!! please!!
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how come i didn't see this thread before, i gotta start exploring more
hmm, what should i put, i doh reallt like to share my stuff but maybe i'll put one that isn't that important
The search goes on,
And there is no light to guide,
As I am stopped by obstacles in the pitch black
My path is hard and tedious,
I did not ask to go through this path yet here I am,
I do not want to search for light yet here I go,
My friends are with me but they can only do so much,
They provide no help but comforting words,
Which is much appreciated though,
Shall I ever find the light at the end of the tunnel?
Shall I ever find my angel that is rumoured to be there?
The answer awaits me,
As I travel through the many parts of this labyrinth,
With dead ends galore,
And the darkness growing,
I will soon lose all hope,
How much disappointments and rejections can I take?
Yet still keep my happiness fake?
Where art thou?
Copyright of Polios Productions
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Nice polios. Cool poem. Something we all wonder in our lives.
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Guess whos back, back again
Pinkie's back, no need to tell a friend. :P
Due to technical difficulties i have not been here awhile, but now im back. First of all lemme say we startin to stick on poems, stories etc
Secondly DG stoppin makin exscuses and put some stuff up, also i hear u goin NY tomorow so dont forget we
Thirdly wah know wat happen to PAIN
And here is my poem for today
Start it over in your head,
Think it over, make it be,
Whatever you think it should be.
Your vision is what you see,
So think about it carefully.
Open your eyes, look at what is in front of thee,
Hold your head up high, make sure you can see the sky,
Do not squint or close your eyes.
See the light that cometh through,
The light that is around you.
Listen carefully to what I say,
Don’t close your ears to me,
Being ignorant of the truth is not healthy,
Live and let live your soul.
Open your heart, Open your eyes,
Open your soul to the giver of life.
The end is not near, do not fear,
Happiness flourishes everywhere.
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i like it pinkie :D
and fault, that was more or less the same thing i said to polios the first time i read it.
me? i am not making excuses..*runs away*
okay okay, seriously though i will need to type up most of what i have. So i promise i will write something, anything! and just put it up by..um gimme a week cuz i leavin tomorrow.
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1) doh forget DG, we looking forward to it
2) thank you Fault, you just doubled the amount of ppl who i know like it, this may be because i don't show my poems to anyone. I don't really think they're good so i don't think anyone would bother
3) here's another poem, cuz i actually feeling generous
Where The Rivers Flow
by ME!!!! :
There are lands thither
Over the mountains
Where plants don't wither
And there are rainbow fountains
I wish to see that place
But I may never go
No, not in my case
To where the rivers flow
That is where you are
So far away from here
Alas it is too far
But ne'er do I feel fear
I shall journey forward
And we shall meet
I am no coward
I shall keep my feet
Once more will I see you
Your smiling face aglow
And in return, I smile too
As the clear rivers flow
Then I shall hold your hand
And in a trance
We'll fly and never land
And leave it all to chance
Copyright of Polios Productions
that's it, not all may relate to it cuz it was a personal thing but i made it as open to interpretation as possible so as to not limit the ppl who'll like it. Problem is that i did all this, but i end up not showing anyone, only DG ever saw this one before i put it here
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What can I say. It's really 'cute' but kinda whimsical and nonsensical, but then you said not all would relate to it and that's just my opinion. Can't say I like it. Sorry. *Being honest here* Didja write this when you were younger?
Here's my submittal for today....
Precious
I was never content with with my life,
That is, until, you came along,
When I see you I forget all my strife,
You replace all my sorrow with a song.
A song of hope, a song of joy,
You've made a man, out of this boy.
You inspire me, to better be,
Yes you bring out, the best in me.
I can't stop looking at you,
You're so pretty, I love to just stare into your eyes,
And you are just so cute,
Blushing and smiling all the while.
You treat me like I'm something more,
Than the simple person I am,
And for this, I will in turn,
Treat you the best I can.
Nothing can compare to the way you make feel,
I can't believe that this is real.
I've never felt quite this way,
Please, stay with me always.
There is some stuff in there that related exactly to someone and myself so not everybody will feel it all.
-
Love...
Is it possible to love a person to a great extent,
So great that it excels any other known thing,
But what if it was mistaken for lust...
What then!? Does it all fall apart?
Or does the love flourish for years and years...
No one can say whether love is good or bad,
Some take it as God's blessing and embraces it,
While others, only seem to obuse it as if it were a toy,
Meant for them to do as they see fit.
It's so disgusting, that it makes my heart cry, and my soul scream.
Can loved be embraced without sex!?
Or is it just an addition to having two people release their hormonal rage,
Who can say which is right and which is wrong,
For everyone has their own aspect,
Of what love should be, and how it should be cherished.
I sometimes dream of love, how wonderful such a feeling could be like,
I lay under the starry sky and wonder for hours on end,
Of how my life would be like to have someone to love
Someone to cherish, someone to cuddle and talk to,
But sometimes the dream, turns to a nightmare.
I can't figure out myself when i think about it,
It's as if my mind transcends time and space,
Searching for all the answers to my questions,
Yet when i think about it, i already had the answer
And it was in front me all along, i just never realised it,
Until it was too late, for the answer was as plain as day...
"You are loved by all, you just don't know it, that's all"
Copyrights of Zero-X...Merry Christmas :-D :-D :-D
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Reality...Real or a Fantasy!?
Why can't i tell the difference,
Its so complicated this way
For i know not what is reality,
nor what is fantasy.
At one point, it feels so real,
it tastes so real and smells real
but it turns into a figment of my imagination.
Can someone help me escape the so called 'fake world'?
Or am i trapped here forever,
To continuously indulge in the senseless acts of this world...
To become one of my most feared imaginations possible.
The more i behave like this, the more i change,
And the more i change, the more i lose myself,
It's not fair, it's just not fair...
Day by day, step by step, i keep on changing,
Ever losing a piece of my true self,
To something called my doppleganger.
How could this be!? Have i lost control!?
Do i hide everytime something ominous occurs,
Or do i have the courage to stand to the bitterness of reality?
The truth is, reality is never what you want it to be,
But it's up to me to accept it or not.
Hopefully, when i regain my true self,
I will be reborn, but only time will tell,
Fate, destiny and purpose possibly as well.
For i have the guidance of my friends,
The wisdom of my parents,
But they do not make the choice,
Only i can make the choice...
Copyright of Zero-X...and have a Happy New Year.... :lol:
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Trying to be Satan's son doesn't get you many friends man. lmao
True True man :P LOL. But from one writer to another-It still DAMN funny watching other people gape ent? :)
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Now, dear children, pay attention
I am the voice from the pillow
I have brought you something
I ripped it from my chest
With this heart I have the power
to blackmail the eyelids
I sing until the day awakes
a bright light on the heavens
my heart burns
They come to you in the night
demons, ghosts, black fairies
they creep out of the cellar shaft
and will look under your bedding
Now, dear children, pay attention
I am the voice from the pillow
I have brought you something
a bright light on the heavens
my heart burns
They come to you in the night
and steal your small hot tears
they wait until the moon awakes
and put them in my cold veins
Now, dear children, pay attention
I am the voice from the pillow
I sing until the day awakes
a bright light on the heavens
my heart burns
My heart burns
MEIN HERZT BRENNT from Rammstein(English translation)
I like these lyrics
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nice polios n nice fault, and nice zero-x.
still workin on it, i only got in last night...
oh yeah and andro, your OWN lyrics please, not someone else's
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what?steupse.i thought it would be a beautiful ting to post.i didnt say it was mine. all allyuh ppl oppressing the i-man
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hmm, this thread is good, i like alot of these
here another one by me
Carpe Dium
- Kishan Solomon
I love thee with all my heart,
but shall you ever know the truth?
Will you accept me if given?
Old bonds shall be broken,
New ones there shall be,
for good or bad,
I will take them.
Even if our feelings are the same,
What then?
Where do we go?
Who can we turn to?
The world is cruel,
we are on our own,
I will not let you go till the end,
which is far from near.
Your hair shimmers the colors of the rainbow in the sun,
but you glow radiantly in the moonlight,
You move with grace of an angel,
but have the beauty of Aphrodite,
Your crystal eyes shine,
as you glide across,
it is topped off by a smile.
Your heart is compassionate,
and your soul pure,
You think of others before yourself,
you want to help the world,
I wish to help you,
We shall find a world of peace,
just take my hand.
Copyright of Polios Productions
Happy Christmas
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no andro i know and i didnt mean to insult you.
it IS nice
all i meant was the thread was meant for people to post their own work.
lol@polios productions
yeah man :)
anyway, i like it.
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u can oppress my voice all you like,Dark Goddess but you'll never break my spirit!
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From wat i see so far ppl have some skill in poetry, all of them are good, thou some are better than others. I not makin any comments cause i aint a professional, and i have my own style of writing. But also i aint hearing anything bout short storeys. Hopefully get my pc in workin order to put some more stuff up.
Andro who oppressin? ever heard of freedom of speech
Also i thought communist oppress ppl!!! :shock:
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oppress..???
okay
*lost*
for the LOVE OF GOD!!!!
i have not yet written anything to be put here as i promised but for the sake of my sanity i will post something i wrote a long time ago to go with a story based on a chick named Sulene.
A Kiss of Wind
A breath of Air
A dance in the evening sun
Follow the stars, they will lead you there
To where moonlight and magic touch the land
A whisper of water
A touch of sand
A frolic in the waves of morning
Follow the rivers, they will take you there
To where moonlight and magic touch the land
A twist of vines
A blade of grass
A gift given to the earth
Follow the footsteps, they will carry you there
To where moonlight and magic touch the land
A spark of fire
A shiver of cold
A wish made to the sky
Follow the lights, they will show you where
Where moonlight and magic touch the land.
i had to type it all just now so forgive any typoes, titled Moonlight and Magic (duh)
now pinkie...leave me alone!!! :P:P
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i know that it aint much but like i sed, written long ago.
i'll get something better
promise.
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Bigup to DG for finally puttin up sumtin, it waz about time!!!!!
I tellin u she have some real good stuff. :bowing:
Worship the Dark Goddess :worship:
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Bigup to DG for finally puttin up sumtin, it waz about time!!!!!
I tellin u she have some real good stuff. :bowing:
Everybody who likes say I
*archs eyebrow at pinkie and sighs in exasperation*
about time...steeeeuuuupssss!!!!
i just want you all to know that pinkie harrass the hell outta for the past 4 or 5 days eh...
here's one more so i could shut up for a while:
background info: Amaya the goddess has a cult called the Blood. Her most sacred ritual is performed by the highest class of followers at night during winter.
Blood Dance
Dance with me, my sister of Blood
Is my life not red as yours?
My grace is perfection
the perfection you crave
be not envious, this dance is for all
our swords shall test
our blood shall celebrate
oh dance with me, my sister of Blood
sway now left
leap now right
dance to the rhythm of the full moon
the goddess shall hear
the goddess shall come
and Evening shall see Night
oh dance, oh dance my sister of Blood
the evening comes
the Night is here
the moon shines full on our face
the goddess sends luck
the goddess sends faith
in the form of the blood on our blades.
once more i just typed it cuz i not on my own comp, so any errors plz forgive etc etc
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Being inspired by DG , i postin my latest work.
The lyrics in my mind,
Breaking ot from time time,
Giving me a taste of dynamic expression,
To the eternal realm, poetic notion.
I am a man with burning desires,
Thinking with my soul so devine,
Impressions i get and write about,
Never holding pride or doubt,
A sense of awe and potential in me,
Untapped resources fighting most desperatly,
To free itself of the confines of the mind,
Dareing to burst forward to leave nothing behind.
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Aye harass is not the word i would say
Stimulate is what i would say :-D
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Aye harass is not the word i would say
Stimulate is what i would say :-D
uh huh..suuuuuuuuuuuure
excuses excuses..hmph
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She's fast, she's slow,
You'll never know,
She keeps you guessin just how she'll come,
She dissapears when she is done...
Slashing and ripping and kicking your ass,
She lets you die there in the grass,
The very place where you once stood your ground,
Your lifeless limbs now to be found...
Relentless dreams of demon slaying,
She will end her journey, not now I'm praying,
She jumps, she spins right in your face,
Yes, damn right she owns your base,
She ownz me too, but it's all good,
She's on my side, you'll knock on wood,
My life...my...saviour... my winning spree..
My warrior princess ownz all for free,
I think I love you...Taki!!!!!!!
Soul Calibur 2 ownage confirmed!!!!
This is what happens when you can type too much in a minute's time.
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*crowds go wild and throw items on stage when imperial finishes reciting*
ploi!!!!!! i just LOVE those lil game based poems of yours, more...i need more!!!!
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Big lyrics from imperial,
i think i love she to from the way u does go on bout she.
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lol@imperial
aye, bout time DG put some stuff up, i read them already but you have to share it
what goes around comes around, see you force me to put stuff up the pinkie for you :-P
imperial that was dred, thas idleness, or is it if it doesn't take any time?
pinkie, thas real good, i was thinking bout doing that same topic but i guess it taken now
DG, that was great as always, let's hope you post more....sometime
i have a new poem, but i gotta show it to DG first, so i'll get back to allyuh
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WHY, dare i ask WHY????????!!!!!!! do u insist on showing me these things FIRST????
just post the damn things man!
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WHY, dare i ask WHY????????!!!!!!! do u insist on showing me these things FIRST????
just post the damn things man!
you're just my test dumm... i mean pre-reader
alright, here's the poem i was talking about
Forgotten Worlds
by Kishan Solomon
I see the gulls fly,
I see the roaring sea ,
below the mist so high,
Just me and my boat,
and the pirate's of the key.
The battle fierce,
Like cowards they flee.
Where am I?
The Forgotten Sea
Spin the world,
Flash the past,
I don't know,
Just make it fast,
Along the mountain peek,
I hear the eagles call,
I hear the whispering wind,
As silent as the ninjas fall,
I hear them face me,
Air filled with sin,
I hear them all,
like thugs in an alley,
Where am I?
The Forgotten Valley
Spin the world,
Flash the past,
I don't know,
Just make it fast,
I feel the thorns so sharp,
I feel their presence,
I run through the trees,
I feel the mist,
I feel the air and leaves.
I feel the cobra's kiss,
Where am I?
The Forgotten Forrest.
Spin the world,
Flash the past,
I don't know,
Just make it fast,
In the Shadows of the past,
Lay the beast of Retrospect.
Copyright of Polios Productions
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this is my newest work, enjoy...
Loneliness...
Darkness consumes my mind, fear eats at my heart,
My inner demons come to me like a psychotic killer
Waiting for an innocent to murder.
I crouch in the safety of my corner,
My cold, dusty, little place I call a safe haven,
Waiting for the right time to come out of my shell of fear...
I feel like I have been sent to solitary confinement,
Sitting in the icy, dark, lonely corner of my room,
Thinking of all the things that went wrong in my life,
And hoping to travel back in time to correct my mistakes.
Since when did I feel this way!? It's so unexpected,
As if someone deliberately screwed with my mind...
I am in a trance, can I escape it!? Or do I have to stay,
And socialize with all the shadows of my mind,
My fears, my doubts, my insecurities, all of them, in my mind,
All congested in the deepest part of my subconscious,
Never to be released, for it can either free me, or destroy me.
One way or the other, I stay in my corner, to safe myself and my friends...
The conflict continues, the battle that rages on in my head,
A fight between my conscious and my subconscious, gruesome and never-ending,
But it only results as a headache of unknown proportions on the outside,
While it becomes a full scale war on the inside.
Someone must help me find a cure, find a solution to my problem,
Help release me from my fear and loneliness, and set my spirit free.
It's as if I can't breathe when I feel like this,
Cause my fear suffocates me like a pillow over my face,
When I'm lonely, I tend to blame other things, minor and miniscule,
Am I just a pesky little boy to everyone like this, or is it just me??
I can't even tell myself, but some choices I make, I always tend to regret,
It's as if I crave for some form of attention, but I don't want that craving...
I can't help it!! It's too much to bear!!
It's killing me inside!!! Please make it stop!!!
The pain, too massive to embrace and so uncontrollable,
It makes me want to kill myself, but only my morals hold me back.
Even though it causes hatred, jealousy and other emotions around me
To rise, even at the most unexpected times...
I am alone in this world, always have, always been and perhaps always will be,
But can the people, whom I hold dear to my heart, my friends,
Make my spirit feel alive again?
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well then i say,if its originality you want,then its originality you shall have.MUAHHAHAHAHAHA
The Assassination
Androsovic walked coolly across the Queen's Park Savannah,the wind blowing in his face and his heavy pack on his back.He jumped the fence of the hockey field near the Princess Building Grounds and sat calmly in the grass.He was on a mission.A mission to eliminate the voice of oppression.He smiled as he thought of this to himself.
He donned his ghillie suit and took out his Russian SVN-98 sniper rifle of bullpup design.He outfitted it with a silencer,to decrease range as well as to silence the shot,for he couldn't bear the blood of innocent on his hands.He went in the prone position and faced Bishops Anstey High School.He could see the guard strolling on patrol at the front gate.
The bell rang,and girls poured out like a raging river which had just burst its banks.He searched for his target.Finally he saw her,walking out with such pomp,surrounded by her loyal followers.They had treated her like she was a Goddess.She was no Goddess in his book.To him,she represented the voice corruption and oppression.
Androsovic knew the time had come.He put his eye to the scope and centred the crosshairs on her head.Where should he do it?Legs?Arms?Should he make her suffer?To him, it didn't matter,for he must rid the world of this dark 'goddess'.He squeezed the trigger and the report was no louder than that of a car door closing.She dropped to the ground and he could make out all the followers rushing to her aid.The guard drew his weapon and looked around.No one could see Androsovic even if he told them where he was.He aimed at the guard and fired."Take that for being a mc,"he said.
Androsovic put his weapon back in his pack and walked away boldly,ghillie suit and all.He felt good.The world was free of corruption.For now.
END.
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Boy.......dread story...i had some of the same thoughts since i joined gatt.
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i will bring some bad pics here soon
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wow...
thanx andro for showing me this thread...
...i actually read all the poems and stories...
...however...
...i write two types of poems...
...the first type which is inspired by true events which i feel uncomfortable sharing...
...and the next set are written based on my mood...which varies quite often...
...so...
...as a result i dont think it may be appropriate to post them...
...but big up to everyone who posted...
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Opaque Walls
Craving growth and comfort,
Coming slowly to humanity.
The opaque walls towering above me
Remind me that I am alone here.
Crawling forward, coveting,
Falling forward, wanting,
Pushing furthur into the grey.
I'm not quite there.
The chaos that enshrouds me
Paths slowly before me.
So slowly it pains me
And drags me among the walls.
Confusion spirals throuhg me
Distorting every lie
Distorting everything you say.
I'm almost there.
It's almost transparent to me,
Now that my emotions have deserted me,
I can't feel anything you say,
I can't hear your lies,
I can't see you anyway.
The walls are fading slowly.
So sad, I must ignore you because
I'm still not there.
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i write a bit but the songs are a bit satanic so i doh think i should post em here :S
also these were written in form 2 a very painful and confusing year for me so these lyrics are very raw and may be offensive to some....
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plz post them...then i mite feel a lil more comfortable posting mine...
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just post on is what i say
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aright fine doh say i didn't warn u
these things have no names when i was in form 2 i questioned why songs need to have names which is why all 3 of the songs i wrote have no name........
Dark Shadows lie over the city
Tonight someone will die, you can hear
Some painful scream the air is full of flies
The mayhemic legions are ready to steal the human souls
Come into my vault and do what you have been told
I'll eat your intestines no matter if you pray or please
I'll bring you down to your knees
Tonight you're gonna meet your fate you'll try to run but it's too
Late I am here to liquidate
Time to raise your flag of hate
Destroy the world is our only aim
To strike them down is the only way to make'em dead
And make'em pay
The gallow of the underground shippers on the sea of blood
All what we want is to crucify your God
The posers on this earth have no right to live
We gonna split their brains torture is what we give
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sounds like an anti american song i wrote last year or so
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lol is actually supposed to be a death/black metal song :S
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Walking with my head on backwards,
i broke my neck, spun it around…
Pretending, imagining, squandering.
The blood flow continues vigorously,
It mixes with the cold air…
freezing, rotting, mutilating.
The blood becomes old, the bones deteriorate,
The heart keeps a beat.
The head sways back and forth,
Then it falls at my feet.
Stab my heart, crush my eyes, burn my
tongue, stuff my nose…
Shake out my soul, f#@k my ass, caress
my breasts…
Lying lifeless
Lying still
Lying with hate.
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Nice One Drug......
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Ouchie.
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Ouchie ?? You need a band aid mr imperial ??
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I need some stitches and a body cast if that's what you mean.
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As the sky is gray
And the sun shines still
There won't be peace
Because with peace comes war
And with war comes peace
But we never seem to care
How do we fight our enemies
Having so much trouble fighting ourselves?
*The strong hurt the weak
And the weak hurt those even weaker than themselves...*
Will the madness stop?
No, not as long as we think less of people...
We have wars of race and colour
I don't see why
Perhaps it is better to be colour-blind...
How do we serve God
if we commit so many sins against him?
Most don't mean to, but some do...
Discrimination, Cults, War, Exploitation
These things shall never leave us
For no one tries to stop
So I leave that to you
As I do my part...
"The strong hurt the weak
And the weak hurt those even weaker than themselves...", quote from Chrono Cross
Copyright of Polios Productions
I don't really like the last paragraph that much anymore, but thas my poem
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Nice one dere boy polios i remember in form 2 when u started writing poetry i was like wtf this man have some talent.........
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Osiris dat was cool strange but cool.
I will think of some and post them here but ot will take time as don't normally write poems LOL.
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thx osiris, oh yea, you were there when it started, all cuz of REX's dream
here's one more:
Ignorance-
by Kishan Solomon
No he's wrong,
It can't be true,
but it makes sense,
I guess I'm wrong.
No you're right,
we can justify our points,
we'll win this argument,
we are right,
What is going on?
What am I saying?
You did this,
Who are you?
I am you,
I'm here for you,
I am your strength,
Your determination.
You are my ignorance,
My anger,
Stop making me argue,
Stop hurting my friend.
There a part of you,
who always wanted this
Look at his face,
I think he wants to cry.
Leave him be,
I won't let you take over,
I will fight you,
You will die.
You are fighting yourself,
Just give up,
What are you doing?
You may be rid of me now,
but I will never die,
I'll be inside of you.
I'm am finally free,
But he is still there,
"I'm sorry," I said,
"I don't know what came over me."
In truth,
I do.
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kudos to all!!
i've read it and i havnt seen something i dont like yet!
you people have some serious talent!
(even andro, regardless of the fact that he just assassinate me :P) :lol:
it was good though
kill me all you want, just do it in good writing!
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Black rotting blood invades my ailing flesh,
Destroys and burns me down alive,
Ulcerated lips stinking of death,
Excommunicated creators of mine,
Blasphemous words and eyes that bleed,
In horrible never ending torments,
Waiting for hell my dead body looks ahead,
That will be soon the end.
Prepare you to die,
That comes unexpectedly,
Ask nobody "why?",
It's just an inevitable thing.
Still existing mind being in deadly fear,
Soon will be only heap of musty rot,
Tongue, heart and all my guts shall be digested by the necrophagic grubs.
No hope I must die and turn to ashen dust,
My soul will fly away to realms of dead,
Absurd resistance, I feel, Darkness takes my soul,
I'm only, after all, the slave of hell.
Raise from this grave,
Is fear in your eyes?
You have to leave your flesh,
Still wait for you - decapitated saints.
I've died to live in everlasting world,
Where reigns death and holy law of hate,
Omnipotent lords feeding the groans,
Of turn souls imploring for mercy,
I'm, in the place, where sin is all around,
And blood flows from every clipped head,
A billion dirty souls decay in ones own blood,
Awaiting beneficial touch of force, that let 'em die!
I'm raising up above eternal mists,
Heavens lie at feet of mine,
Wandering the sky I see transformed Christ,
Whose head I'm holding in my hand.
Is it possible the heaven is the hell?
Perhaps it's my own terrible dream,
Clipped sacred heads seem to say to me,
"That's true, the sky has turned to fire!"
also written in form 2 also untitled
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Gah, all my old work is now defined as angsty and confused :(
I need to write some new stuff and finish my Evanguard manga. I will make you all BOW when I am done :D
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hmmm my work are based on all kinda mess going on in meh life
nothing more nothing less
i do have one
non relating poem
if i can find it off
poetry.com
i will post it here
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here's one of mine
Fire
-Kishan Solomon
Fire the great deceiver,
It brings hope,
It brings light,
You decide to cope,
You turn your back on the night,
Gently it kindles,
Oh you trust it so,
It draws you closer,
It sees you clearly,
You finally give in,
Those flames of fury,
You join your forgotten kin,
You follow the light,
To the eternal shadow,
Oh the irony.
There's no tomorrow,
I share not,
In this twisted sorrow.
Copyright of Polios Productions
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this is one of my longer ones .........
Warriors with hate inflict destruction
Comes true the awful prediction
Still alive corpses lie in the street
Spitting the blood to the God
Dying in flames dammed mob
Screaming with pain: _This can't be, oh God"
Maybe they will understand he was never
But will be too late, so die forever
Circling in the sky the demons now descend
To raise their slaughter of mankind till its end
The final massacre of people on the earth
Pain cracks their minds, everywhere is Death
False Gods in their temples tremble with fear
They know the death is now so near
Unearthly Armageddon burns with flames of doom
Poisoned seed flung into virgin's womb
Circling in the sky the demons now descend
To raise their slaughter of mankind till its end
The final massacre of people on the earth
Pain cracks their minds, everywhere is Death
Merciless angels fly overheads
It's no time for your imploring pleads
Commit suicide with horror in your eyes
Bleeding with scars, pride world now dies
Warriors with hate inflict destruction
Comes true the awful prediction
Still alive corpses lie in the street
Spitting the blood to the God
Dying in flames dammed mob
Screaming with pain: "This can't be, oh God"
Maybe they will understand he was never
But will be too late, so die forever
Different Armageddon came true under our eyes
Dust comes down when the time came for sunrise
The final massacre, winds destroy the earth
Impaled heads notify, that winner is the Death
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well actually that was my last............also untitled
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i ent been here for more than a day and look at stuff appear!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Keep it up ppl, nice work
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i ent been here for more than a day and look at stuff appear!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Keep it up ppl, nice work
ent??? i swear!!!
well say what, i started this phenomena so i proud, lol.
when it reach plenty more, like 20pgs or so, i'll break out the champagne.
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great work osiris
it's a bit on the evil side, lol
but it's original, you should write more
maybe now it'd be happier, not that it needs to be
good work
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Yea u notice the new stuff real ppl postin kinda evil.........
Where all the poems with flowers and sunshine and singing in the hills................
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*ahem*
i like flowers
and i like hills
but i dont like dresses
with little pink frills.
sunshine is pretty
there's no doubt in my mind
but sunburn is bad
and good sunblock, hard to find.
hows that for flowers and sunshine? :lol:
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i cyah let DG out do meh so, and u make meh come up wit this wen my head feelin real tired.
Flowers all over the place,
In the trees,
On the ground.
In the gardens all full of life,
With sun shining and birds singing,
An atmosphere of tranquility,
Where a mind can rest at ease,
This i will call my Garden of Peace
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Goodness grief. With all the guts and blood and killing and hate. You ppl need help...
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*gets out his tye dyed T shirt and bandanna*
Cmon mannn...make lovee...not war..ya hearrr?...Peace and love to everyoneeee...
*gets out a guitar*
C'mon people, now
Smile on your brother,
Ev'ry-body get together,
Try to love one another right now...
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brrr?
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how allyuh does write thes long poems???
i cah do that fuh sh!t...
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I'll teach ya how to stunt!!!!
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gee...
...thanx...
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mine aren't poems they're songs and that last one had a chorus so therefore it just looked long and btw they're supposed to be angry it's deth metal
and yes polios i worte this during a time of teenage angst and if i try to write now it'll be all happy sh*t cuz rite now i'm happy :D
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One of these days when I'm feeling the vibe, I'll put up a freestyle that I come up with.
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why it only have poems here?allyuh cud write some essays too
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Common ppl u startin to slack off here, Bring out watever stuff u have, Peoms, storys, song, watever
And it doh matter how long it is, so perfectdrug, post up watever u have
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One of these days when I'm feeling the vibe, I'll put up a freestyle that I come up with.
now that go be cool
start it off nah imperial
new thread tho
freestyle
it go be mad
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yeah freestyle stuff woule be nice to see.
in all honesty, i DONT write poems dry so.
if u see anything at all written here in verse, be sure that it was not written by itself, but written to go with a story becuase i thought the story needed it.
i write short stories and would like to post extracts, but unfortunately if i did that no one would understand it because it would be missing loads of info :s
so as a result i post any bits of verse i wrote for that particular story.
if u all still willing to read random senseless-on-their-own extracts, let me know and i'll see what i can do.
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yeh tha freestyle sounds like a plan dan and yes it takes me a lot of hedache to write too
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• Nicky’s Song
The whispers of his lips go untouched
as the tears of freedom wipe away the
limitless pain and suffering.
In a world of no remorse, his soul flies free,
unchained from the bowels of insanity.
Though his mind be callous, his heart,
extricated from the depths of negativity, has
embodied itself within a sculpture . . .
. . . A BEAUTY, immortalized by the living and
envied by the dead.
A nonpareil, with no comparison
On earth, in heaven, in hell.
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yeah freestyle stuff woule be nice to see.
in all honesty, i DONT write poems dry so.
if u see anything at all written here in verse, be sure that it was not written by itself, but written to go with a story becuase i thought the story needed it.
i write short stories and would like to post extracts, but unfortunately if i did that no one would understand it because it would be missing loads of info :s
so as a result i post any bits of verse i wrote for that particular story.
if u all still willing to read random senseless-on-their-own extracts, let me know and i'll see what i can do.
Very willing.It doesn't matter if they are random senseless-on-their-own extracts, as long as their good.
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I all up for a freestyle or anything else, here is sumtin i now come up with
A change from all this teen angst lol
I feel at home with my friends
The love we have, the fun we have,
Things we do for the heck of it,
All full of energy and spirit,
Supporting each other, growing stronger and stronger
Full of happiness and desire,
Never letting each other feel down,
Giving all our best, our friendship will never be a lie,
Cause we hold each other dearly,
Never letting go, Never holding back,
This I will always say and what we will always be,
Friends Together, Friends Forever.
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*whistles, screams and claps*
go pinkie!!!
i love that poem :( its beautiful
for one, its a change from the "teen angst"
and two, it talks about something that most people take for granted and dont think about at all.
why dont some of us try writing like this? forget about the crap in life a while and talk about the good things damnit!!
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when i speak of good things i am usually at a loss for words because there are very little good things in my life.......
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when i speak of good things i am usually at a loss for words because there are very little good things in my life.......
I thought you said you were happy in a post a little earlier, things changed?
anyway, most of my stuff IS freestyle, cuz i take like ten minutes to write
so i'm up for it, i'll get back, i can't do it now, cuz i don't wanna spoil the happy mood so i'll wait till i'm happy again, shouldn't be long
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okay
so here is an extract that on its own makes no sense, but screw it.
you asked for it, i'll give it to you.
When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurred by poor lighting and pain. Breath came in short gasps of aguish and his chest was on fire with agony.
“Shhh, hush Jay. Lie still,” said a voice, quiet in its reprimand. Looking through tears he saw a girl, he thought, he once knew.
Oh, but this was not the Kiora he had left behind. The contours of her face were familiar enough, the build of her slight form. But her eyes… her eyes were darker than he remembered. So terribly dark they seemed to leach all light from the room and hold it, sparkling in a brilliant moment, before it was lost in the dark depths. Her once rich skin, though smooth, was pale as alabaster and even her hair, adorned and sparkling with dozens of tiny diamonds, was darker than it should be in the poor light; almost as dark as her eyes.
Jay tried to speak, but his mouth and tongue refused to obey the commands of his brain. The woman, for she was no longer a girl, he thought was Kiora lay a gentle hand on his chest and forced him into the worn sheets below his body.
“Don’t struggle. I know you’re in pain, Jay. Let me help you.”
She lifted her hands from his chest to his head, and lay them at his temples. Within a few short moments, Jay’s breathing eased and the fire in his chest became a warm glow. As he sighed his relief, she gathered him in her arms for a quick, affectionate hug.
“I’m so glad to see you awake, Jay,” she said, letting go and helping him to sit up. Jay stared, openly, blatantly, and in the silence he noticed something. Hands rose to his face quickly, feeling around the bridge of his nose, near his ears, around his eyes. The woman laughed, a sound that was rich and musical.
Again, not the Kiora he remembered. Her laugh, while pleasant enough, had never been this magical, lyrical sound. Certainly Kiora, whose singing was always off-tune, couldn’t produce such an enchanting noise?
But before he could speak, she stood and took from a table beside the bed, a small black box.
“Noticed your glasses are finally gone?”
Jay took the box she offered, and opened it to find the pieces of what was once his most hated optical aid. She smiled.
“I know that you would’ve wanted the honour of smashing it to pieces, but Teresa and I couldn’t help it. We know how much you hated those things,”
Jay looked up at her, and at once drew a sharp breath. How could he not have noticed? How?
Kiora stood as she always did; though perhaps her stance now conveyed the years of maturity she was sure to have gained. Her body was swathed in graceful turns of black silk, bare arms and shoulders decorated with beads of ebony strung on silver. Her hair was pulled back from her face by those same diamonds to rest in a dark cloud right between her elegant wings.
Wings…
How couldn’t he notice? Kiora had accepted…which meant…
Which meant that he was no longer looking at, or speaking to, Kiora. He was conversing with the Angel of Death.
The Angel of Death.
He couldn’t bare it.
Not when he looked at her and saw the carefree teenager he once knew. Not when he hugged her, and it was the same embrace he’d always had as childhood friends. Not when she looked at him with a gaze that was all too familiar, but with eyes that were strangers to him.
His vision blurred again, obscured this time not by tears of pain, but tears of grief. For the first time since his waking, he spoke the name he was sure no one had called her by since her Ascension.
“Kiora…Kiora, why?”
-
They have stripped him of his clothing
Under the scourge of man He has fallen
None appears to help him with that cross...
A thousand suns have burnt his sight out
A thousand corbeaux cannabalised him
Gouged his exposed side
The master of pain
Cut down
Once tall and stately, proud like palmiste
Now aging fast from green through brown and yellow
To weather beaten brittle dead bome white...
A million eons of selective creativity-of species:
Man sees naught but footing for his fence post...
Anaparima forgive them, they know not what they do
Erect phallus enshrine
The promise
Of life to come and coming
The threat of death
In all Destruction
Blind now in pain and anger
Anaparima,
Protect the innocent. children and the fools-
Trinity in man
Meditate on his behalf,
Anaparima,
In the council of the Gods.
-
just tryin a ting there..................
-
i realise you talking about christ and thing but where a phallus come in that? interpretation please
-
He said he was trying something. Let him be.
-
Seriously too much big words for me.
-
i think it's decent that you know about that...
...keep it up...
-
Freestyle thread coming soon. Be ready. I feel the vibe coming on. Or is it just rain? Never mind that.....
-
I think it's rain....
-
{F.E.A.R.} Rain perhaps.
-
will you people stop spamming meh mc thread????
please!!!!
someone put some decent writing up, will you?
-
umm since when is it ur thred this is a PUBLIC forum u just created the thred but it really belongs to the members........
-
True that....since when can someone lay claim to a thread????? i understand that what u started the thread for Dark Goddess but if people want to spam...that is kind of hard to stop.....
-
steups.
is it too much to ask that you just put up what was meant to be placed in this thread?
is it?
osiris, i know where you sleep at night. Beware.
-
Allyuh read this story
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the land
Not a person was sleepy, not even the weed man
The .38 millimeter was loaded with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be here
Out on the front there arose such a clatter
I ran with the gun to see what was the matter
Away to the window, I flew like a flash
This bandit would get hot lead in his @$$!
I opened the back door and went outside
I crept behind a water tank to hide.
What I saw brought fear to my heart.
There were eight flying ramgoats, and an old cart
When I saw the driver, I said "Oh $h!+!
That sonuvab***h must be St. Nick!"
More rapid than eagles the ramgoats came
And he whistled, and cussed, and called them by name:
"Now, Spranger! now, Smoker! now Itchin' and Scratchin'!
On, Beppin' ! on, Cloutin'! on Bitchin' and Naggin'!
To the top of the roof! So much presents to tote!
And all of a sudden I feelin' for a smoke!"
The arrival of Santa was a great dream to me.
I looked up and shouted, "Aye! What de scene?"
Santa said, "There's no chimney. I'm all out of luck!"
I said, " This is Trinidad, you stupid f***!
Yuh ramgoats better not shit on my roof!"
Santa jumped down, and fell with a loud BOOF!
When I saw his face, I nearly got a heart attack.
The rumours were right. Santa Claus is BLACK!!!
He was dressed in all mink, from head to feet.
There was gold, silver AND platinum in his teeth.
He really looked like a pimp for so
'Cause he was only saying " HO, HO, HO!"
A bundle of presents he had flung on his back
He looked like a Boboshanti selling nuts in a pack
His cheeks were puffy, his eyes were red.
The man had a big afro on his head!
He had a bullfrog face and a big pot belly
And he had a silver chain ------- an imitation "NELLY".
I said, " If this is really Santa Claus here,
Then tell me all the things I wanted LAST YEAR!"
Santa skinned up his face and said , " Let's see,
You wanted clothes, a mansion, cars and money,
Shoes, a job, a gyul, an XBOX with games,
A pool, a big stereo and some platinum chains
And finally, just to sound "Christmasy"
A partridge in a pear tree, whatever that be."
"You forgot my gifts!" ,I shouted, "You had to be crazy!"
"I was gonna bring them", he said, "but I was feelin' lazy!
Anyways, I heard Trinidad have the best ganja.
So give a little sample to jolly old Santa!"
I gave him "a sample", nicely rolled in brown
I told him, "This is the best SMOKE in town"
"As the natives say", said Santa, "gimme the light!"
I lit the fuse-----------this would f*** him up right!
"What's the name of this?", said Santa, "I got to have some!"
"This", said I, "is what the natives call A SCRATCHBOMB!!"
The explosion startled the dotish old elf
I pulled out the gun and said, "Go f*** yuhself!"
I shot him in the feet, and called out my peeps.
With cutlasses, we planassed him in the street
Even the weed man, with happy refrain,
Shouted happily, "I sprang Santa chain!!"
To finish the job, and feeling real dread,
We stretched his boxers right over his head.
We reached for his sack, our hearts filled with glee
We'll be the richest n!g@$$ in the country!!
My peeps came back with a coalpot, and say:
"We eating flying ramgoat on Christmas Day! Yay!!"
And then we all shouted, as Santa ran into the night:
"Merry Christmas to you. Now get the f*** out meh sight!!"
-
Nuff bout spam, jus put some good ole poems up nah
I doh wah see no bickering.
My dreams, My thoughts,
Look into my eyes and tell me I’m not,
The things that go through my head,
Making my cringe in fear and dread,
The tears I have never shed.
Of the things you know about me,
Of the way I act, of what you see,
Tell me what u think, tell it truthfully,
I jus want to know
To better understand why I hurt so
The pain I feel, what can it be,
Nothing hurts more than the truth indeed,
But living not knowing leaves you confused,
Leaves you wondering what if it was true.
My heart needs rekindling,
To light up my soul,
By a burning fire so strong and fierce,
To destroy that dark pit within my soul,
Can’t anyone answer me, Can’t none help me,
Is that so much to ask,
Please love me.
-
Nuff bout spam, jus put some good ole poems up nah
I doh wah see no bickering.
My dreams, My thoughts,
Look into my eyes and tell me I’m not,
The things that go through my head,
Making my cringe in fear and dread,
The tears I have never shed.
Of the things you know about me,
Of the way I act, of what you see,
Tell me what u think, tell it truthfully,
I jus want to know
To better understand why I hurt so
The pain I feel, what can it be,
Nothing hurts more than the truth indeed,
But living not knowing leaves you confused,
Leaves you wondering what if it was true.
My heart needs rekindling,
To light up my soul,
By a burning fire so strong and fierce,
To destroy that dark pit within my soul,
Can’t anyone answer me, Can’t none help me,
Is that so much to ask,
Please love me.
my saviour! yay!
*tears of joy*
-
it could but it cya come around my story
-
it could but it cya come around my story
your story was an email i got some time ago
-
Feeling in a bottle
I'm lonely just like I've always been.
I meet you, we talk, I mean really talk.
I see something in you I like and maybe...
Maybe you've seen a something in me?
I don't know, I'm not sure,
So when I see you I just smile.
Wishing I would do something more all the while,
Totally enticed by you, your allure.
I want so much to say how I feel,
I say it, but In tedious, ambiguos ways,
I can't seem to just let you know plain as day.
Being rejected would hurt too much, so No Way!.
And even so I don't know you very well,
You might say I'm coming on too strong to fast.
I want to do it in a way that our relationship can still last,
Maybe I'll keep being vague and someday you'll tell...
By me
-
Way boy .......yuh could ah come better than that Aka_neo......
-
at least post something better than your stupid post
-
Stop Spammin......
-
what r u doin chaos ?? not spammin ??
fault excellent poem same goes for g pinkie keep it up guys.........
-
Why can't you see,
The way you forced me to be?
The way I cry at night,
Thinking I just might,
Get a glance of you, in my sight.
Why don't you even try,
As your love slowly passes by,
To catch her in the grasp of your heart?
I never wished us, to be apart.
But, don't you even know,
I really do love you so?
But, I certainly will never,
Be able to stand the sever
Of the knife... you placed in my heart
just a lil sum from the inside of me..
-
dat poem real boss and only a true boss who know poetry like dat especially like chaos and the pong
-
Rhyming couplets rite through... Nice poem overall. but I like to mix up My rhyming techs....
-
sorry i took so long, tstt not letting me on gatt recently. This is the last poem i have on my comp, the rest will be freestyle or going to be made soon. Here:
Untitled
-Kishan Solomon
A shadow passed over,
with a gust of wind following,
to scare trees sober,
with a flash of red lightning,
Down he swooped,
the fierce Red Dragon,
after a flaming loop
that scared a man with a wagon,
"Dragon! Dragon!", he cried,
as he raced through the streets,
but he was soon fried,
right down to his feet,
Hoof beats came from a distant place,
a foe not easy to beat,
a steel man without a face,
a battle with an elite,
On his face a smile was set,
now was his chance
to finally show this dragon death,
"Come on!", he cried, "Let's dance."
A foe worthy enough to be called an enemy,
is one that causes a respectful threat,
as told on the prophesy,
this dragon causes many deaths,
As enemies to each other,
they are forced to fight,
friends would the be rather,
than foes at sight,
A fire dragon left cold,
Steel amour still hot,
the story not told,
of this battle fought.
Copyright of Polios Productions
-
Rhyming couplets rite through... Nice poem overall. but I like to mix up My rhyming techs....
yea horse fuh real eh but i didnt rreally look at that i just put it cuz that was inside and i really didnt take it on but hey, nobody perfect ent..
-
nice, great stuff there from fault (that was so beautiful *sniff*) and tha_pong, that was real good, liked it much, and of course we have some interesting stories told by polios, very well done. Keep up the good work people.
-
The Bombing
I made this up when i was writing a book.I still have it at home but is to type it.This is the intro.
It was a calm day.Cloudless,birds singing.The usual.The silence was broken by the drone of a EP-226 airship.Noone seemed to be aware of the fate that was to take them.The airship rose higher until it was out of sight;the slight drone the only indicator of its presence.A bomb was pickled and there was a constant whistle,the sound of impending doom.There was a flash of light,a thunderous roar and within seconds an entire city was wiped off the map.This was the first step of the attack on America by madman,Androsovic Herring,leader of an organisation in the fight against Americanism.
-
You shouldn't say stuff like "It was a calm, tranquil day". That's overkill. What are soft clouds? (Not knocking it would like you to explain). And andro doh leh no 'Merican ppl be reading this and figure we anti-america ya know!!
-
like i said it was in the past.but i'll change it.And for the record,Americans,Gatt isnt Anti American.Only i am
-
I see in your eyes,
what I saw once in hers.
I feel in your arms
what I once felt in hers.
I hear in your voice,
what I once heard in hers.
now I'm not sure if that
is good or bad.
she ended up leaving me,
hurting me bad,
so prove to me now...
should I believe in your love?
should I give you my trust?
hope u like this one..
-
Simple and to the point
Will put some more poems up soon..
-
ill see what i can do..im kinda busy these days im trying to put in some studies
-
nice work guys, i have to make back my stock, i have some ideas coming anyway
allyuh doing real good, keep it up
androsovic, maybe you should expand that a bit, it seems all too sudden- the plane, the bomb etc
-
And heres a nex one from good ole G_Pinkie
Miracles are only achieved, when you believe,
It can be done with your heart and mind,
It stands out on the test of time,
Showing itself every once and awhile,
Though it chooses when it wishes to be,
It has never chosen racially.
What we desire and what we wish,
Not always what we deserve or get.
As life is rough and miracles rare,
We choose out destiny so we can never despair,
But as long as one believes,
In his heart, mind and soul,
Anything can happen, miracles can be achieved.
-
Bird
Feathers as red as the leaves
descending
from the trees in the
deep and
desolate forest a
cardinal
so beautiful and
free soaring
through the bright
blue yonder
no clouds in sight
just the
smell of pine in
the glimmering snow
below.
-
nice one.....check this one....
Words - Can kill...
Words
Words, once spoken,
can't be taken back,
and they lay there festering,
like rotten fish in a woven sack.
And sticks and stones may break me,
but words also strike at my very heart,
and like an unseen destructive force,
they are slowly tearing me apart.
I'm so sad, I'm so mad,
everybody is talking about me,
nasty things, cruel things,
why can't they just let it be?
And I know how I can end this misery,
simple, a bottle and too many pills,
and these words will have blood on their hands,
one more of the unjust, unpunished and merciless kills.
Do you know how bad my life is?
Go on, just spend a day in my shoes,
I bet you'd be too scared to tread that path,
because, like me, you might find you've everything to lose.
And I've screamed out for help,
and those closest to me, sadly, struck out,
and I'm learning some very hard lessons
about life, love and what suffering is all about.
But there's one thing I'm holding onto,
and this is the truth, and this I know,
your cruel and heartless words can't hurt me,
and this valley is where my seed of greatness will grow.
So, talk, gossip, chatter all you like,
I am strong and I will learn to carry on,
because I know that I am right,
and you, undoubtedly, are cruel and so very wrong.
And if I have to tread this path on my own,
then so be it, I will find the strength within,
I will learn how to manage these feelings,
I will learn how to start again, how to begin.
Finally, I think friends should be friends,
and if they're not, they're simply anchors who weigh you down,
and no more will they suck from my cup of kindness,
because control is just another abstract noun.
-
I see the change in your attitude
we don't talk like we did before
I think what we had is gone
I hope not, but I'm quite sure
I wish we could have had something
something special that would last
But my wish wasn't been granted
because our relationship finished quite fast
I wish we could at least have our friendship
but I think that's gone too
Even though you don't feel the same way
remember my heart will always belong to you
I guess everything we had is no longer
all I have is memories of you and me
I wish I could have saved what we had
but just maybe it wasn't meant to be
So here I say farewell,
this is just for the best
You're the first to take a piece of my heart
but you probably could care less
Now I say my final good-bye
I'm sorry it has to be this way
I can't believe this is the end
I'm sorry but that's how it must stay
-
Allyuh read this story
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the land
Not a person was sleepy, not even the weed man
The .38 millimeter was loaded with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be here
Out on the front there arose such a clatter
I ran with the gun to see what was the matter
Away to the window, I flew like a flash
This bandit would get hot lead in his @$$!
I opened the back door and went outside
I crept behind a water tank to hide.
What I saw brought fear to my heart.
There were eight flying ramgoats, and an old cart
When I saw the driver, I said "Oh $h!+!
That sonuvab***h must be St. Nick!"
More rapid than eagles the ramgoats came
And he whistled, and cussed, and called them by name:
"Now, Spranger! now, Smoker! now Itchin' and Scratchin'!
On, Beppin' ! on, Cloutin'! on Bitchin' and Naggin'!
To the top of the roof! So much presents to tote!
And all of a sudden I feelin' for a smoke!"
The arrival of Santa was a great dream to me.
I looked up and shouted, "Aye! What de scene?"
Santa said, "There's no chimney. I'm all out of luck!"
I said, " This is Trinidad, you stupid f***!
Yuh ramgoats better not crap on my roof!"
Santa jumped down, and fell with a loud BOOF!
When I saw his face, I nearly got a heart attack.
The rumours were right. Santa Claus is BLACK!!!
He was dressed in all mink, from head to feet.
There was gold, silver AND platinum in his teeth.
He really looked like a pimp for so
'Cause he was only saying " HO, HO, HO!"
A bundle of presents he had flung on his back
He looked like a Boboshanti selling nuts in a pack
His cheeks were puffy, his eyes were red.
The man had a big afro on his head!
He had a bullfrog face and a big pot belly
And he had a silver chain ------- an imitation "NELLY".
I said, " If this is really Santa Claus here,
Then tell me all the things I wanted LAST YEAR!"
Santa skinned up his face and said , " Let's see,
You wanted clothes, a mansion, cars and money,
Shoes, a job, a gyul, an XBOX with games,
A pool, a big stereo and some platinum chains
And finally, just to sound "Christmasy"
A partridge in a pear tree, whatever that be."
"You forgot my gifts!" ,I shouted, "You had to be crazy!"
"I was gonna bring them", he said, "but I was feelin' lazy!
Anyways, I heard Trinidad have the best ganja.
So give a little sample to jolly old Santa!"
I gave him "a sample", nicely rolled in brown
I told him, "This is the best SMOKE in town"
"As the natives say", said Santa, "gimme the light!"
I lit the fuse-----------this would f*** him up right!
"What's the name of this?", said Santa, "I got to have some!"
"This", said I, "is what the natives call A SCRATCHBOMB!!"
The explosion startled the dotish old elf
I pulled out the gun and said, "Go f*** yuhself!"
I shot him in the feet, and called out my peeps.
With cutlasses, we planassed him in the street
Even the weed man, with happy refrain,
Shouted happily, "I sprang Santa chain!!"
To finish the job, and feeling real dread,
We stretched his boxers right over his head.
We reached for his sack, our hearts filled with glee
We'll be the richest n!g@$$ in the country!!
My peeps came back with a coalpot, and say:
"We eating flying ramgoat on Christmas Day! Yay!!"
And then we all shouted, as Santa ran into the night:
"Merry Christmas to you. Now get the f*** out meh sight!!"
NOW THAT IS WHAT YUH CALL A CHRISTMAS POEM :D:D:D:D
-
Where is it? My peace. My Calm. My Solace.
I cannot find it, for it has deserted me. Many months I have been neglected its grace. Fill my being with that feeling of ease...
Knowing that I'll be awake and back amidst the fray of world troubles me not. I beg for serenity. Where have you gone to? Why do you leave me? I beg for mercy oncemore...come to me...give me relief afters such times. Give me ease upon my soul that I may be still among clouds of lullabye.
Alas, I remain... Here.... Forgotten... Alone...when all others have drifted off... I still linger...
I call your name and I am blessed with deafening silence. It never could hear me, or are things vice versa, I don't know. I haunt the shadow of night with my presence changing myself into something I may despise, I care no longer for the world, but just to shut my eyes.
Come to me in your overlooked elegance. I need you now. Help me find a balance. Return...I beckon you... sleep.
-
That I love you more than anything
And finally I can admit to myself
That I don?t need you to make me okay.
If you?re gone, the sun will still shine
And the stars will still appear at night
And though my world would be gone,
I?ll know in my heart that this is right
Because God is looking after me
And he knows what?s right
And if me and you were meant to be
We?ll be together again one night
But until then; time will heal my pain
My heart will come together
And I?ll be whole once again.
Though I?ll miss you very much
And my heart would yearn for you
I?ll be stronger after this
All thanks to you.
I wrote this in case one day
You wanted to break up with me
It was meant to make me feel better
It was meant to make me smile
Its intentions are to heal my heart
And give me courage for a little while
Because now my heart's broken
And today is the day you left me
I understand your reasons
But my heart won?t heal easily
Just to let you know,
Because of you
I?m a better person
You made me stronger
And gave me courage
Because of that; my heart is opened longer,
you have hurt me more than anyone I know,
and yet you?ve taught me more than anyone I know
-
Like the lyrics jus flowin now.......nice one...Tha_pong.
The sorrow of love
The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.
And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden of her myriad years.
And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.
-
someting else i was workin on today....
Great White Light.
There's a storm over the great white light
All time is standing still...
Will we be able to tell the difference from daylight and night?
Darkness covers the earth, No stars, no shining moon.
Is this all that it has been worth?
The blackness is a never ending suction, Drawing us into its burning grip...
It won't let go
It will take us on its long terrorizing trip!
Hotter and hotter, its steaming embrace,
Pulling us closer and closer Leaving us nil, without a trace!
Scratching and tearing,
I can't break free,
Within my very soul, it seem as though the light is marrying.
Melting and sliding, My bones have turned to ash.
My time, my life, who was there guiding?
Soon i will feel no more,
As i disappear into the twilight, Traveling deep into its core.
What shall i find on the other-side?
Heaven...hell... Oh, will someone please decide!
-
i made this one last night
I wish I weren´t such a dreamer
who dreams both day and night
I wish I didn´t believe in angels
floating softly through the moonlight
I wish I didn´t believe things were meant to be
or in fate and destiny
I wish I weren´t so romantic
as hopelessly as I am
I wish I weren´t so naïve and ignorant
I wish I didn´t have such a fragile heart
that falls, oh, so easily apart
I wish I hadn´t fallen for you
for I already knew I wouldn´t make it through
If I weren´t such a dreamer
who dreams both day and night
I would live in reality
and keep happiness close in sight
If I didn´t believe in angels fallen from above
I would not see one in every guy I, so-called, 'love'
If I didn´t believe in 'meant to be'
I wouldn´t count so much in fate and destiny
If I weren´t so romantic,
as hoplessly as I am,
I would finally open my eyes
and the world I would understand
If I weren´t so ignorant and naïve
I would not give so much, with nothing to receive
If I didn´t have such a fragile heart
I would like it to stay that way
without you breaking it apart
If I didn´t fall for you
I wouldn´t feel so down and blue
If I wasn´t the person I turned out to be
you would NEVER get the best of me!
-
If you ask me why i retreated my eyes from
the sweetness of his hand on your face.
You will assemble my silence like soldiers
waiting for their death, walking to their dying.
And my mind will march forward to a destined plot
inside the earth, with my arms and my badge
of love, to seek the final friendship with worms.
If you ask me why I squinted my eyes, as if the wind
winged passed me and my soul like a bullet.
Then you will charge a fortress of white flags
on a crimson sky without finding resistance.
What command do you want me to execute to
find refuge in such assault? What tactics do
you want from me to counter such force that
routed me to the trenches of my solitude?
If you ask me, I shall offer my hand, too,
in the bitter ground of despair and loneliness.
I will seek you in the shadow of the moon;
the landscape of disgorged thoughts.
But death submits everything, even my words.
And you will inherit me, like my earth which inherited
my bones and my bullets, and my soft hand.
And you shall have them, if you ask me, with
my battalion of futile poems that once circled your face
-
Broken-Hearted, can't stop crying
When will I be ok?
I miss your voice, I miss your touch
The pain won't go away.
Broken-Hearted, always sad
I don't know what to do.
I try to think of other things,
But can't stop thinking of you.
Broken-hearted, feeling alone
I need you here with me.
Why can't things be the way they were?
What is it I don't see?
this poemis ppl who got their hearts broken by a girl or boy
Broken-Hearted, I can't go on,
'Cuz without you I might die.
Please just give me one more chance,
I promise I won't lie!
-
very, very nice....
obviously a heart felt composition.....
-
Life was so easy
When I was small
But now that I'm grown
It's not easy at all
My parents are fighting
I hear them call each other names
Every time they get mad
I'm the one they blame
I hear my mom scream in pain
As she is struck by my dad
I remember thinking to myself
"Boy, he must be mad"
I hear him start to come to find me
My body fills with fear
I hear his footsteps stop, and think
"Oh, no! He's almost here!"
The doorknob slowly turns around
I dive under my bed
That was the moment I realized
That my mom was dead
All went dead quiet
I thought he had gone
I peeked out from under the bed
But oh, had I thought wrong
He grinned an evil grin at me
And grabbed me by the arm
Then I knew there was no way
I could escape his harm
He beat me and kicked me
And threw me onto the floor
And once he was done
He calmly walked out the door
As I lie here bleeding
On the verge of death
I know that I will be with God
So it's all for the best
I feel my eyelids start to close
Oh, this must be it
Perhaps when I am up in Heaven
I will not be hit
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to write is to give a piece of yourself
and i have given enough of myself
i feel its time
time to die
-
here my love story and tell me what u think
Come on take my hand, show me you're no longer afraid,
The memories are still there and our hearts are still linked somehow.
I asked you if you wanted to go back to the way things used to be,
But now I understand, it's no longer me that holds that special key.
That's our star we made many wishes upon, and the sky
We used to sit and stare at, that was our park we used to walk
So many times around, and can you see, that was our bench where
We would lay together and tell our dreams our wishes... that's our star.
Show me again how dreams come true, Though I know your love is
with someone else, I wonder why you're here with me? Could it be
I still hold a special place too, could my wishes and dreams come true
I don't know how to say goodbye very well, so, I don't think it will be easy.
That's our star we made many wishes upon, and the sky
We used to sit and stare at, that was our park we used to walk
So many times around, and can you see, that was our bench where
We would lay together and tell our dreams our wishes... that's our star.
I guess this is it, so final it is, I will miss the joy and happy times
we once shared. Maybe I was wrong this was a little easier than I thought
I think it's because I know your in love and now so am I again
you hold the key to our past and our star.. Can we wish again,
tell me will it come true, I shall wish nothing more than to be back with you...
That's our star we made many wishes upon, and the sky
We used to sit and stare at, that was our park we used to walk
So many times around, and can you see, that was our bench where
We would lay together and tell our dreams our wishes... that's our star
-
cool...it reminded me of someone......i lost....a long time ago
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ooooooooooooooooooo thats ah hard lock scene..........................there are always more fishes in the sea and most likely one of them will like u
-
For a lost friend.......
Your kind heart, smiling face,
Each step you took with such grace,
As now you have left an empty space,
No one can ever take your place.
A grave shame, who were we to blame?
As God came, taking you away,
All we do now is pray, not knowing what to say,
On the 11th of November, our last day.
Our heads are bowed low, the pain trying not to show,
Sitting here reminiscing, we began missing,
Our brother, our friend, we can no longer pretend,
As much as we hate it, he's dead.
You have reached eternal life, forever free,
A journey we will all take,
As you stare down and smile,
Awaiting our arrival.
For now your memory still shines bright,
Inside us all, not allowing us to fall.
As we all stand tall, the way you would want it to be,
As once more I will see your face,
No One Can Ever Take Your Place!
-
I know this pain well......
Longing..
I’m so sad and lonely
I can barely catch my breath
The thought of being alone again
Scares me half to death
I want what I can’t have
I don’t want what’s mine
I’m getting older every day
Running out of time
Can’t make a bad decision
Because I hate to be alone
But I feel that’s where I’m headed
If I pick up that phone
Lord, send me my angel
One who knows my hopes and dreams
Who loves me more than anyone
Who loves me just for me
I miss just holding hands
Speaking without a word
Sharing all the little things
Knowing I’ve been heard
It seems worse to me right now
Because I’ve had love before
I know just what I’m missing
And it makes me need it more
I’ll hold on tighter this time
Finally, now I know
Lord, send me my angel
I promise I won’t let go
-
that is a good poem for ppl who has lost their friends.............excelent poem
-
To Mother.....
You brought me life and gave me love
You took my hand and showed me the heavens above
You caressed my face with your warm touch
I didn't know I would love you so much
You walked me through life, good times and bad
Remember those times when you were there for me when I was sad?
You held me tight and wiped away all my tears
When you were there I had nothing more to fear
You stayed by my side until I was asleep
You were my mother, my friend, forever to keep...
I love you, Mom!
-
beautiful poem i will send that to my mother................ hear this one
Destiny
I once met someone who told me to believe in a thing called destiny.
At first I was reluctant to buy into that destiny theory
but if you saw what I did when she spoke....
It was like time stood still
and all I could see was the beauty of her face.
Have you ever looked at someone and sworn
that there was a glow around him or her as if it were angelic?
Has someone ever touched you and made your whole body freeze
because of the excitement you felt run through you?
When I looked into her eyes, it was like staring into eternity
The best way to describe it...
was looking into the depths of my very own soul,
seeing a part of me I have never seen... through her eyes.
It was like being blind and all of a sudden
being given the gift of sight.
The hardest part of the whole thing was having to say good night.
All I wanted to do was grab her and never let her go
but who was I fooling.
No one can hold a star without getting burned,
No one can look at the sun for too long without going blind,
No one can hold his breath for long...
without drowning in the ocean of her eyes.
When I think about her, I don?t think about her incredible beauty-
I think about the way she has touched my heart,
the way she touched my soul,
the way she convinced me to believe in destiny.
I thank her for opening my eyes.
-
You hid your secret so deep inside that it didn't show.
You were so sweet and happy, how were we supposed to know?
Now you're gone, and we're too late.
Our hearts are filled with woe, frustration, and hate.
Your voice and our memories continue to fade.
I wish there were some way I could change the choice you made.
I want you to still be here, even as a ghost.
By ending your pain, you took what we needed most.
Anything sad will remind us and bring all the pain back.
There's no escape from the anguish in our hearts that is black.
Why couldn't you have just hung in there?
Why did you just not care?
No words could ever express the deep sadness in our eyes.
It's just too much to bear when someone you love dies.
-
Work overflows and breaks like waves upon a rock. Not too bad people. Too bad I have little time for compositions. I'll be trying some freestyle when I get some time.
-
ok but ppl like they cant make up some thing to post cuz me and chaos are the only ones comin up with some poems. come ppl lets see some work
-
I dreamed of you last night
And in that dream
I saw your face, hands and body
I can't believe it but I know it's you.
It's you that I longed to see and feel
To touch your face
Your lips touching mine
And feel your arms around me.
I know it's crazy
But deep in my heart, I know it's true
That the man that I've been waiting for
Has finally come and conquered my heart.
The thoughtfullness and caring
Which I always see in your eyes
The love and tenderness
I always feel in the touch of your hand.
If dreaming of you
Is the only way I can see and feel you
I would gladly wish
That I will never be awakened,
just to be with you.
-
She was staring out the window
Thinking 'bout the life she's led
Wondering if she can face
The things that lie ahead
She had always been a brave one
Never one for looking back
But this time it was different
And she began to pack
It's not as easy as before
And she was younger then
She's got more baggage now
But she remembers when
When she believed in starting over
When everything was new
When her pride was stronger
When she knew just what to do
Now leaving's not so easy
There have been some tears since then
No longer foot loose and fancy free
But she remembers when.
-
Deep...........that is what is wrong with a lot of women today.....they let some jerk make them feel like less than nothing and then they feel trapped........i like it.
-
Drops of drizziling rain
fall down upon
my window pane,
hitting the window
with a pitter patter sound,
which continues to hit
until the rain dies down.
the rain, it gradually
fades away.
alone with all
the clouds of grey
in the sky i see
a rainbow appear
through my window
which is now
dry and clear.
-
yeah it just came out after i did alot of thinkin no biggy
-
wuh d @$$ like is only 2 writers it have or wuh? dey so dread they take over d thread...godess care to comment..
-
Hmm,them men buss it down like rammstein there.Sehnsuct(Longing) and Mutter(Mother)
-
Lack of internet time makes for little compostion and post time.
2 min freestyle-here goes:
I cower in fear
those bodies around me
those glittering claws
those angry eyes
I seem to have done them wrong...
As the poem goes:
'I shot an arrow into the air...'
'Where it landed-I know not where...'
The circle closes.
My air gets thin,
as I feel my heart
press against my chest.
Adrenaline pumps,
but nowhere to run...
nowhere to go...
nowhere to hide...
My death is at hand...
Next time I know better...*gulp*
Hey I was bored and I had 5 mins...dunno if its enough to consider an attempt...
-
I seein some real boss poetry goin on here, i myself havent posted anything cause ive been busy and so forth, i dunno really why DG not posting anything, i think she is abandoning it.
-
lol@chaos's and ak's monopoly
lord, where the rest of allyuh, i didn't have time recently, sorry
here's some freestyle, so it gonna suck, but say what
I see the clouds,
I feel the air,
Gone is the crowd,
Just me and my fear.
I see the faint stars,
It is now time,
My spirit has gone too far,
No more flipping the dime.
I see the truth,
I feel the rain,
I must go back to my roots,
and stop trying to fain.
I stand alone,
Let me feel the rain,
I have broken the dome,
I leave all my bane.
-
I seein some real boss poetry goin on here, i myself havent posted anything cause ive been busy and so forth, i dunno really why DG not posting anything, i think she is abandoning it.
Pinkie Honey do NOT make me hurt you.
how dare you say such a thing.
yes i know i havnt been posting but i dont have any pieces on this comp, however i am returning to t'dad friday and hopefully i can then post stuff.
btw, no one critiqued the last bit i posted :P
i recently found something i wrote a couple years ago, and its all i currently have that is on this comp that has not been posted. It has no title.
I want the wind to lift me off my feet and carry me away.
I want to feel the freedom of the heights,
Feel the icy air caress my hair and run his fingers along my scalp.
I want to leave troublesome emotions behind and soar along the zephyrs.
My cares are gone,
There is nothing but the cold breeze and the clouds,
There is nothing but the bliss of seeing the world beneath my feet.
There is nothing but exhilaration as I race through the sky
My ears ring with the whistles of the wind,
My hair is wild from his touch
My breath is harsh and there is a smile on my face.
I stretch my arms and wiggle my fingers
I begin to plummet, to fall back to the earth.
I lift my arms in sweet surrender and let myself fall
-
wonderful poem DG,
the dream-state setting feels like a burst of fresh air
it has a interactive feel, and the figures of speech work very well to accomplish this
very good work chaos and ak_neo
bringing back bad memories
but keep it up,, cuz no one else is
-
(this is my character's story, kinda long but say what...Enjoy!!) :lol:
The Story of Zerokun: The Cybernetic Warrior of the New World...
It's the 25th century...to be precise, the year 2467. The world of robots...called Mecha has been decimated by the greatest war known to all robot kind, the Robo Wars, but this is not where the story begins. Our story begins 4 decades ago, in the year 2427, before this ominous battle, this world called Mecha was a flourished, technological world filled with various types of mecha. All ranging from robotic soldiers to mechanical servants but what is most surprising that humans coexisted peacefully with the robots. One of the human families were the Katsuragi's, Mr. Osata Katsuragi, 26 years of age was a robotic scientist for one of the major manufacturing factories in the city of Harakuja.
Mrs. Sakura Katsuragi, 24 years of age was also into the field of robotics, but developed A.I. software for most of the cybers in the city. Both of these people were well known in Harakuja, and were also praised for some of their greatest creations known to human and robotic kind. And both their children were fast on becoming famous as well, one of them was young Akamatsu Katsuragi of 18 years, who attended school at the greatest college known to the city, the Otoku Migata College, home of robotics and miscellaenous topics. The other is Miyu Katsuragi, 16 years old, whom with her brother, attends the same school, with almost the same subjects as him, Robotics, Advanced Mathematics, Physics, Nuclear Physics and other subjects.
Ever since Osata created his latest creation, the most powerful robot soldier known to mankind, the Makoro Prototype 3 or simply the Makoro soldier, while there was the previous types 1 and 2, they were inferior to Type 3, in both structure and in firepower, the Harakuja government offered him a contract to construct an army of at least 1000 Makoro soldiers, they said that this army would be used for the good of both human and robotic kind, but they thought otherwise. Reluctantly, Osata agreed to this contract and decided to maunfacture them under two conditions; one was that he would have every single ounce of resouce at his disposal for the construction of these robots and two was that no matter what happens, his family would be under the protection of the Robotic Army also known as the Repliforce. Sakura was against this and urged Osata not to do it, but it was too late for her. Akamatsu and Miyu were also against this because the Repliforce army was mostly involved in 'shady', secretive missions and other dirty stuff...
Five years later, the Makoro Army Force was completed, 1000 fully assembled Makoro soldiers were widely used in mostly wars against other cities and nations, and as a added bonus, Osata created two other robots, with their own personalities, and both modified from the Makoro type 3, named Ninkatsu and Omatsu. Both of which were powerful in every aspect of their designs, and with different specialties, Ninkatsu was primarily a short ranged fighter, using two energy sabers, both on each of his shoulders and his his abilities were heightened agility, lightning quick reflex action, and also a strategic mind, in addition his body structure was made of an impervious titanium alloy. As for Omatsu, he was a long range and short ranged fighter, equipped with a portable plasma cannon on each of his arms which he could arm only by thought, and also a energy baton at his side. These two powerful warriors were the commanders of the entire Repliforce Army, which made them very dangerous.
A few years after, Harakuja was known as 'the City of the Demon Army', for the Repliforce Army could never be beaten, not even by the most powerful robots and cybers in the world. This was becoming a serious situation for all citizens of Harakuja for most of the families had realtives in the other cities, and when he heard of this, Osata went to the Harakuja government at the Central Tower, the government's place of power...
"Why have you used my creations for war!? You swore to use that army for the good of both human and robotic kind....Why!? Why would you go back on word!? Why dammit!!?"
As the government officials watched each other...they turned back to Osata and answered blatantly...
"...We lied...the use of your creations as an army was inevitable...Sorry if we've hurt your feelings but such is the way of life..."
Stunned by the officials' response, Osata shouted...
"Then in that case, i WILL NOT build anymore robots to serve your tendancy for warfare..."
But one of the officials interrupted...
"That will not be accomplished so easily, for we have already deciphered the blueprints of your so called 'creation' and now we can build the army on our own...So we have no need for you anymore. Good day, Mr. Katsuragi..."
And with that, the government officials faded into the dark background and disappeared, the disappointed and sorrowed Osata, on his knees muttering to himself...
"My god...What have i done!? Have i sealed the fate of us all?? This cannot be!!"
-
Story sounds rather close to mega man.....
-
thanks but no, i doh think so...
and besides, this is only piece of the story, it isn't quite complete yet...
-
finaly some ppl start to post some thing cuz i was gettin feddup goin compitition with chaos...............i mean he not easy when it come to this kinda ting
-
Part of a Story.
Banishment? From heaven’s gates they have sentenced him. Banishment! Say not death? When word arrived, if he could have shed tears, he would have. Perhaps even more. The floodgates of the depths of Hades would have been released. The trees themselves would have swayed and the animals mourned for him. The earth would have shook and it’s people shared in his sorrow.
He wondered so many things in such a small span of time; about life, and death. The pieces of phrases that he muttered, if picked up at all, seemed as frivolous babble. And rightfully so. He was in shock, and pain. A sense of confusion had overtaken him, none the likes of which he had felt before. The gods themselves were harsh, but only towards humans. On the whole, they were generous to their own, or so he reasoned. Humility would prevail in such a situation, along with cunning, or tact, as he preferred.
But it wasn’t before long, and without realization, that he was moved from captivity to a large white room, emitting the holiness of the gods. He had never been in this particular room. It was forbidden, for him. A courtroom, used for the judgment of crimes against the gods. The room was laid with little furniture. One table of gold and ivory, of which his judges sat. He stood patiently before them. The peaceful appearance, however, did not comfort him. Side by side they sat, Esedes and Angalito, upon elevated seats of much refined gold. They were princes and judges acting under the head of the almighty Romisal. Both were clad in white and the very essence about them appeared clean and perfect.
“Angelus, son of Amacles,” first spoke Angalito. “Honorable, indeed, was your father. Truthfully, I tell you, humans are forbidden in such a realm. Because of dire times, however, exceptions were made. Your father was the first man to ever set foot, not be his heart, within our gates. You, Angelus, are the second.”
Esedes kept silent. After a long pause, Angalito continued.
“The dire times have long come to an end, and we have had very little need for your services. And though you have proved through word and deed that you have rightfully earned a place amongst us, it is so no longer.”
“You became greedy and presumptuous,” broke in Esedes. “And you took from what was not yours.
His tone was more harsh and condemning than his brother’s.
“From the mouth of the god’s you dared to take ambrosia for yourself, to become like one. Death maybe too kind for you, or maybe not hard enough. Therefore, banishment is your course.”
“Banishment?” Angelus cried, knowingly. “Do not send away your own. I have abandoned my house and the home of my family to follow where my father lived. My own years have been spent serving the god’s and I have become well trained. An executioner and a messenger of death I am. Even into the most scornful of places, such as the Earth, where Hell’s regions lie below, and I have gone into its depths time and time again.
“What a hideous thing I have done. Indeed! My sorrows stretch to the ears of Annubis himself, that in such a place as Hell, he may hear and have pity. And to the Admist, who shall hear this disgusting thing of mine and feel sympathy from my cries of remorse. Alas, I wish to continue to serve under you. Therefore, do not say ‘banishment’, beg you. Rather, send me east, even with Admist, that I may serve him to his liking. If even Diablos were alive, I would plead to serve him that I may return to this my home and be with my brothers and sisters, who I am fond of, though not bonded by blood.”
“You speak of Alma?” Angalito asked. Esedes stared and could only watch the silent Angelus. For his part, Angelus could not bring himself to answer Angalito. Perhaps it had been shame that had overtaken him. Angelus was not a humble man used to begging before others and the mention of Alma may have added to his embarrassment.
“But I wonder,” he said. “Have you really abandoned you house and home to be content here? Romisal has not graced us with his presence. Therefore it is not for us to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. You have already been sentenced and there is no turning back. Romisal thought that he was doing you a kind deed by returning you to your home. Now I see it is a fitting punishment. For you find disgust in your own kind. You speak of earth as a ‘scornful place’. And, look! From there is where you have come, and to there you will return. To Earth you will head, and your first task is to relieve Annubis of his duties.”
“I…” Angelus cringed, even the thought of the words in his mouth disgusted him. “I b..beg you. Please.”
“You will take his place.” Esedes said. “But be warned, Romisal will not look as kindly if the humans die off, as fragile beings as they are. Does the word ‘banishment’ not find favor in your eyes? Then it shall not be used. Instead, let the sentencing read, then, this way, ‘Angelus, now called Exodus, a self-made god, who was sent away never to return’.”
-
nice stories
Showtime's story seems pretty good, the mixture of Gods is kinda strange though
Hades, Diablos and Annubis
i guess it's original
i like Zero-X's story, it is very detailed and truly creates a world well
it's not something that is greatly original, but it isn't made from anything alone that i know of
here's a poem by me
Why?
-Kishan Solomon
Why are my eyes wet?
Because my pain is marked with tears.
Why do I wipe them off?
So I may hide my fear.
Whay am I distant when close?
Because I am always alone.
Why do I talk so little?
No one wants to hear me moan.
Why do I like such insignificant things?
They are magnified mirror image of me.
Why do I love all in the sky?
That's all I want to see.
Why do I like to go by myself?
There's less people there.
Why do I hate so much?
I don't, I just don't care.
Why do I dwell on the past?
Because the past dwells on me.
Why am I still alive?
Because I am the key.
Why do I lose everyone?
Because it is easy to get lost.
Why don't I give up?
I have already paid the cost.
Why do I keep my head up high?
So in my sea of troubles, I may not drown.
Why do I keep my head so low?
So that I may hide the frown.
Copyright of Polios Productions
-
As I lay here beside you
Looking into your beautiful eyes
My aching heart breaks in two
For I know this is really good-bye
As the stars shine down from up above
Casting an illuminating glow,
You pull me even closer to you
And ask me- why I have to go
Before I have a chance to answer
Your soft lips press against mine
And all our emotions building up inside
Show through in that kiss, divine
You softly whisper that you love me
And a tear slips down my cheek
I love you with all my heart and soul
More than words could ever speak
As we kiss with intense emotions
To you, my soul tries to convey
The many things that are on my mind
All my heart is wanting to say...
"Thank you for coloring my world
Your smile always brightened my day
You are my ray of sunshine
Whenever my skies are gray"
"Thank you for your friendship
Which gave our love a base
A foundation that we built upon
Leaving us memories no distance can erase"
"I'll never forget our phone calls
That lasted late into the night
No matter how the day had gone
Just hearing your voice made everything right"
"We could tell each other anything
There are so many secrets between just us two
You opened up your heart to me
And I opened mine to you"
"Thank you for all the stolen glances
And conversations with just our eyes
That let me look into your soul
And always made my spirit rise"
"Thank you for the tears we shared
When suddenly things went wrong
We've been through SO much together
And I've loved you all along"
"Our problems brought us closer together
Something I thought was impossible to do
And it was then I realized
How much our love was true"
"Thank you for all the hugs and kisses
That let me know how much you care
When words could not say how you felt
I knew that you would always be there"
"Thank you for all our special moments
Loving looks, kisses, and intimacy
Our times together, I'll always treasure
My endless love you'll always be"
"Thank you for all the passion
You take my breath away
I'll miss all your sweet caresses
In your arms is where I want to stay"
Thank you for all the romance
You always knew how to melt my heart
I'll never forget my life with you
Even when we're miles apart"
"Thank you for your love
And for teaching me how to love too
There will always be a special place in my heart
A place where I'll always love you"
"But now I am forced to move away
Leaving you and my heart behind
I'll eventually HAVE to let go to move on
But I know you will always be on my mind"
"It will be so hard for me to let go
I'll never forget the times we've shared
You mean more to me than life itself
No one else will ever compare"
"But if I ever fall in love again
(A thought I cannot comprehend)
I will still love you, but in a different way
For you will always be my best friend"
"I hope you know how much you've meant to me
And how much you always will
As the time comes to go, there's a void in my heart
An emptiness that no one can ever fill."
The clock strikes midnight
It's time for this two year fairy tale to end
We hold each other close and kiss a final kiss
And whisper, "We'll always be best friends"
There's one more thing I must say
As tears now flow with ease
I'll never forget you, my first true love,
Thank you for the memories...
-
As I look at the stars at night
and dream of what is to be...
My heart begins to smile
for it is you I see.
Knowing that you're close
but yet so far away.
I dream of you at night
and think about you every day.
For every moment without you
seems like an eternity.
I dream of the day we kiss
and I can hold you close to me.
So until that day comes
you'll always be on my mind.
And I will love you till the end
till the end of time.
-
wow that one was long.
great stuff there by showtime and the rest, i agree the mix of gods is odd, but it works. Well i back home, later than i thought, yet also earlier. I will dig around in my stash of unfinished stuff and see if i can drag out a decent excerpt or two.
Hopefully it can match the other stuff i've seen :shock:
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nice stories
i like Zero-X's story, it is very detailed and truly creates a world well
it's not something that is greatly original, but it isn't made from anything alone that i know of
well at least someone likes my story, makes me feel to finish it...if i can get my mind rollin on it...
-
Vigard Haze: Psychic Swordsman
“I’m bored, I wonder If anything exciting will happen soon?” Vigard questioned himself as he sauntered along. He is normally quite content with his ordinary life and the fact that he happened to ask himself this induces premonitions within him. He spies a town in the distance and thinks to himself, “I wonder if there are any nice girls?” For such a trained warrior his weakness is a quite regular one; intelligent, attractive women. “It’s time for me to get off this road, I seem to have been walking so long that my sword is getting heavy!” he mused, for we all know that the Mental-Blade style he has self-taught does not entail him physically carrying the sword.
He finally enters the town and shoots straight to the nearest hotel, which happens to be a hotel/bar call the Ristia. The sign looks to be outfitted with neon lights, which he notices even thought they aren’t readily visible during the day. He enters the building, takes two steps and realizes he has somehow captured the attention of everyone in the room. Why shouldn’t he? His slender-muscled 18-year old body, deep blue clothes and back-mounted sword totally clashed with the hotel’s “chic” theme and pinstriped business clientele, not to mention his signature melancholy demeanor in such a place of great enjoyment.
“Too rich for my blood.” he mutters as he turns to leave. He then notices a beautiful girl to his left getting an eyeful of him and winks at her. “My training is starting to pay off, I better kick it up a notch”. Vigard has always been obsessed with how he looks and is constantly trying to improve himself, maybe with good reason, maybe without. He leaves the hotel and continues on his way through the town. He soon spots a smaller, more humble Inn and decides to bed there for the night…
Thinking about how to improve himself, physically, mentally, emotionally… constant sporadic, lateral thoughts swirling, spreading, culminating at a recurring climax where he feels utter frustration and clenches his fist, flashes of people, places… feelings of love, attraction, decisions left in abeyance, rage at himself for being so pathetic or so in his own sight, great desire to understand, great desire for savoir-faire, to be a hero or to just not be so regular. Then the pain; a pulsating rhythm of noise, waves of agony. Then a feeling of difference; just knowing that something inside you has greatly changed.
Vigard awakens from a dream of the night he unlocked his innate mental abilities. “That night when staring at the ceiling… Nothing can describe it… I don’t think I will ever lose this dream… I just wished I hadn’t discovered by pulling my shoe smack-dab into the middle of my face…” Vigard chuckled, rolled over and returned to the land of dreams.
-
damn need to get my pc back up and working
got my short stories
and my novella on there
hmmm
damn it!
curse little brothers everywhere!
-
how come nobody writin any haiku?? anyone ever try that?
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cuz ppl like they like love poetry
-
She's not exactly part of my family, but she's my best friend... and to me that’s close enough! We are VERY close! She is always there for me and she always knows what to say!
Best Friend
We had a three-way friendship going on. There was this other girl who keeps trying to break us to apart. She will tell my other friend something I said- and I never said it! Then she will tell me something that my Best friend didn't say. The problem started when Brooke and I became such good friends. Apparently she gets jealous and tries to separate us.
-
if ppl not postin plenty on this forum and i and i have poems and stories to express i goin and post plenty
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When we were little,
I would share my milk with you
before we took our naps;
...just so I could play with you.
When we were teens,
I listened as you talked about your boyfriends,
(and thought of us together);
...just to ease your mind.
When we grew older,
I helped you move into his house
(and wished you were going to mine);
...just to make you comfortable.
When you got married,
I gave my best friend away
(and kept my heart hid);
...just to see you happy.
As you lay there, so very sick,
I whisper how beautiful you are
(because it's still true);
...just to see you smile.
-
I heard a sound today, my friend,
Such a sound I heard
Like angels singing in my heart
Like children playing in the park
Like babbling streams through misty dark
'Twas such a sound I heard
I heard a sound today, my friend,
Such a sound I heard
Like cry I heard from my first born
Like bluebirds call in early morn'
Like velvet silence before a storm
'Twas such a sound I heard
I heard a sound today, my friend,
Such a sound I heard
That sound I heard... it was my Choice
Now I'm in love with your sweet voice...
Forgive me!
-
Magic, Bright, Eternity,
No man can make his own,
Striving to live his life,
Strange is the thing one does,
Black, Darkness, Upon his soul,
Straining the heart, Slow poison,
An ache so deep the soul hurts,
A slow and soft tune played,
A sad melody of downfall,
The stench grows unbearable,
Eyes closed, mind rotten through,
Greed, Desire, Hate, Jealousy,
Attack with force upon the body,
Pain, Great pain of burden,
Why must it be so,
When can it go, to leave in peace,
Never to return to destroy.
Eyes stare deeply into space,
Silently combing the vast universe,
A sensation, A feeling of dread,
Racing in despair, The heart beats,
He must take what he receives,
What was earned by him,
This it is to be, or is it?,
Questions that come to mind,
Non that are answered and may never be,
To him who follows the material,
Wanting what he sees,
Never seeing the light of the spiritual,
The spirit within him,
A spirit of love,
A spirit free.
-
let's put it this way, poems are more expressive than haiku...
-
For that special someone.......
Every night before the lights out,
I say a silent prayer.
My hands clasped firmly together,
I thank God that you are there.
With daily troubles in and out,
Your arms are like an overcoat I wear.
With my eyes closed and my head bowed,
I thank God he put you here.
And with all my heart I say to him,
"Thank you, Lord, for to me he is very dear."
My fingers begin to loosen,
My eyes still tightly closed,
My head has slightly lifted,
As I say just one last thing.
I say, "Lord, before I go to sleep,
And wake up to the heaven's above,
I just wanted to tell you,
Lord, thank you for sending me love!"
-
Love and betryal..........
At night I sit and watch the stars,
in hopes of knowing who you are.
I search deep inside my soul,
but I suppose I'll never know.
In the beginning you gave me light,
now all we ever do is fight.
I used to believe our love was true,
now I think my eyes are permanently black and blue.
People said we would never end,
and although you are gone, you'll be back again.
What do I do when you come home,
do I take you in –or let you go?
I used to be strong enough to say good-bye.
The pain I feel now makes me want to try.
I loved you so much that I couldn't let go,
but there are so many things you'll never know.
Like the way I feel when you get mad,
or the cuts and bruises that hurt so bad.
I've reached out for help, and no one is there,
sometimes I wonder if anyone cares.
I try to hide what the mirror sees,
and friends can't always see through me.
I made it pretty far,
acting as if I know who you are.
I thought the pain would never end,
so I began my last descent.
Believe it or not, this much is true,
it hurt less than to be with you.
Now I sit and look down at the stars,
and I still wonder who you are.
-
From the First time i met You..........
From the first time I met you,
I knew my dreams would come true
if it was just me and you.
When the first time we kissed I knew it was you
because I never felt this feeling inside
until I met you.
People said we wouldn't make it,
then the next thing I knew
you told me you love me so.
You come into my dreams at night
and I can't get you out of my mind.
I think about you all of the time.
Right now I am just realizing
how much I love you
and want to be with you.
Months have gone by
and we are still going strong
and I feel that you are the one.
You are the most perfect person
I have ever known and I hope you know
I will always love you so.
You inspire me and help my hopes and dreams come true.
You always know what to say or do
when I am feeling blue.
We have a lot of obstacles to overcome together,
in the future. When it is all over and done,
I hope you'll say I am the one.
People have tried to interfere with what we have.
But when it was all over and done I thought to myself...
"If we made it though this
then I know you are the one."
You are so understanding and independent, you do your own thing.
You don't care what other people say or think.
You set goals, aim high and you always know the right thing to do.
I am so proud of you.
Now you're off to college
I trust you not to leave me behind
in the search for your future
that you will soon find.
-
Breaking Up..
Chewed up
Spit out
This is how I feel
Someone please pinch me
so I can tell if this is real
My eyes are like deserts,
bare and dry
Till I think just one thought of him
and I begin to cry
I guess it's better off this way...
me and him apart
but when I think of who he'll love next
my eyes get cold and dark
Deep down I feel my heart breaking-
When will this pain end?
Till the day he comes back to me
and we're in love again
-
trust me....i have a lot of time on my hands to come up with these things.......i hope they aint all bad......
-
this is a song i wrote called.....PRE-FIX
Do you want to choose everything
And discard it when you're gone
When you lose everything
You blame ity on GOD
Touch the face of your dreams
And know that you'll be gone
From one into another
Screams until you're gone
Too bad you cant remember
What i say to you now
When i teach you to remember
You always forget somehow
When you're sus's light dies
And back
To corners shadows creep
You'll find that only half your life
You've ever lived
And thats when you wrer asleep
Don't turn away from day
That's the only time you'll see me
Don't forget times of yesterday
You might die in your dreams
Don't try to run
Don't try to hide
Don't push it away
Don't f* it away
No time to scorn
Cause it was already born
Don't let the things you hate come into your head
Cause what you dont want before your gate you'll find beneath your bed!
-
Hey Dark Goddess...this thread is cool.
I'll be back whit some more stuff
-
Another song...CONFESSIONS AND CONSTILATIONS
i could never believe
that a star could glow
bright enough
to cast the moon in its shadow
what seemed like a shooting star
is now a meteor
a profound connection
lost in a second
longing for confession
will the truth ever spill.....
into my heart
a shooting star no matter how glorious
vanishes in the beat of a heart
letters written in the ink of your own black heart
lose themselves as i lost myself in you
it took so long for my eyes to adjust
to the absence of your radiance
as for now
i wait
unseen
by all the world
illuminate my life once again
i beg of you
so let it be known and shut the door
on your way out of my life
cause you can look at me and say
that you think it's better this way
the end
* in pre-fix the word "sus's" is really sun's
-
As love’s bleeding fingers clenched a tight fist around my heart, the tears began their long and salty course down my cheeks.
Yet again, I recalled the deafening sound of bullets hailing towards us in torrents, as both my parents slumped lifelessly to the pavement with one heavy thud after another. Despite the sharp pain this brought, I shook my head vigorously, desperately trying to shake those images free, without much success. Another painful memory. I was screaming in confusion and fear as I flung myself onto my knees, next to my parents’ bullet-ridden bodies.
Next thing I knew, the sound of screaming sirens broke into my confused thoughts, and I become numbly aware of someone trying to pry my fingers loose from my mother’s arm. As the two stretchers were deftly placed into the ambulance, I caught a brief glance of my father’s face. What I saw made my heart go cold. It was a look of a face that was briefly touched by death.
Now at my parent’s funeral service, like moving pictures in my head, the memories kept coming back to me. Ever since that night of senseless assassination, I had to wonder, how come I was still alive. Was it because God decided it wasn’t yet my time? Why my parents? And why? Oh why, did I have to be deprived of my parents to be left alone on this cold, heartless earth? I drove myself to the brink of frustration and insanity trying to come to terms with these questions that would never be answered.
I even began having dreams at night. Dreams that my parents were both still alive; but that is why a dream is called a dream; because it could never become a reality
-
nice work guys...i might try the story thing and give the poems a rest...maybe.
-
This place was beautiful in June - green and wild. He drove along the coast keeping his mind fixed upon the lovely time him and his newly wedded wife will enjoy for the weekend. Through the open windows of the car, they could hear the water hurl itself against the rocks. Passion, romance, excitement - the sound expressed all three. From time to time there were wildflowers along the roadside, tough little blossoms that could barely stand up peaked through the worn out rocks that glistened near the shoreline, they saw functional beauty in this place. He was so fuddled with the environment he did not even notice the absolute silence held by his wife.
“ Sweetheart…What’s the matter?”
“ Hey its nothing…just can’t believe we’re married”
He arched is brows giving her a slightly considering glance, scanning her face thoroughly and then glued his eyes once more on the roads with a broad smile casted on his lips. She tightened her thick tartan shawl over her shoulders and cuddled closer to him resting her head on his strong, soft yet masculine arm. Nothing could be better than this he thought our parents will never find out and we are not young, we will be together forever.
The two teenagers turned the corner. The sight that met their eyes was one that they would never be able to forget. Susanna screamed out loudly detaching her head from the protective arms as Mark stopped the car and grabbed her covering her face.
“ Nooo…” tears bustled down her cheeks that were boiling in grief.
“ Mark tell me that’s not mom please…please…please…” she was crying hysterically and he did not know what to do. The sight devoured his heart and knowing it was Susanna’s mother.
Susanna sprinted out of the car and ran towards the scene, Mark followed her and held her in his arms. She felt a cold rush to her cheeks, and stood rooted to the spot. Oh, my God, was all she could think. The car was crumpled into a nearby tree and her mother lay in the middle of the road face covered with blood and pieces of metal protruding her body. Her eyes were wide open together with her mouth which flooded out in blood, her arms were sore, her bones look crushed and the metals pierced their way though her abdomen. Susanna pelted herself to her knees and held her head in her arms screaming helplessly, she was loosing it she felt to die, she wanted to go with her mother. Police officers at the scene investigating the matter tried to control her. It was impossible.
Mark was speechless and paralyzed with fear. He could do nothing, only feel sorry. He knew now that his life would be frayed. Susanna would never be the same; this will have an eternal impact on her life. He looked at her she was trembling. As she looked at her mother’s body she criticized herself, I should have never got married, I should have never left, and maybe she was looking for me and ended up dead. All negative thoughts flew through her head. Susanna sighed ran towards her only hope for life and screamed…
“ I am the fault!”
-
I hate to see you like this,
Your pain, depression and anger,
You talk about dying and suicide,
But, my friend, you would be missed.
Life can't be all that bad,
To make you scream and shout,
To hurt and cut yourself,
Think of the good times you've had.
Each day I see you, there are more,
More slits and scratches on your arm,
More pain and hurt inside,
Your arm- so red and sore.
I love you and each day,
I suffer not knowing how to help,
Each night before I sleep I kneel,
"Be here tomorrow, please!" I pray.
-
wait wait wait..this thing happenin again but jus is like gsi ppl taking over this place..wam tuh all ah allyuh other ppl allyuh cyah write oh wuh.wuh is it really goin on jed
-
Boy ...calm yourself nah........demented.....u lookin to get a bad rep. or something???? and g.s.i. not tryin to take over....i just have a thing for writin poems.
-
Hey, i know i been away from this thread a while, but school hasnt given me much time to do any writing.
Thanks luce, nice stuff from you, btw, i like.
chaos and tha_pong and the others have some decent pieces there, not too shabby guys, keep it up.
I would REALLY REALLY REALLY appreciate some more short story/extract type entries, as while this thread was intended for writer's on the whole, i meant more specifically the short story kind as opposed to the poetry, though the poetry we have in this thread is excellent (mostly).
it's beginning to get a lil jumbled, maybe we should start a separate thread for poetry? and stick to one for short stories etc?
keep it up people, and demented, don't make me have to slap you upside that mentally unbalanced head of yours, please.
-
yea yea doh worry im coming out wit some stuff soon jus gotta get my head back on
-
She lay in her hospital bed, golden hair fanned out beneath her, framing delicate shoulders and an oval shaped face.
Tubes ran along her once strong body, now frail with disuse and lack of spirit, leading to needles in her arms, feeding the living corpse.
The monitors beside her kept watch over vital signs, one keeping a rhythmic beat symbolic to her heart.
Her broken heart. Her betrayed heart.
Deep, deep beneath the reaches of consciousness, submerged even from the grasp of sleep, while her body lay at silent rest, her mind swam frantically; seeking, searching; trying to find the water’s edge, trying to find the surface…because in this, the wilderness of her mind, she hears a voice.
The sound of it is all over. She can hear it everywhere, anywhere.
He won’t go away…why won’t he go away.
Because he haunts her.
“She’s been like this for over three weeks,” her brother says, brushing hair from her pale face and adjusting the blankets covering his only sibling.
“What do the doctors say?”
Her best friend. Her second half in so many ways, since they were both little girls in kindergarten. Since before they knew what lies and untruths were.
A true friend.
“They don’t know what to think,” her brother replied, “At least she’s peaceful.”
She ran.
She ran through the dark jungle of thought, fighting with every step the veil that kept her from consciousness.
Fighting the voice of a traitorous, dead lover.
Dead. By her hand.
this is incomplete. but read it for now.
-
roight.
check this.not much of a poem man but i tried
Untitled Poem
I see it before me,
It smells fresh,
I feel a craving,
My heart’s racing,
I reach it,
And bite in,
The juices run,
Down my mouth,
Oh, life can be so,
Splendorous,
It’s done now,
It was short,
I must go,
For I must find another,
Apple.
The Fight
A fight erupts,
What now? ,
Someone asks,
Who? ,
Says another,
A group of boys,
Fighting,
Not for freedom,
Or food,
But for rights,
To a corner,
A sigh of uncaring,
Released from a bystander,
A bottle,
From another,
It’s time,
Time to go,
For the authorities,
Are coming.
-
I’ve read about it in stories
and have seen it in movies
My heart is neither fable nor cinema
but is still playing with a thing called love
I’ve been told that perhaps
it is all a fantasy, that maybe
it was all a dream to think that
things could be what I want them to be
But once upon a time
I fell in love and have yet
to fall from it’s graces, it has
a fierce grip, the pleasure seems
to be worth all the pain
I’ve been told that perhaps
I am a fool for following
the path of gold, for being
the dreamer, for believing
in what one would call the impossible
But, how can I not follow the fortunes
that lure my heart to the edge
of insanity, a certain call of the wild,
an innate emotional sense, a drive
so natural, so instinctive, one so
hard to put into words
The story of my heart is still
in the process of being written,
edited, and rewritten. I wish I had
the power to overwrite what I
perhaps do not like, but I can not,
so I follow the script as best I can
adding my own flavor and spice,
supporting those who choose to
flow with my dramatics and
shortcomings, for no matter how
I old I may be, I am still a novice
at this thing called love
Just like a good book or movie
I want the story to continue,
no matter the cost, it feeds
my heart in full, whether with joy or pain
I do not wish the ending to come
-
Night stirred its inky finger at the ending of the day. The office lights breaking through the windows into the dark night. Desks emptied as people sort to get an early start to the weekend.
She completed the last letter she had to send that day filled in the final figures on the day's spreadsheet and was just about to close down her PC when a message popped up saying she had a new email. She was going to open the email to check what it was when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning round, she looked into the sparkling eyes that belonged to Andy her boss, which as normal set her heart racing.
"Still here?" he said with a smile "Nothing to go home to?"
She smiled back. "Nothing much."
Not as if you were there she thought, then scolded herself in case she let her secret feeling for Andy show.
Andy smiled once more. "Well see you on Monday" And with that left her to her thoughts.
He was so good looking, she thought to herself as she watched his rear disappearing out the door.
With a sigh, she shut of her computer, letting the email wait until Monday, and slowly made her way to the lift. She had nothing to go home to except an empty and lonely house, her husband was a long gone, and good riddance. Her son was at College far away, and all that was there for her, was another lonely night.
She reached the exit of the building, there waiting for her was Mike the security guard. Mike always there with a smile that seemed just for her, understanding her modes and problems sometimes before she herself knew them. Mike whom she could tell anything to, knowing it would go no further and that he would never judge her. As normal he held open the door, his arm almost but not quite touching her as she went bye. "Night Mable, have a good one" he said to her with a smile.
Answering back over her shoulder as she walked to where she had parked her car. "Night Mike, and thank you", blowing him a kiss as normal.
We walked down the now empty parking spaces to where hers was parked, and opened to door to get in the car, when she noticed something on the front window. Moving round, she realized it was a rose, a single red rose placed under one of her wiper blades. Taking it carefully in her hands she looked for a note or something to say whom the rose had been from, but nothing.
She drove home trying to work out in her mind that might have left her the flower. Could it have been Andy, guessing her feeling for him, and letting her know that he felt the same? Perhaps it was Mike, just showing her that he cared?
Her mind went through all the other possible people, but kept coming back to Andy and Mike. The weekend seemed to fly by, with her thoughts always turning to the rose that took pride of place on her table in the small glass vase. Was it Andy, or was it Mike? She had to wait until Monday to find out.
At last Monday came, she parked her car as normal and found Mike waiting for her with an open door. She flashed a special smile his way eager to thank him if indeed the rose had been from him. "Thank you so much" she said lingering for a few moments before walking through the door, as if waiting for him to reply. But Mike did not say anything about flowers or her, so she hurriedly made her way to her desk.
Andy, Andy it had to be Andy. After all this time at last he was showing her that he felt the same way as she did.
She waited for Andy to come in, her heart racing at the thought of him leaving a rose for her.
While she waited, she checked her mail, the first message being the one that she left on Friday, it was from her son.
"Hi Mum," it read "I was just passing through on my way to a friend party and thought I'd let you know how much I love you. I hope you enjoy the rose. Love Don
With a sigh the dream bubble burst. Oh well she thought at least her son loved her.
-
after Mundus repeatedly killme in dante must die mode i picked up a pen add frabricated this.....
Dear world,
the pieces of time each soul resides on youis the length of time the needle stays in you. the level of significant action that soul makes is how deep it stabbs you; and these wounds never heal. when all your naturally assembled shift as people do them you become more and more like a bomb. the gradual burning of your fuse accelerates as civilization complecates itself. the direction of the "chess pieces" make the aria to chaos. you are in an intertransition piont to cure yourself.
However.... how did the dirt corrupt the waters transparency in the first place? an entity that was so absolute in purity that it was numb was un explainably stained! what interfered? that is my question! through un fairness in your life our live only seem to be unfair. your concequences were never brought about by your desire or actions; they were induced. please.....tell me by whom before you take me and accept another scar...............
love LUCE.
-
A few paragraphs of my uncompleted story
The night was cool and clear, not a cloud to be seen in the sky. Stars of various colours stood high above twinkling in the dark night. The moon shone radiantly, illuminating a vast city spread out below filling it with mystery and dread. A ruined city, a ghost city it seemed to be, nothing to be seen or heard except for the wind whistling through its confines.
It was a beautiful city at some point in time, filled with people going about their business. But now it is a no man’s zone, with structures barely recognizable, blown away by years of fighting and artillery fire. The ground littered with debris making travel by any ground vehicle practically impossible. There were many dark holes above and beneath the ruins where one or many can be unseen by the human eye. In the larger of the holes were built and occupied.
A man scanned the ruins from one of the few standing and stable structures left within the confines of the city, searching for any movement that could be seen upon it. His eyes spotted a flash of light in the distance, straining his eyes to see to see what it could be, he fell with a soft thud on the concrete not knowing what he had seen.
Swiftly a figured moved out of the darkness into the moonlight, and across the ruins to a next spot hidden by darkness. Keen eyes stared out looking for the next victim, wondering how much longer the calm before the storm would be. It was a close one on the last victim, the moon shone on the lens and it would have been too late if the sentry had not been seen at that very instance. The operation was a very dangerous one, a few highly skilled selected snipers equipped with high grade armor piercing sniper rifles, and provided camouflage mech-infantry suits and lightly armored for extra speed, were to go in behind enemy lines before the rest of the attacking force to take out the sentries and to confuse the enemy as best they could while the army started its attack. Looking at the watch, it was about time to find a safe spot to snipe from before the battle began.
-
"Tell me where I am to go now. Tell me where I am to find my answers. Tell me where I am to live now. In the life that I wanted or the life I had. Tell me did I take the right path or did I detour simply because I did not have the strength to see through the fog. Tell me!" the woman ask.
"There is no pre-set destiny. There is no pre-set fate. There is only the honesty and the self-motivation to reach beyond to find themselves in the swirls of mists that time has lost." the tree answered
These thoughts rocketed through the mind of the woman standing in that sun-laced, shadowed place. She stared at the old oak, draped across the ground, the wide trunk twisted with the roots upon itself, and the Spanish Moss waving in an ever-constant green-gold breeze. It stood in silent majesty, a ghost of time past of nobility. The woman faced the tree with the pentegram in one hand and a closed fist in the other and ask again.
"Tell me."
The tree remained silent!
Both horses shuffled and nosed each other, the mare, the leader, and the gelding just a pace behind. Hidden in amber shadows, the dog yawned and grinned her happy smile, while the cat, the calico, played with a cricket in the sparse grass between the roots of the tree. The offering of fresh ground cinnamon, bay leaves and on lend, the bit of mandrake from Scotland. An offering of enticement to the old marsh live oak. This one she called the "Rain Tree". Growing strong and wild in the realms of the mind. In a green-gold marsh of memory.
"Tell me. I implore you. Tell me." the woman ask once again.
The tree once again remained silent!
Yet, the green-gold breeze blew a wide oak leaf and it settled in her now upraised palm and she studied the lines in its texture and saw, perhaps, a map. A map that could lead to a reality or could lead once again to the safety of banished dreams that had re-awakened to life.
At the leaf's base, at the stem, remained a small drop of rain. It was from clear water falling, and it was the place of the leaf's birth. Where did anything start but at the beginning. Now, the beginning was Shadow Island.
How many times had she come to this place with her friends? How many times had she ridden in here, either one horse or the other, looking for wisdom from the often silent tree. She was afraid the tree's spirit had fled upon the roaring winds of too long ago. This is where she wanted to live, this where she wanted to stay until she knew all the answers but the tree was slow to give them to her. She sensed that it did want to give them to her all at once. There were so many answers to find and so many questions to ask.
The sun dropped lower in a gilded haze, rising blindingly over the brackish water of the marsh. The green-gold wind turned to evening marsh wind and blew cold as summer turned to autumn and the brown edges bit into the sharp lime grass blades and into the paler sea-green. Time seemed to have no bearing in here, with seasons changing with the blink of an eye or the dispelling of a dream.
The mare moved forward, her spirit in her eyes. A warm brush of breath on the woman's forearm and the solidity of truth returned. In a drift, time-shift, things could get misplaced or removed but only focus kept it in straight perspective.
Still, the tree remained silent.
A winter sun rose the next time the woman came to visit the tree. This time she came alone but the two horses and the dog were waiting for her on Shadow Island. The dog moved forward, her coat a pale gold in the weak sunlight. Her apple-shaped head with brow furrowed and her eyes filled with welcome. She nuzzled the woman's hand and love effused from her. It cloaked the woman's uncertainity.
The cat was absent but then, she still lived on another plane.
The woman turned to the ancient marsh live oak, her "Rain Tree", and said.
"Tell me what is love?"
She glanced down at her leaf map and noticed that the leaf had begun to turn at the edges, fading its deep green. She looked at the base of the stem and saw once again how the one main vein went from beginning point to ending tip and all the others were but dead-end splits from it. How many dead-end roads were there in life? Or was it really dead-end or perhaps a path that had to be traveled all the way to the conclusion and then a return to the main road and a new path begun? Or should one walk straight forward, looking not with peripheral vision, but as with blinders...seeing nothing but what lay directly ahead?
She ask the tree again. "What is love?"
The tree answered nothing.
When the woman came again, the sky was stormy. The hot summer rain fell hard upon the blades of grass in Shadow Island. Grass growing in profusion among the now dimly lit patterns of sunlight, masked by a brooding thunderhead. The marsh wind blew moist and humid with the summmer rain. The Rain Tree dripped puddles of water in the basins of its trunk. She came alone again and was greeted again by the dog and the two horses who lived within Shadow Island always. The gelding came forth to greet her, his sorrel coat like red jasper in the faded light. His deep brown eyes were full of puzzlement and his muzzle warm and seeking. She comforted him.
"Tell me why does love leave?" she ask of the old oak.
The tree said nothing but sent her another leaf, but only two thirds there with the tip torn away. She looked upon it and the sorrow filled her heart.
The next time the woman came, it was spring; bright and green, flush with life. This time she came with the cat. The little calico walking at her side, with her tail curled in a question mark. The two horses and the dog greeted the cat as family and surrounded the woman as all four. A stroke for each one, a term of endearment, lingering on the red mare, and the four gave her comfort and strength.
She turned to the tree and ask once again.
"Tell me what love is?"
And the tree replied.
"Love lives anyway it can."
She looked around at her friends and saw love. She knew what love was.
The next time the woman came, she brought with her a photograph book and opened each page on glossy paper. She turned to the tree and said.
"Look, old friend, this is what life I have had. Was it better than the life I wanted?"
Silhouetted in the glow of a rising autumn sun, the tree answered with the green-gold wind in its branches singing.
"If you are satisfied, then it was the right choice. Now, do you know what love is? Tell me."
The woman only answered, surrounded by her four friends, with a knowing smile.
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Time had turned against her. Too many things had come to pass...too many things of significance that left bombshell holes inside of her. She, had as many people do, sought refuge in work. She took the first job she could find and tried to get a new angle on life. That actually did become a much more plausible clause as she began to work and the money put a new power in her hands. She was beginning to come back to herself. It was a different twist but for all that she could see it was a positive one.
The place she was employed was something of an icon in the community where she lived; in fact one of two. Old money oozed through the place...old money and old names. Yet, the chief through all this splendor was a man that had married into that money. A man, the locals said, came out of nowhere.
He was a man that she had heard of most of her early teenage years and she had seen at a distance. A tall, heavyset man that walked with a stride that said "I know who I am and it damn sure ain't you!". He was the preverbal big fish in the little pond or so to speak. Married well and invested the money well. He ran both restaurants, his real estate business investments, his wrecker service and gas station, and his oyster plant with the same determined, no nonsense attitude by which he viewed life. He was the king of his domain and he knew it. His wife, his ticket to a jumpstart, was as quiet and unpretentious as he was bold and outspoken.
He was her boss (not that he would ever notice her though) and yet, she knew a great deal about him that was best left unsaid if she wanted to keep her job.
Finding things to fill her mind with thoughts other than what had happened in the past had almost become an occupation with her. She needed to think about now and not what had occurred before. It was a growing up process that she was involved in that whether reluctant or willing she had to participate in. Doors had closed and doors had opened that she was forced to walk through that gave little or no choice.
This was the summary of her thoughts in that early October morning as she clocked out from work and stepped into the breaking dawn. She flung the sweater over the shoulders of her white uniform with its pretty, frilly-laced apron and headed for the small car. Well, if one could really call it a car.
Before she reached it, she stopped and stared at the huge neon sign with its unusual logo and saw the mist rise off the tall grass beyond it. An image came to mind and her heart twisted in pain. So young, so tender and so gone!
Shaking her head as if to clear it, she began to walk again and she reached the car soon. It sat like a little gray bump on wheels. The door creaked when she opened it and the black and gray interior was torn and frayed. Well, what could one expect for a first car? She loved the old thing anyway. She climbed behind the steering wheel, inserted the flathead screwdriver in the pried-open dash ignition and putting the clutch, she started the little Simca to life. It roared like a misbegotten lion and sputtered with contentment with itself and its engine.
The drive home was short. She soon pulled the little car into the curved driveway of the land and shut down its raucous engine noise. She knew that her mother hated her coming in so early because the car always disturbed her sleep. It was every bit her intention to save up the money to have the muffler replaced on the little car because when one made only limited amounts of money, they did the best they could.
As she stepped out of the car and stared in the southern direction of the land, she let her thoughts center on the large house and spacious yard just beyond her view by a dense tree line. Once again, her boss came into her thoughts.
She really did not know why he bothered her so much except for the fact that perhaps that it was his arrogance that irritated her. She had learned from watching her parents and their cycle of life that arrogance was the perfect reason for a downfall. Mr. Young was the kind of man who never let sentimentality get in his way. When he set his goals for himself, he stayed focused on that. She had seen this evidence in her own father and also in her mother. She knew it was a good attribute in her parents but when someone caused harm to other people to achieve that, then it had very little value. Of course, there was the ever-obvious desire for power. Power! Very often the stronger motivator than love!
Just before she entered the house to sleep, she glanced around her at her home. A cooler breeze blew over the fading green of the marsh and played with gentle fingers in the Spanish moss of the oak trees. She raised her eyes to the taller, thinner pines that rose above the oaks and their draping was lost in the glistening sunlight of the dawn. The nightly melody of the bullfrogs was silent as the amphibians had burrowed deeper in the swamp mud for warmth. There was little sign of life in the empty wetland acres that stretched to an unmarred horizon. Yet, it still possessed an incredible beauty!
A beauty that failed to lift a heart gone numb. It was all too familiar and all too strong yet. She longed for total escape and total involvement in a new way of life. She needed more than ever to put the past behind her. She was still too close! She had sought refuge in the closest thing she could turn to, which was work and a different type of daily routine but even Mr. Young's employment carried with it too many reminders of where she did not want to be.
Before she slept, she let her mind trail back over the man she had met last night at work. He seemed quite charming but yet, there was something about him that put her off. She could not quite pinpoint it but she felt that he would be back and maybe she would be able to figure it out by then. He said that they had a mutual friend in common but she could not possibly think of who. Just as she felt herself dozing off, she decided that she always thought about things too much! She really needed to quit being so serious.
It was past one in the afternoon when she awoke and she knew that the house was empty of everyone but her. Her parents had gone about their business. She stirred slowly and wearily. The job had found muscles in her that she did not know that she had. She had always considered herself in pretty good condition but not used to the long hours of standing, her back was stiff and sore. She considered staying in bed longer but then realized that she did not want to waste what daylight she had before the sun went down. She felt the customary blues settle on her and then, with a determined effort, she pushed them away and got out the bed. A quick shower, a coke, and she would be on her way to town! After all, she now had money to spend any way that she wanted to.
The little Simca chugged its way into town. The car, more akin to a turtle than a bug, was bad for a first car. Her father had given it to her as a means back and forth to work. It used very little gas and it had its problems but it was unusually dependable. The radio did not work but she would not have been able to hear it anyway for the loud muffler. She decided to head for the local shopping mall and take a look at a new pair of shoes. She always liked shoes but then so did most women.
Her friend managed a small shoe store in the mall and the young woman loved to go through the various styles that were available. She had an idea of what she wanted. She had seen a pair there that she really liked the last time she was there and she hoped her friend still had the same style in stock. She considered herself now against what she had been a year ago and the difference was so vast that she was not sure which one was the better of the two. Yet, it really made no difference now.
Twenty minutes after leaving her home, she pulled into the closest parking spot near the shoe store and shut off the engine of the Simca. As she went to get out of the car, she saw a police cruiser pass directly behind her. She glanced up and waved and the Sergeant waved back. She had known him for quite awhile as he was friends with her father. As he continued his patrol, she thought of his supervisor; the son of the man she worked for. She disliked him as much as she did his father. He was spoiled, a bully and used his position as a police officer for all the wrong reasons. His daddy, who was tight with the new governor-elect, felt that he could buy anything. It seemed so sad!
As she stepped through the front doors of shoe store, her friend saw her and said "Hello, Mandy! I have not seen you in a few days."
The girl, addressed as Mandy, smiled gently at her friend and said "I am glad to see you too, Sally!" With those greetings, the two women began to catch up on what had been happening since they had last seen each other.
The day had slipped by far too fast as far as Mandy was concerned when she thought about it later that night at work. She was grateful for the work but this night shift was not her favorite thing. It seemed like she no sooner got up than the day was gone and it was all too soon to go back to work. Work...well, it was a weekday night at work and the restaurant was empty of almost everyone. She was bored until she saw him walk in the door. She had just thought about him and she was glad to see him.
Mandy found this man, who called himself Terry, to be very strange compared to most of the guys she had known in school. He had a charming air about it with just an enticing sense of mischief. He seemed to be a hard working guy but also enjoyed a laid-back attitude. He certainly loved coffee and that was no surprise to her. She found that she could talk to Terry easily and they covered a variety of subjects. Yet, they really did not have that much in common. He was nice and she liked to wile away the long hours of the night talking to him when she was not busy.
Terry did not stay long that night as he had to work early in the morning. His longer visits were usually on the weekends and she had known him to stay quite awhile after he should have left. She suspected that he really liked her but he made no move to ask her out. Of course, she did not know if she would date him at all. It was when the subject came up about her boss, that she found out that they had a very similar opinion about Mr. Young. She was to find out why!
Unlike Mandy, whose main encounter with the infamous Mr. Young had been mostly through her parents and now, her job, Terry's experience with the man had a second side effect. His mother had dealt with the man over her property and everyone knew when it came to Mr. Young and business that the man had no human heart for anything but money. He saw himself as a small emperor in a small kingdom. Terry's mother had been attached with an added tax to her property that was unfair because it had formerly belonged to Mr. Young's in-laws. Terry despised the man but there was little he could do about it. Unafraid, either of them, to speak their opinions about the man, Mandy did not really worry about her job. They both had the brashness of youth and that was usually labeled "no fear."
The days passed into weeks and the weeks into a couple of months that Mandy and Terry kept meeting at the restaurant. It was both of them that depended on their living from Mr. Young as Terry worked on an oyster boat that sold its catch to the man's oyster plant. The man raised beautiful houses on EPA protected land and had his little subterfuge dealings with the oil companies in the destruction of the saltwater marshes and the death of the brown pelicans. The illustrious governor-elect came into office and money went everywhere it was not suppose to until a heavy handed government investigation came and the whole sordid mess was exposed. Down came the mighty little emperor and the governor along with him and Terry and Mandy found other places to work. It did not happen over night, nor in the blink of an eye, but for Mandy, she made her passage into growing up and leaving her childhood behind. She also found something in Terry and that was called love.
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whoa
aka_neo, dude i will print that and read it when i get the chance yes, i in canada atm and have no time.
it looks decent at first glance though.
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The story of Jumping Mouse may seem simple at first. But it is far more than just a story about a small rodent. There are so many underlying themes that reflect society, faith, generosity, personal growth, and many other aspects of a person’s daily life.
The story starts out with a seemingly simple mouse, who hears what others do not. He dares to question what is out of the ordinary, and seeks out the truth instead of dismissing it as nothing. He shows curiosity, which leads him to new ideas. When he has his experience at the river, he is given a new name, which signifies his own personal growth. When he takes his newfound ideas back to the mouse society they don’t believe him because it is far too different than what they already know, and they decide that he is harmful. The society of mice reflects society in how they didn’t understand something so they pushed it away. So many times people don’t accept or understand things because they are out of the ordinary, so they shun it. It happens every day; with racism and conflicts over human sexuality. Most people don’t understand that there is no way to define normal. All around the world things are different, and one needs to be open minded enough to understand it. Now look what being open minded did for the mouse. His willingness to listen and his faith in the frog allowed him to see into the rest of the world, even deeper into his own mind. There is a fine line between being open-minded and being gullible. Both will listen to anything to try to understand it, but gullible people lack common sense. The mouse seemed kind of gullible, in how he’d risk his safety by jumping in the water all because the frog said to.
Jumping mouse is like many people, always seeking a better way of life. The other mice were quite content with their busy life, because that was the way they have always known. But Jumping Mouse had a taste for what else the world had to offer him. When Jumping Mouse met with the old mouse, he found a perfect place to live, free from harm and lots of food. He was told he should stay but somehow, he knew that he could have better. Even later on his journey to find the mountains he discovered a small "mouse utopia" with an abundant supply of food and shelter, everything a mouse could want. Yet he still wanted to keep searching for the mountains he knew were still ahead.
The mouse in this story is a very kind and generous mouse. He comes across the path of a sick buffalo that needs one thing to make him complete: an eye of a mouse. Now it doesn’t take long for Jumping Mouse to decide what to do. He doesn’t want the buffalo to die so he gives up half of his gift of sight by letting the buffalo have an eye. In return for his gift of life, the buffalo offered him protection from predators as Mouse continued on with his journey. After he parts with the buffalo, Jumping Mouse meets with a gray wolf that for some reason cannot remember the simplest of things. But being the kind mouse that he is, our hero wishes to help and decides that by giving the wolf his remaining eye it would cure him of his problems. Now completely giving up his gift of sight is a very difficult thing to ever want to do, but Jumping Mouse decides that it is better to take care of others in need than him. The wolf’s memory is restored and it can now function again, thanks to the selfless generosity that the little mouse displayed. And in turn for Mouse’s good deed, the wolf offered to be his eyes and help him continue on his way.
Jumping mouse finally makes his way to what he has been searching for: the medicine lake in the mountains. Only he cannot see anything and becomes very frightened at his situation. And just when he thinks he’s hopeless and is surely dead, he wakes up from what he thought was his death and finds that he can now see. A familiar voice asks him to do something, and the ever-diligent mouse complies. After all of his journey, determination, and selfless good deeds, Jumping Mouse has been given the ultimate reward. He has now become an eagle, free to do anything.
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this is all yours now neo...
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I`m realistic in a sadistic way,
They call me balistic in a simplistic way,
I`ll bail into my minds own sway,
I can`t see the gray,
Its black and white till I get this right,
But I probably won`t anyway.
You rape my mind so I can`t get away,
It won`t help much that I got this way,
From the game that you played,
To drive me insane.
Bah.
I have a better Idea....
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neo u sure that is ah story? it is a writers forum not an analysis forum..o gosh man actually read and understand wat u goin an post nah and where yuh goin an post it. i dunno if other ppl aint realise that it IS NOT A STORY or allyuh aint smart enough to realise wuh he post cuz it kinda obvious as u read the first line..any comments mods???...
just a thought :)
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Very impressive additions here I see. Quite admirable work from some very talented writers. And I thought me and DG were alone with writing when we got here :P Seen some nice work from Chaos, Aka_Neo, G_Pinkie and many others. *thumbs up*
We should work on something together at a time. I'd be quite interested in that idea.
Now...I have a bit of a problem here. My short stories and some of my characters are a bit...unorthodox...to some persons. I know GATT has quite a few of these 'phobes *will not call names* As a writer, I consider my work to be unique in its own way, depsite what other people criticise of its content. Now, I accept good criticism always in a friendly way-but all-out condoning of my work I will not accept in a friendly manner.
To be straightforward-some of my work contains some offbeat content and some homosexual content and characters with 'differen't aspects. Now, before you start throwing knives and boos etc, these characters are of MY creation and these writings aren't meant as pornography but as human or otherwise creature expression of emotions thought of by every person.
This having been said-I'd like to know now-as part to see what type of persons and writers we have here...should I post a sample of this type of work, would I get some PRODUCTIVE and UNBIASED commentary?
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i know i havnt posted a damn thing here in ages.
i beg your forgiveness, but mock is in a month and the countdown begins.
decent stuff btw.
jumpin mouse is kewl :P
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I got a few and was just about to post them......but I forgot the book home!Neway,next time.But i must commend quite alot of these ppl.......very talented.
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maybe some good wirters could come together and write a decent story or something .... well i am comin up with one maybe u might see it lata or something
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neo u sure that is ah story? it is a writers forum not an analysis forum..o gosh man actually read and understand wat u goin an post nah and where yuh goin an post it. i dunno if other ppl aint realise that it IS NOT A STORY or allyuh aint smart enough to realise wuh he post cuz it kinda obvious as u read the first line..any comments mods???...
just a thought :)
yeah man u real lucky u eh get ban yet cuz i fine u real postin stupidness i suprise them eh give u spammer rank yet
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this is for u ppl who hasnt read the story a seperate peace its a good book.well i fine so but i think u should really read it.
The background of "A separate Peace" is the Second World War and the focus of book is a group of sixteen-year-old boys who are moving towards a war. The extract comes from the end of the book where Due to what Gene had done to Finny, he has been made to look at himself and now sees the war differently from the other boys. Gene has been forced to face his own "ignorant heart," and he now feels that he understands that people can be evil and hurt those who love them. Gene now knows that wars are created not by generations but by the human "ignorant heart".
In "A separate Peace" there are two wars being fought. The major war is Word War Two while the other war is the one that Gene tries to create between himself and Finny. This is war is always a single sided battle, as it is both created and fought in the mind of Gene.
At the beginning of this novel Gene is very "Ignorant" of his heart. He constantly lies, not only to others but also to him self. Finny on the other hand is a very honest person, he never lies about anything to make him sound or feel better about himself. An example of this is the incident where the boys are asked their height and Genes says he is 5’9 and Finny corrects him by saying, "no your five foot eight and a half, the same as me." This quote shows the honesty that Finny possesses and that Gene lacks. Gene refuses to admit that he isn’t tall while Finny openly admits it. Gene refuses to admit that he isn’t brave or that his motives for injuring Finny where entirely false. Gene cannot face what he is and this leads to tragedy.
Because Gene is dishonest he imagines that everyone else is as well. Gene imagines that Finny’s character is exactly the same as his, which of course it isn’t. Gene builds up hate, anger and fear of the character that he has given to Finny. Since this is his own character and not Finny’s at all, the emotions that Gene feels towards this character are really what he feels towards his own character. Gene starts to believe that every thing Finny does has a cruel intention, this of course is entirely false. He even believes that Finny took him to the beach because Finny had low grades and wanted to lower Gene’s grades so that he would be better than him Academically.
Gene is also very jealous of Finny. Gene’s feelings of jealousy wouldn’t have been a major problem, but when anger and jealousy are lurking in the same domain, they prove to be a deadly combination. Gene envious of Finny’s ability to be a non-conformist and not care what anyone thought of him. Once Finny went as far as to wear a pink shirt, in an era where pink worn by males suggests that they are gay , this really shows what a strong character Finny has. Gene on the other hand is a definite conformist, he is constantly striving to be seen as great by others. This is why when Finny brakes the school one hundred yards free style record without any training Gene cannot understand why Finny whishes to keep it quiet.
Finny loves Gene, and Gene doesn’t seem to understand why a great person like Finny would want to be friends with him, so he begins to think of their friendship as a competition. As the book continues Gene begins to feel very threatened by Finny and starts to think of him as the enemy. Throughout the entire one-sided rivalry that Gene creates, Finny is totally oblivious to what is going on. This is made even clearer in the instance were Gene was studying for a test and Finny invites him to the tree and Gene explodes at him. Finny shows how oblivious he is to this rivalry when he says "I didn’t know you needed to study, I didn’t think you ever did. I thought it just came to you."
Gene’s hate, anger, jealousy, and fear finally climax when the pair decide to do a double jump from the tree and Gene jounces the limb causing Finny to fall, "I took a step towards him, and then my knees bent and I jounced the limb. Finny, his balance gone, swung around to look at me for an instant with extreme interest, and then tumbled sideways." Gene cripples the best athlete in the school and his best friend and this eventually leads to Finny’s death.
Gene’s admission to being responsible for Finny’s fall hurts Finny so much that he refuses to listen to him, so Gene is forced to lie to him. Gene tells Finny that it was a "blind impulse" and nothing personal. Finny dies at the end of the novel due to a fall down the marble stairs, this rushes him into surgery where some of his bone-marrow seeps into his blood stream, stopping his heart and he dies. Gene never cried, not then, or after the funeral, because Gene had become an extension of Finny and "you can’t cry at your own funeral."
Gene does enter the war, Gene says that he killed his enemy at school, I believe this enemy not to be Finny but Gene’s "ignorant heart." he realizes that Brinker was wrong about how wars are created, Gene now knows that wars are created by "something ignorant in the human heart." Gene has overcome his own "ignorant heart", and has become Finny, all his hate, fear, jealousy and anger are now gone from him, Finny has taken them with him to his grave.
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Very impressive additions here I see. Quite admirable work from some very talented writers. And I thought me and DG were alone with writing when we got here :P Seen some nice work from Chaos, Aka_Neo, G_Pinkie and many others. *thumbs up*
We should work on something together at a time. I'd be quite interested in that idea.
Now...I have a bit of a problem here. My short stories and some of my characters are a bit...unorthodox...to some persons. I know GATT has quite a few of these 'phobes *will not call names* As a writer, I consider my work to be unique in its own way, depsite what other people criticise of its content. Now, I accept good criticism always in a friendly way-but all-out condoning of my work I will not accept in a friendly manner.
To be straightforward-some of my work contains some offbeat content and some homosexual content and characters with 'differen't aspects. Now, before you start throwing knives and boos etc, these characters are of MY creation and these writings aren't meant as pornography but as human or otherwise creature expression of emotions thought of by every person.
This having been said-I'd like to know now-as part to see what type of persons and writers we have here...should I post a sample of this type of work, would I get some PRODUCTIVE and UNBIASED commentary?
My god man, are u on the other side???????????
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i got to go dig up some stuff BRB...................................................
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Hopefully people here are not gay and you will get booed and whatnot! Yes I am a homophobe, you got a problem with that? There are males and females in species for a purpose.
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*nods*
I see...
Apparantly I should not risk exposing my writing to these persons. I've eyed replies and gotten enough feedback to consider.
Thank you for your support...or lack of it.
Have a nice day.
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After the loud explosion everything went pitch black. Maggie was left standing on the staircase clutching her little brother, both of them afraid to move.
She knew that they had no chance of escape, now that the lights went out. She heard the creatures laughing deviously behind her. Before, she was slowly ascending the staircase trying her best not to make a sound, but now, she threw all caution to the winds, grabbed her little brother and began to run frantically up the stairs.
The sound of lightly beating gossamer wings began to fill the air as they began to catch up. The sound filled Maggie with terror. As they almost got to the top, she began to pray that she would make it. seeing that her bedroom door was ajar. She got in; barely though and pulled her brother with her, locking the door behind
Her little brother jumped and clung to her screaming with fright as loud thuds erupted from the other side of the door. She knew that it was only a matter of time before they got in. She just had to think fast. The banging on the other side of the door grew more violent and the hinges were already beginning to give way.
Thinking only of the safety of her little brother, she shoveled him into her private bathroom and told him to stay quiet. She slammed the door and faced what was about to come. The big door finally gave way with a bang and what seemed like a thousand, huge grinning gray bats armed with miniature axes, burst into the room. They were ugly things, with wide grinning mouths full of pointy, yellowing teeth and long black flickering tongues. They all as if in unison, rose into the air, raised their miniature axes and flew at Maggie, yelling.
She began to scream, in fright and confusion and flew up from the tangle of sheets and blankets. She discovered she was completely drenched in sweat. She knew she had had a nightmare, but couldn’t remember about what. Even though she tried to, she just couldn’t. Eventually she gave up, rolled over and went back to sleep.
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Look, the writing forums are not for people to come in and slag other people's work. I only now saw this, and to say the least, I'm a bit pissed off that people will still criticize other work based on their own pre-judgements.
Evangelion_01, I'm sure that you can set up a webpage or online forum somewhere where you can password protect some of your more "offbeat" content. You can give the password only to those who you want to.
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Hrm true but webpage design isn't my stong point. And besides-I'm not gonna bother atm. But if you'd like to take a read of my work-email or PM and I'll send you some.
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Alas, these days I don't even have time for myself, far less for critiquing other writings. I'm in an online reading group and I'm sadly behind in the peer reading. :(
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I know the feeling man :( I had a backlog a while back from FF.net and I just had to end up leaving the site altogether. besides, I spoke in general :P to anyone who'd like to get a sample of my works. Buit deep thanks for your support. :)
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Maybe I should actually post one of my real writings...
I`ll think about it...
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Post away or send via email. I read and give honest, fair commentary on anything.
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this is a writers forum....not a forum for ppl to be quarreling about if they are a homosexual or not ...so please stop quarreling and start back posting some good stories.
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oh shut up
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The Rat
The night after his divorce, he could not sleep in the bedroom. He was sure the bedroom was full of spiders. Soft, wet spiders. Their feet were quieter than kisses. But kissing was not what they had in mind.
In the end, he spread a blanket on the floor of the living room, and slept there. There was something comforting in a little spartan hardship. Self-punishment eased his soul and allowed him to slip into dreams.
It was water which woke him.
Water, dripping.
Drip drop drop.
The roof was leaking?
No.
It wasn't raining. Instead, the night was totally quiet. So quiet that he could hear the faint hiss of static in his ears. And the irregular water sounds coming from the bathroom.
"Who's there?"
After speaking, he felt foolish. Nobody's there. You're on your own. She won't be coming back. Anyway. Get up and turn off the tap.
He walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. As usual, his laundry was soaking in the bathtub. Socks, underpants, business shirts, T-shirts. And something big and brown and mobile which he could not at first identify.
It was a rat. A huge rat. Unable to climb the sheer enameled sides of the bathtub, unable to jump out because the water was too deep for it to find a footing, it was patiently swimming around and around, making very faint swimming sounds as it did so.
It was going to jump. He was sure. Jump at his face. He grabbed a bath towel and hit it. Water slapped upwards and skidded through the air. Soon the towel was wet and heavy. A weapon. The rat was rolling in a mist of red. The red was dirty, contaminated by the filth of a rat. At last he realized that it was dead, and had been dead for some time.
He made himself a cup of black coffee and drank it, slowly. He thought about phoning her, but did not. It was, after all, three o'clock in the morning.
Despite the coffee, sleep came easily. After he got back to sleep, he dreamt of cockroach eggs. They were vividly orange, like flying fish roe. He poured boiling water over the eggs. No children, no. I refuse. As the boiling water spread, a huge swollen cockroach crept out from under the oven.
"Daddy?" it said.
He stepped on it. Its lacquered brown carapace broke beneath his foot. Then his face broke, and he wept.
He was still weeping, helplessly, when he woke.
*
Years later, he still remembered putting on gloves to handle the rat's corpse. The body had been stiff and heavy after floating for hours in the water. He remembered that very clearly. But he found he could not remember what he had done with the laundry. He certainly had not thrown anything away. He was not the kind of person who threw things away. Somehow, he must have recovered his clothes from their dilute bath of blood and excrement. Maybe he was wearing them now. Yes, maybe. His clothes always lasted longer than his relationships.
-
oh shut up
oh shut up my @$$ cuz u well know that this is not a homosexual talk thread but it is a writers forum...rampage yuh have anything to say..dem men only talkin bout this one is a homo and this one is not.tell them make their own thread and talk bout them thing cuz i know this is a writers forum not a homo talk place
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Warning...the following may be disturbing to some.......be warned.
The Kidney Bean Diet
Something was happening next door. Though Mavis Sempith believed in keeping herself to herself, it was impossible to ignore the raucous music, the manic laughter and the repeated sounds of smashing glass.
"Maybe we should call someone," said Mavis.
"He's a young man, isn't he?" said Trevor, meaning their neighbor's, the church-going civil servant they knew as Nick Wolvine.
Then, as if an argument had just been settled very much to his satisfaction, Trevor returned to his newspaper.
From next door, the sound of a window smashing. Mavis twitched the curtain aside. A dishwater blonde with bloodstreaked hair was screaming to the night:
"Help me! Help me!"
Trevor was still reading his newspaper, engrossed in a review of Mozart's Requiem.
"Trevor ...."
"Mmm?"
"There's something not quite right. Next door."
From next door came a succession of piteous, uncontrollable, agonizing screams. Irritated, Trevor flicked the curtain aside, and immediately saw the video playing on the TV in the living room opposite. A man was shoveling a broken bottle into a woman's stomach, and apparently she was not enjoying it. Trevor frowned. Not quite his cup of tea.
"Just a video, darling," said Trevor.
"No, Trevor, actually it's not. There was this woman, she was positively hanging out of the window."
"That was your imagination," said Trevor positively.
He was an accountant. He knew about such things.
Ready to dispute this, Mavis Sempith came to the window. Her new spectacles gave her immaculate eyesight. On the TV screen opposite, she could plainly see the dishwater blonde whom she had noticed earlier. Without a doubt, they were one and the same person.
"But she was hanging out of the window," said Mavis. "And - look, the window really is broken!"
"Yes, well, I expect they've been having some sort of party," said Trevor vaguely. "But if she's on video she can't have been hanging out of the window, can she, now?"
"The thing is," said Mavis, "she's still screaming. If she keeps it up, someone will call the police."
True. So Trevor made a phone call.
"Is that Mr Wolvine? Yes, this is Trevor Sempith. I don't think we've met. Who? Oh, I'm your next door neighbor's. It's about the, uh, video, actually. I don't wish to seem ... Oh, you will, will you? ... Well, yes, yes. It's the wife, actually. She's rather sensitive to loud noises."
Problem solved. As Mavis watched, the TV showed a large hammer - it looked like one of those sledgehammer thing workmen use for breaking up concrete - descend upon the blonde's head. Bringing an abrupt silence.
"Those special effects," said Mavis, shaking her head as she let the curtain fall into place.
Trevor had already returned to his newspaper. And Mavis went to the fridge and got herself another bowl of kidney beans. She was on the kidney bean diet, which permits you to eat anything you want on the odd-numbered days of the month providing you eat nothing but kidney beans on the even-numbered days.
The next day, Mavis was fine, but Trevor felt uneasy. Something was nagging at him. He could not quite pin it down except that it had something to do with houses. Or a house.
"Why don't we take a holiday in Glasgow?"
"Glasgow?" said Trevor. "But we don't know anyone in Glasgow."
"I meant a proper holiday," said Mavis. "Not a seeing people holiday. You know. Some people go to Monte Carlo, some people go to Majorca. We could go to Glasgow."
"We could also go to Timbuktu," said Trevor, spreading more marmalade on his toast. "What would you want to go to Glasgow for?"
"I don't know," said Mavis vaguely. "It just seemed like a good thing to do."
Trevor snorted, then looked at his watch and realized he was already two minutes behind schedule. Time to leave for work.
When Trevor returned that evening, his neighbor's, Nick Wolvine, was doing a spot of car-cleaning. His car looked as if someone had spilt red paint inside it. The red paint had splashed all over the place. It was mixed together with scraps of torn cloth and the oddest pieces of fur. Looking at it, Trevor had the most peculiarly unpleasant vision of a bottle of carbonated drink exploding inside a fox.
"Doing a bit of car-cleaning, are we?" said Trevor.
"Yes," said Nick, smiling in a blandly professional way, like a dentist promising you it won't hurt.
Truth was, Trevor didn't like him. That video nasty business. Still. That's what the world's come to, isn't it? And, give the fellow his due, he's a nice enough chap. At least he doesn't have a dog. Or a pack of dogs, like the last lot.
Inside the house, a ragged letter from Mavis, scrawled in an unnaturally chaotic hand and left on the table.
"Goodbye, Trevor. I've gone to Glasgow. Won't be back."
"Well, this isn't very convenient, is it?" said Trevor. "What am I going to do for dinner?"
Then he remembered the pizza home delivery service. He would have tried it before, but Mavis had always disapproved. With a delicious sense of daring - this was quite Bohemian! - Trevor picked up the phone and dialed.
"Somebody screaming?" said the pizza boy, frowning.
"Just the neighbor's's video," said Trevor, who hadn't been paying it much attention.
Half an hour later, though, he did sit up smartly when he heard Mavis screaming his name.
"Trevor! Trevor! Help me!"
Drawing the curtains boldly aside, Trevor looked straight into Nick's living room and, without much surprise, observed Mavis's bleeding body on display on the video machine.
So Mavis has become an actress. Well, really. This is about on a par with wanting to go to Glasgow on your holidays.
"It's right now, Trevor!" shrieked Mavis. "The camera, the camera, he's doing it to me right now!"
After long years of making sense out of his wife's often disjointed utterances, Trevor was able to see what his wife was getting at. Her words suggested that she was being filmed right now, and that the image of her torture was being piped from the video camera to the TV in the living room.
Interesting. A metatheatrical effect, of the kind Trevor had studied when doing those Open University courses - the kind of effect you get when the people in the play (or the movie) refer to their own drama. Shakespeare does it a lot. And there's a scene, isn't there, in that movie about seven years - "Seven Years in Tibet", yes, that's the one. In the movie, the actor playing the Dali Lama asks his Austrian associate if anyone will ever make a movie about them. Yes.
Trevor realized he had been woolgathering. In the interim, Mavis had lost her nose, both eyes and most of her scalp. Amazing what they can do with special effects these days. Some props were now in evidence, ready for the next stage of the drama: a crowbar, a length of barbed wire, and a bottle of something which might have been acid. But Trevor didn't really want to watch.
"Not really my cup of tea," he said, and went and put on a Shostakovich CD.
The Shostakovich, however, failed to soothe his sense of distress. To be frank, he felt violated. It was one thing for Mavis to run away and leave him. That he could bear. And, if she chose to go slumming as an actress in a snuff movie flick, that was her business. But to bring his name into it! That was - well, a kind of mockery. Other people would see the movie. And maybe the tabloids would get hold of it, and find out who the real Trevor was, and then what would people say at the office?
And that Nick. He must have organized all this. Yes. Trevor could see it now. Those video nasties had always held an intense fascination for Mavis. Nick must produce the things. He was a movie producer, he had seduced Mavis away with promises of starlet glory, of Hollywood fame. It was all too much.
Straight away, Trevor got Nick on the phone.
"What have you done with my wife?" said Trevor.
"She's gone to Glasgow," said Nick, nastily. "And you're going with her."
Then abruptly hung up. When Trevor dialed back, he got an engaged signal. Well, really! So. They were running away together, were they? "I'm going to Glasgow with her" - that's what Nick must have meant.
Putting on his greatcoat - a much-treasured family heirloom which had first been worn by his great-grandfather in the trenches of Flanders - Trevor set out for one of his rare late-night walks. In extremis, some people got drunk or resorted to drugs, but Trevor liked to walk. It was soothing.
When he returned at 4 am, the fire brigade was just finishing dousing the ashes of his house. Both Trevor's house and that of his neighbor's, Nick Wolvine, had been burnt to the ground. And the police had some questions to ask.
Trevor thought of telling them about Mavis and Glasgow, but that was private, wasn't it? You don't go telling the police about your wife's secret affair with a movie producer.
"You don't seem very worried," said Trevor's burly interrogator, misinterpreting Trevor's dazed fatigue as happy-go-lucky insouciance.
"Oh, she'll be all right," said Trevor.
"She?"
"My wife. She's gone to Glasgow. Visiting friends."
I mean, you have to give a reason. Nobody would just go to Glasgow. Not unless they had a compelling purpose. Visiting friends, then. Yes, that would serve at the office. And then maybe she could have a ... well, a car accident. Yes. Very sad. Cremated already, and, yes, I am a bit broken up about it all.
"So she went to Glasgow," said the policeman. "How very convenient."
"If you want to look on it that way," said Trevor, sensing a subtext, but not quite able to work out what it might be.
"House was insured, was it?" said the policeman.
"Of course," said Trevor.
Then, in horror, he realized what had been nagging at him the other day. The house! He had forgotten to renew the insurance, and it had expired! He said as much.
"But you didn't know that at the time?" said the policeman.
"I'd forgotten about it," said Trevor.
That statement was used in evidence against him in court, and he did six months for arson. By the time he got out of prison, he had lost his job, his savings had been exhausted by legal expenses, and his friends had deserted him.
All but one.
Across the road from the prison gate, a car was waiting. Nick Wolvine was leaning against it.
"Like to see your wife?" said Nick.
"Whatever," said Trevor, with a shrug - that degraded shrug, an uncouth mannerism the pre-prison Trevor would never have indulged in, a firm proof of exactly how far he had fallen.
"Then get in," said Nick.
"Where are we going?" said Trevor, buckling up.
"Glasgow," said Nick.
-
I THINK THIS IS A FUNNY STORY
A Day in Hell
One day a guy dies and finds himself in hell. As he is wallowing in despair he has his first meeting with a demon...
Demon: Why so glum chum?
Guy: What do you think? I'm in hell.
Demon: Hell's not so bad. We actually have a lot of fun down here...you a drinkin' man?
Guy: Sure, I love to drink. Love the drinks.
Demon: Well you're gonna love Mondays then. On Mondays that's all we do is drink. Whiskey, tequila, Guinness, wine coolers, diet tab, and fresca...we drink till we throw up and then we drink some more!
Guy: Gee that sounds great.
Demon: You a smoker?
Guy: You better believe it! Love the smoking.
Demon: Alright! You're gonna love Tuesdays. We get the finest cigars from all over the world and smoke our lungs out. If you get cancer - no biggie - you're already dead remember?
Guy: Wow...that's...awesome!
Demon: I bet you like to gamble.
Guy: Why yes as a matter of fact I do. Love the gambling.
Demon: Cause Wednesday you can gamble all you want. Craps, Blackjack, Roulette, Poker, Slots, whatever... If you go Bankrupt...well you're dead anyhow.
Demon: You into drugs?
Guy: Are you kidding? Love drugs! You don't mean...
Demon: That's right! Thursday is drug day. Help yourself to a great big bowl of crack. or smack. Smoke a doobie the size of a submarine. You can do all the drugs you want and if ya overdose - that's right - you're dead - who cares! O.D.!!
Guy: Yowza! I never realized Hell was such a swingin' place!!
Demon: You gay?
Guy: Uh no.
Demon: Ooooh (grimaces) you're really gonna hate Fridays.
-
these stories are cool
i love to read them when i drinking JAVA yum!
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Air force one and the farmer
Air Force One crashed in the middle of rural America. Panic stricken, the Secret Service mobilized and descended on the farm in force. When they got there, the wreckage was clear. The aircraft was totally destroyed, with only a burned hulk left smoldering in a tree line that bordered a farm. Secret Service descended upon the smoking hulk but could find no remains of the crew or the President's staff. To their amazement, a lone farmer was plowing a field not too far away as if nothing at all happened. They hurried over to surround the man's actor. "Sir," the senior Secret Service agent asked, panting and out of breath. "Did you see this terrible accident happen?" "Yep. Sure did." The man muttered unconcernedly. "Do you realize that is the President of the United States' airplane?" "Yep." "Were there any survivors?" the agent gasped. "Nope. They's all kilt straight out." The farmer sighed cutting of his tractor motor. "I done buried them all myself. Took most of the morning." "The President of the United States is DEAD?" The agent gulped in disbelief. "Yep, he kept a-saying he wasn't ... but you know what a liar he is!"
-
Scenario number 1:
BigDog1: Lil dog, we hungry,we not feeling to eat any alpo.we want meat!
BigDog2:Yea for real,if u get food for us,we will give u the food master gives us.
LittleDog:Ok,gameplan,i will organise someone to follow me, and allyuh jump him.Right?
BigDog1:Scene
LittleDOg barks at StupidMailman.
StupidMailman runs after LittleDog
LittleDog:Fellas! He coming!
BIgDog1 and BigDog2 jump at StupidMailman.
StupidMailman dies.
Scenario number 2:
LittleDog is walking by when AngryMc is walking by.
LittleDog rushes AngryMC.
AngryMc runs after LittleDog
BigDog1 and BigDog2 attack AngryMC.AngryMC dies.
Scenario number3:
The Stalk
BigDog1 chases UnsuspectingMann.
UnsuspectingMann runs into alley.
BigDog2 flanks UnsuspectingMann.
UnsuspectingMann dies.
Scenario number 4:
UnsuspectingMann2 leans on gate.
LittleDOg barks at UnsuspectingMann2.
UnsuspectingMann2 gets angry,runs in compund and turns to hit LittleDog.
BigDog1 slams gate shut.
UnsuspectingMann2 dies.
-
The lexus and the president
A lady bought a new Lexus. Cost a bundle. Two days later, she brought it back complaining that the radio wasn't working. "Madam", said the sales maneger, "the audio system in this car is completly automated. All you need to do is tell it what you want to listen to and you will hear exactly that!" She drives out , somewhat amazed and a little confused. She looked at the radio and said, "Nelson". The radio responded, "Ricky or Willie?" Soon she was speeding down the highway to the sounds of "On the road again". The lady was astounded. If she wanted Beethoven, that's what she got. If she wanted Nat King Cole, she got it. Stopped at an intersection, her light turned green and she pulled out. Off to her right, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small sports utility vehicle speeding toward her. She swerved and narrowly missed a collision. "Asshole.....", she muttered. And from the radio..... "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States....
-
This is my latest song I`ve written.
Its incomplete. The song tells a story that needs to be finished.
"This love such a vice on my distant mind,
The cold kiss from her cherub lips,
Is driving me insanely blind,
Starlight ivory feels frozen in her gaze,
This blaze,
Blaze of destiny,
Haze of destruction,
Striking like lightning from her frostbitten tongue,
I sought after the gift of the mystical sun,
Beauty ahead by the pharoah`s last words,
She tilted my dream as if she was controlled,
Though many have wondered how long have I slept,
I break through the night like a dark silouhette,
And the temple the Pharoah had built for his rest,
Was burnt to the ground by the flaring sunset,
She whispered the ravens burnt by the hellfire,
While my twisted outlook may be all but divine,
Shunning the storm,
It just seems to be gone,
The truth still stings me like poisonous thorns,
In the wake of my bride,
She was hounded by pride,
For the lisp of the dogmas kept building by right,
Her touch was encased by a holy black light,
I longed to hold her though I`ll be burned by desire,
Why?
Why is it that heaven keeps us far apart,
Are they jealous I`m trying to patch up my heart,
Restless parting,
I am drowning,
I`m Coldsweating tears as I`m lost in her eyes,
We stand there and stare as the hours pass by,
She then weeps like a rose after soft midnight dew,
As the glistening moon shines from great altitudes "
Thats all I did for now.
Please do tell what you think.
-
I'am not that good with this poem or writer thing but i'am giving it a try so don't laugh
I am a lion
King of the jungle
When hit people they tumble
With my sharp and vicious teeth
Men ran quick on thier feet
When give a loud roar
I shake the entire floor
Don't try to hide
Cause i am a lion and i will be right behind
I am vicious
Don't run you will make me cuss
Don't get me mad
Cause when i get you be very sad
I have the power of Gods
More powerful then the Lords
So you better look out
Cause in the jungle i am all about
so what u guys think?
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More submissions. Good. Thought this thread was dead.
Not too bad there Crash~, but it seems you need some vocabulary expansion. A thesaurus would help you some.
Shin~: We need a title for that piece of art man. A titles' needed to compliment the work.
More originals needed. Still working on my project.
-
Its called "The love that can never be".
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soundin like tabanca ting shin...........
-
Golf Course
Perry Voight woke to find himself lying atop a small grassy hill from where he had a view over a very large golf course. Hole after hole, the golf course stretched away in all directions, reaching to the far horizon. According to his watch, the time was 6.17, and the dewy cool of the clean and scentless air suggested it was 6.17 in the morning. The sun was just rising.
"Uh huh," said Perry.
He had a very clear memory of having been put to death by lethal injection for the murder of his wife. In fact, Perry had not killed his beloved Daphne, nor did he know who had. But he was fairly sure that he himself was dead.
"So this is ....?"
Where? Heaven, possibly. Emerald greens stretching away forever. Little lakes of limpidly clear water. Here and there, occasional buildings looking clean and bright in the sunlight.
But his conscience was not clear enough for heaven. He had done some pretty ugly things in his time. Hell, then? Hell - no, he couldn't really see it. For a start, he had been genuinely repentant for his major sins. And, besides, as a fairly traditional, conservative guy, he couldn't square this endless golf course with any possible vision of hell.
"Limbo, then," he decided.
Limbo was for - for what? Was for the indifferent. Those too limply indecisive to be either good or bad. Those who had sleepwalked through life. But that didn't fit his own case, surely. Purgatory, then. The place where you atoned through suffering before going on to heaven. But suffering required - well, racks and whips and burning coals, that kind of stuff.
"It's the opening credits," said Perry, deciding. "The movie will start shortly, right?"
That made as much sense as anything. So he started downhill toward the nearest building, a silvery pavilion which sat beside a little lake. Thousands of orange birds were floating on the lake. And, when Perry got down to the water, he found the birds were plastic ducks. Pretty cute ducks, if you liked that kind of thing.
"Limbo," said Perry, deciding.
Heaven would have had real ducks, and shotguns to allow a guy the chance to shoot them dead. And there wouldn't have been anything cute in hell.
Inside the pavilion, there were dozens of cast iron tables, painted white, with precisely four lime-green plastic chairs at each table. The place was utterly deserted. A row of vending machines hummed faintly. They sold soft drinks, icecream, candy bars with familiar brand names, and newspapers. Unfortunately, Perry had no money. Frustrated, he punched one of the machines. A can of drink fell out.
"You could have just asked," said the machine.
"Okay," said Perry. "Give me. Please."
"Give you what?"
"Another can of the same. Thank you! Yeah, and you, some of that stuff. Yeah, and I'll have the newspaper. Thanks. And while we're at it - what place is this? I mean, you know, where does it fit in the, uh, heaven-hell spectrum?"
"Are you talking to me?" said one of the machines.
"Yes," said Perry.
"You must be nuts, then," said the machine. "I'm not a theologian, I'm a vending machine."
Well, that kind of confirms it, doesn't it? If you end up in a place where the vending machines talk about theology, you must be dead. Right? I guess.
While eating, Perry became aware that his bad tooth was still bad. Death, apparently, was no substitute for dentistry. This was not going to be much fun if he was going to have to eat on one side of his mouth for the rest of eternity. Definitely not heaven, then. In heaven, you got a full suite of medical benefits. Yeah, and a harp, and your own cloud, and all that good stuff.
Over his sugary, less than entirely satisfactory breakfast, Perry read through his newspaper, which was The Golf Course Times. Apparently the date was the fourth of July in the year Seven Tango Pineapple Blue. The news was rather like the breakfast: less than entirely satisfactory. "Tangerine Eclipse Percolated by Tea Leaf Bicycle." "Three Dead in Chicago Fire." "Small Earthquake In Peru - Not Many Dead."
Perry was reading a piece about the recent completion of the Great Pyramid of Cheops when a coughing clanking grumbling cacophony announced the approach of someone big and heavy. Turning, Perry saw a big guy coming toward him. The guy had the height of a basketball star and the bulk of a Japanese sumo wrestler. The guy, whoever he was, was green as a frog, and naked but for a gold watch and a bright orange penis sheath. His green skin was that of a crocodile and his teeth were that of a shark. There was a thin thread of blood leaking from one of his swollen nostrils. Slung over his shoulder was a huge leather bag filled with a clattering collection of golf clubs.
"God," muttered Perry.
"Midrog Shablash, sir," said the green entity, halting in front of him. "Midrog Shablash, at your service."
"Uh."
"Well. You want to start?"
"Start?"
"Golf."
"Uh, well," said Perry.
It's a trick. You answer in the affirmative and he hauls out one of those clubs and starts breaking your teeth. Right?
"Well?" said Midrog.
"Tell the truth," said Perry, "to tell the truth, what I'd really like is to see a dentist."
"A dentist?" said Midrog. "What's a dentist?"
"A tooth doctor," said Perry.
"Doctor?"
"Someone who repairs teeth."
"Oh, we don't have anyone like that," said Midrog. "Not here in Golf Course."
"In where?"
"Golf Course."
"And where's that?" said Perry. "I mean, is it, uh, you know, like, uh, something like hell? Or more like limbo?"
"Golf Course is Golf Course," said Midrog impatiently. "And I'm your caddy. You want to play golf or not?"
"What's the alternative?"
"The alternative to playing golf is not playing golf."
"Am I making a permanent choice here?" said Perry cautiously.
"Look, mac," said Midrog. "I'm a caddy. Got that? A caddy, pure and simple. You want to play golf, you play. You don't, you do whatever. It's all one to me."
"So what exactly is there to do?" said Perry. "Besides play golf, I mean."
"That's over to you, isn't it?" said Midrog. "This is Golf Course, not Disneyland. We don't have a big range of attractions."
"So ... do you have any suggestions?"
"Sure. You could pull your rod, or dig up the greens, or go bury your head in a sand trap, or spend the day breaking windows, or make a bow and arrow and go shoot some plastic ducks. It's a free country, mac."
"Okay," said Perry. "I'll play golf."
His golf had been indifferent in his former life, and it was equally as indifferent in Golf Course. His bad tooth occasionally niggled and griped, much as it had during the final weeks of his jailhouse existence. Occasionally, he was troubled by the faintest twinge of arthritic protest from his right hip, just as in real life. But his stamina had improved. In fact, he played all day without the slightest sense of strain or physical fatigue. And without eating, or needing to visit the bathroom.
It was only toward evening that Perry truly began to get tired.
"I want to stop," he said.
"Fine," said Midrog. "Whatever you say. There's a hotel over there."
And so there was. A white marble hotel adorned with a sign which said "Splendid's White Marble Golf Course Hotel."
"I don't have any money."
"Your credit's good."
"You mean I get a bill?"
"I was using one of those atom-splitting radioactive billfolds," said Midrog.
"One of those what?"
"Metaphors," said Midrog, correcting himself. "A metaphor. You can have what you want. The presidential suite, hot and cold running call girls, cable TV with 76 different porno channels, you name it."
And he was right. Not that it was perfect. In the hotel, the beds were too soft, the restaurant served nothing but plain rice and fried chicken, the liquor was too watery to get drunk on, the call girls were all in their late 40s, and the stuff on the porno channels was blurred and out of focus. But, compared to prison, it wasn't too bad. And, for a guy who was dead, Perry Voight didn't think he was doing too badly.
That evening, when Perry was relaxing in the lobby with a martini, Daphne entered the hotel.
"Daphne!" said Perry, so surprised that he spilt his drink as he stood. "Daphne," he said, staring at his wife. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm doing a survey," said Daphne.
"What happened?" said Perry. "Who killed you?"
"Which do you prefer," said Daphne. "Cigarettes or cigarillos?"
"You know I don't smoke," said Perry, who was so innocent of the smoking habit that he didn't even know what a cigarillo might be, or even if it was a real thing.
"Of course you don't smoke," said Daphne. "You were always too busy playing golf, weren't you?"
"Is that meant as a criticism?" said Perry.
"Finish the survey, and I might have time to tell you," said Daphne. "Next question. How many cigars do you smoke a day?"
"Daphne - "
"Do you want to do this survey or not?" said Daphne. "It's entirely voluntary, you know."
"Then let's skip it," said Perry.
"Fine," said Daphne, and promptly turned into a cloud of malarial mosquitos, one of which flew into Perry's ear as the rest scattered and vanished.
It took Perry most of the rest of the evening to get rid of the mosquito in his ear. (He finally had to drown it by filling his ear with warm olive oil.) By the time he finally got to bed, he was totally exhausted. And, at first, he slept with the dreamless intensity of a piece of fossilized bone.
Then he was woken at three a.m. by screaming from across the room across the hall. Perry got out of bed, pulled on his shorts and stumbled to the phone. He picked up the phone and tried to call the front desk, only to find the phone was dead. The screaming was getting worse and worse - an incoherent onslaught of uncontainable agony.
"The hell," said Perry, deciding.
He threw open his door and stepped out into the hall. As he did so, the screaming abruptly stopped. There was no sound in the corridor but for the hush of the air conditioning and a faint hum from the ice machine down the hall. Perry tried the door of the room opposite his own. The door opened.
Inside, a suite like his own. Nailed upside down to the wall, a man. A dead man. His throat had been cut. There was blood all over the suite. The man's swollen stomach was knotting and unknotting. Then a green snake bulged out of the gashed wound in the corpse's throat and, in one prolonged disgorging heave, flowed forth. Slick with blood, it slithered down to the floor, then vanished into the indecipherable shadows of the bathroom. The dead man's stomach was now flaccid, empty.
"Help!" yelled Perry. "Help! Call the police! Help help help!"
But there was no response. And, running through the hotel in his shorts, Perry found the whole place deserted. But for the caddy, Midrog Shablash, who was asleep on a couch in the foyer.
"The hell?" said Midrog, woken from sleep. "Look, mac, it's three in the morning. You want to play golf, fine. But I don't get going till the sun comes up. Union rules."
"I'm trying to tell you," said Perry. "There's this dead man."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time," said Midrog. "Hey. Shit happens. Go back to sleep."
"Sleep? After what happens?"
"Hey. Morning, I'll get you partnered up with Al Treeve. He's been here a while. You can play a few rounds, he can tell you a few things."
But sleep was impossible. Instead, Perry took two bottles of watery gin from one of the bars, and went outside, where he spent the rest of the night sitting on a sand trap trying unsuccessfully to get drunk.
"No substance abuse possible," explained Al Treeve, the next day. "Believe me, I've tried."
"So how long have you been here?" said Perry, as he teed up.
"About that long," said Al, accepting a golf ball from his caddy. "Long enough to earn old timer privileges."
"Such as?"
"Special golf balls, for one. Like this here Sinner Special."
"This what?"
"This," said Al, with a big grin.
A curious thing. A sphere, golf-ball dimpled but clear. Inside, a naked man and a naked woman. And a porcupine.
"They look in pretty good shape," said Perry, for want of anything intelligent to say.
"Sure. Regeneration. Smack! Whack! Trauma ward special. Then they get fixed up."
Inside the golf ball, the man and the woman sat slumped, listless. The porcupine was not moving. Experimentally, Perry shook the golf ball. Throwing the scene into screaming spasm.
"Jesus!" said Perry, shocked at his callous error.
"That's nothing," said Al with a chuckle. "Why, once I hit this sucker so hard both their heads came off."
"That's possible?" said Perry.
"Here? Sure. Anything's possible here."
"Doesn't this ... worry you? At all?"
"You some kinda atheist communist or something?" said Al, turning surly. "These are sinners."
Atheist communist. A tad old-fashioned.
"How long have you been here?" said Perry.
"Oh, since ... 1958, I guess. Yeah. That was it. 1958."
"This is sick," said Perry, peering into the bloodstained interior of the Sinner Special golf ball, where the man, the woman and the porcupine lay in a groaning heap.
"You were right," said Al, to Midrog. "He doesn't fit in." Then, to Perry: "You know your problem? You expect things to make sense."
"Of course."
"But they don't," said Al. "So get used to it."
"I don't think I can," said Perry.
"Well, then," said Al, and clubbed him, knocking him down.
"What did you do that for?" said Perry, looking up from the ground, too shocked to really feel pain.
"It's my little hobby," said Al. "Nice knowing you, Perry."
Then Al Treeve whacked Perry Voight in the head, killing him outright.
When Perry came to, he was lying in a concrete car park. A big one. It went on for miles. But there were no cars in sight. Off to his right was a golf course. Not a very nice one - it was a hot and shadeless glaring place with withered grass and stunted trees. Even so, some golfers were playing on it.
"So where's this?" said Perry, to himself.
"Thermostat," said one of the parking meters, answering him.
"You speak English?" said Perry.
"Sure I do," said the parking meter.
"Then - where is this?"
"I just told you."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I did. It's Thermostat."
"That's a place?"
"Yeah, sure. Basic theology. There's Cold Spaghetti, Alarm Clocks, Twisted Rodents and Thermostat. Oh, and Frozen Chocolate, too, let's not forget about Frozen Chocolate."
"And Golf Course?" said Perry.
"Yeah, you're right, there's Golf Course. I was forgetting Golf Course. But this is Thermostat."
"And they have golf here ....?"
"Oh, they have golf everywhere. Even in Japan."
Even in Japan. Same pattern. Grown men, little white balls. The men chase the balls. They hit them. The balls run away. The balls don't run far enough. The men see where the balls have fallen. They follow their quarry, meaning to hit again.
Off in the distance, Perry saw a woman talking to a couple of golfers. Maybe it was Daphne. Doing a survey? Maybe. Well. Maybe if you finally listened to her for once ....
"The American spirit of optimism will not be quenched even by death," said the parking meter, as if reading his mind.
"Hell, no," said Perry. "It won't. And why should it?"
And, without waiting for an answer, he set off, his mind set for once on winning the woman rather than on teeing off.
The End
-
if he stop going on people msn and talking sh!t then he mightnt have tabanca
-
Golf Course
Perry Voight woke to find himself lying atop a small grassy hill from where he had a view over a very large golf course. Hole after hole, the golf course stretched away in all directions, reaching to the far horizon. According to his watch, the time was 6.17, and the dewy cool of the clean and scentless air suggested it was 6.17 in the morning. The sun was just rising.
"Uh huh," said Perry.
He had a very clear memory of having been put to death by lethal injection for the murder of his wife. In fact, Perry had not killed his beloved Daphne, nor did he know who had. But he was fairly sure that he himself was dead.
"So this is ....?"
Where? Heaven, possibly. Emerald greens stretching away forever. Little lakes of limpidly clear water. Here and there, occasional buildings looking clean and bright in the sunlight.
But his conscience was not clear enough for heaven. He had done some pretty ugly things in his time. Hell, then? Hell - no, he couldn't really see it. For a start, he had been genuinely repentant for his major sins. And, besides, as a fairly traditional, conservative guy, he couldn't square this endless golf course with any possible vision of hell.
"Limbo, then," he decided.
Limbo was for - for what? Was for the indifferent. Those too limply indecisive to be either good or bad. Those who had sleepwalked through life. But that didn't fit his own case, surely. Purgatory, then. The place where you atoned through suffering before going on to heaven. But suffering required - well, racks and whips and burning coals, that kind of stuff.
"It's the opening credits," said Perry, deciding. "The movie will start shortly, right?"
That made as much sense as anything. So he started downhill toward the nearest building, a silvery pavilion which sat beside a little lake. Thousands of orange birds were floating on the lake. And, when Perry got down to the water, he found the birds were plastic ducks. Pretty cute ducks, if you liked that kind of thing.
"Limbo," said Perry, deciding.
Heaven would have had real ducks, and shotguns to allow a guy the chance to shoot them dead. And there wouldn't have been anything cute in hell.
Inside the pavilion, there were dozens of cast iron tables, painted white, with precisely four lime-green plastic chairs at each table. The place was utterly deserted. A row of vending machines hummed faintly. They sold soft drinks, icecream, candy bars with familiar brand names, and newspapers. Unfortunately, Perry had no money. Frustrated, he punched one of the machines. A can of drink fell out.
"You could have just asked," said the machine.
"Okay," said Perry. "Give me. Please."
"Give you what?"
"Another can of the same. Thank you! Yeah, and you, some of that stuff. Yeah, and I'll have the newspaper. Thanks. And while we're at it - what place is this? I mean, you know, where does it fit in the, uh, heaven-hell spectrum?"
"Are you talking to me?" said one of the machines.
"Yes," said Perry.
"You must be nuts, then," said the machine. "I'm not a theologian, I'm a vending machine."
Well, that kind of confirms it, doesn't it? If you end up in a place where the vending machines talk about theology, you must be dead. Right? I guess.
While eating, Perry became aware that his bad tooth was still bad. Death, apparently, was no substitute for dentistry. This was not going to be much fun if he was going to have to eat on one side of his mouth for the rest of eternity. Definitely not heaven, then. In heaven, you got a full suite of medical benefits. Yeah, and a harp, and your own cloud, and all that good stuff.
Over his sugary, less than entirely satisfactory breakfast, Perry read through his newspaper, which was The Golf Course Times. Apparently the date was the fourth of July in the year Seven Tango Pineapple Blue. The news was rather like the breakfast: less than entirely satisfactory. "Tangerine Eclipse Percolated by Tea Leaf Bicycle." "Three Dead in Chicago Fire." "Small Earthquake In Peru - Not Many Dead."
Perry was reading a piece about the recent completion of the Great Pyramid of Cheops when a coughing clanking grumbling cacophony announced the approach of someone big and heavy. Turning, Perry saw a big guy coming toward him. The guy had the height of a basketball star and the bulk of a Japanese sumo wrestler. The guy, whoever he was, was green as a frog, and naked but for a gold watch and a bright orange penis sheath. His green skin was that of a crocodile and his teeth were that of a shark. There was a thin thread of blood leaking from one of his swollen nostrils. Slung over his shoulder was a huge leather bag filled with a clattering collection of golf clubs.
"God," muttered Perry.
"Midrog Shablash, sir," said the green entity, halting in front of him. "Midrog Shablash, at your service."
"Uh."
"Well. You want to start?"
"Start?"
"Golf."
"Uh, well," said Perry.
It's a trick. You answer in the affirmative and he hauls out one of those clubs and starts breaking your teeth. Right?
"Well?" said Midrog.
"Tell the truth," said Perry, "to tell the truth, what I'd really like is to see a dentist."
"A dentist?" said Midrog. "What's a dentist?"
"A tooth doctor," said Perry.
"Doctor?"
"Someone who repairs teeth."
"Oh, we don't have anyone like that," said Midrog. "Not here in Golf Course."
"In where?"
"Golf Course."
"And where's that?" said Perry. "I mean, is it, uh, you know, like, uh, something like hell? Or more like limbo?"
"Golf Course is Golf Course," said Midrog impatiently. "And I'm your caddy. You want to play golf or not?"
"What's the alternative?"
"The alternative to playing golf is not playing golf."
"Am I making a permanent choice here?" said Perry cautiously.
"Look, mac," said Midrog. "I'm a caddy. Got that? A caddy, pure and simple. You want to play golf, you play. You don't, you do whatever. It's all one to me."
"So what exactly is there to do?" said Perry. "Besides play golf, I mean."
"That's over to you, isn't it?" said Midrog. "This is Golf Course, not Disneyland. We don't have a big range of attractions."
"So ... do you have any suggestions?"
"Sure. You could pull your rod, or dig up the greens, or go bury your head in a sand trap, or spend the day breaking windows, or make a bow and arrow and go shoot some plastic ducks. It's a free country, mac."
"Okay," said Perry. "I'll play golf."
His golf had been indifferent in his former life, and it was equally as indifferent in Golf Course. His bad tooth occasionally niggled and griped, much as it had during the final weeks of his jailhouse existence. Occasionally, he was troubled by the faintest twinge of arthritic protest from his right hip, just as in real life. But his stamina had improved. In fact, he played all day without the slightest sense of strain or physical fatigue. And without eating, or needing to visit the bathroom.
It was only toward evening that Perry truly began to get tired.
"I want to stop," he said.
"Fine," said Midrog. "Whatever you say. There's a hotel over there."
And so there was. A white marble hotel adorned with a sign which said "Splendid's White Marble Golf Course Hotel."
"I don't have any money."
"Your credit's good."
"You mean I get a bill?"
"I was using one of those atom-splitting radioactive billfolds," said Midrog.
"One of those what?"
"Metaphors," said Midrog, correcting himself. "A metaphor. You can have what you want. The presidential suite, hot and cold running call girls, cable TV with 76 different porno channels, you name it."
And he was right. Not that it was perfect. In the hotel, the beds were too soft, the restaurant served nothing but plain rice and fried chicken, the liquor was too watery to get drunk on, the call girls were all in their late 40s, and the stuff on the porno channels was blurred and out of focus. But, compared to prison, it wasn't too bad. And, for a guy who was dead, Perry Voight didn't think he was doing too badly.
That evening, when Perry was relaxing in the lobby with a martini, Daphne entered the hotel.
"Daphne!" said Perry, so surprised that he spilt his drink as he stood. "Daphne," he said, staring at his wife. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm doing a survey," said Daphne.
"What happened?" said Perry. "Who killed you?"
"Which do you prefer," said Daphne. "Cigarettes or cigarillos?"
"You know I don't smoke," said Perry, who was so innocent of the smoking habit that he didn't even know what a cigarillo might be, or even if it was a real thing.
"Of course you don't smoke," said Daphne. "You were always too busy playing golf, weren't you?"
"Is that meant as a criticism?" said Perry.
"Finish the survey, and I might have time to tell you," said Daphne. "Next question. How many cigars do you smoke a day?"
"Daphne - "
"Do you want to do this survey or not?" said Daphne. "It's entirely voluntary, you know."
"Then let's skip it," said Perry.
"Fine," said Daphne, and promptly turned into a cloud of malarial mosquitos, one of which flew into Perry's ear as the rest scattered and vanished.
It took Perry most of the rest of the evening to get rid of the mosquito in his ear. (He finally had to drown it by filling his ear with warm olive oil.) By the time he finally got to bed, he was totally exhausted. And, at first, he slept with the dreamless intensity of a piece of fossilized bone.
Then he was woken at three a.m. by screaming from across the room across the hall. Perry got out of bed, pulled on his shorts and stumbled to the phone. He picked up the phone and tried to call the front desk, only to find the phone was dead. The screaming was getting worse and worse - an incoherent onslaught of uncontainable agony.
"The hell," said Perry, deciding.
He threw open his door and stepped out into the hall. As he did so, the screaming abruptly stopped. There was no sound in the corridor but for the hush of the air conditioning and a faint hum from the ice machine down the hall. Perry tried the door of the room opposite his own. The door opened.
Inside, a suite like his own. Nailed upside down to the wall, a man. A dead man. His throat had been cut. There was blood all over the suite. The man's swollen stomach was knotting and unknotting. Then a green snake bulged out of the gashed wound in the corpse's throat and, in one prolonged disgorging heave, flowed forth. Slick with blood, it slithered down to the floor, then vanished into the indecipherable shadows of the bathroom. The dead man's stomach was now flaccid, empty.
"Help!" yelled Perry. "Help! Call the police! Help help help!"
But there was no response. And, running through the hotel in his shorts, Perry found the whole place deserted. But for the caddy, Midrog Shablash, who was asleep on a couch in the foyer.
"The hell?" said Midrog, woken from sleep. "Look, mac, it's three in the morning. You want to play golf, fine. But I don't get going till the sun comes up. Union rules."
"I'm trying to tell you," said Perry. "There's this dead man."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time," said Midrog. "Hey. Shit happens. Go back to sleep."
"Sleep? After what happens?"
"Hey. Morning, I'll get you partnered up with Al Treeve. He's been here a while. You can play a few rounds, he can tell you a few things."
But sleep was impossible. Instead, Perry took two bottles of watery gin from one of the bars, and went outside, where he spent the rest of the night sitting on a sand trap trying unsuccessfully to get drunk.
"No substance abuse possible," explained Al Treeve, the next day. "Believe me, I've tried."
"So how long have you been here?" said Perry, as he teed up.
"About that long," said Al, accepting a golf ball from his caddy. "Long enough to earn old timer privileges."
"Such as?"
"Special golf balls, for one. Like this here Sinner Special."
"This what?"
"This," said Al, with a big grin.
A curious thing. A sphere, golf-ball dimpled but clear. Inside, a naked man and a naked woman. And a porcupine.
"They look in pretty good shape," said Perry, for want of anything intelligent to say.
"Sure. Regeneration. Smack! Whack! Trauma ward special. Then they get fixed up."
Inside the golf ball, the man and the woman sat slumped, listless. The porcupine was not moving. Experimentally, Perry shook the golf ball. Throwing the scene into screaming spasm.
"Jesus!" said Perry, shocked at his callous error.
"That's nothing," said Al with a chuckle. "Why, once I hit this sucker so hard both their heads came off."
"That's possible?" said Perry.
"Here? Sure. Anything's possible here."
"Doesn't this ... worry you? At all?"
"You some kinda atheist communist or something?" said Al, turning surly. "These are sinners."
Atheist communist. A tad old-fashioned.
"How long have you been here?" said Perry.
"Oh, since ... 1958, I guess. Yeah. That was it. 1958."
"This is sick," said Perry, peering into the bloodstained interior of the Sinner Special golf ball, where the man, the woman and the porcupine lay in a groaning heap.
"You were right," said Al, to Midrog. "He doesn't fit in." Then, to Perry: "You know your problem? You expect things to make sense."
"Of course."
"But they don't," said Al. "So get used to it."
"I don't think I can," said Perry.
"Well, then," said Al, and clubbed him, knocking him down.
"What did you do that for?" said Perry, looking up from the ground, too shocked to really feel pain.
"It's my little hobby," said Al. "Nice knowing you, Perry."
Then Al Treeve whacked Perry Voight in the head, killing him outright.
When Perry came to, he was lying in a concrete car park. A big one. It went on for miles. But there were no cars in sight. Off to his right was a golf course. Not a very nice one - it was a hot and shadeless glaring place with withered grass and stunted trees. Even so, some golfers were playing on it.
"So where's this?" said Perry, to himself.
"Thermostat," said one of the parking meters, answering him.
"You speak English?" said Perry.
"Sure I do," said the parking meter.
"Then - where is this?"
"I just told you."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I did. It's Thermostat."
"That's a place?"
"Yeah, sure. Basic theology. There's Cold Spaghetti, Alarm Clocks, Twisted Rodents and Thermostat. Oh, and Frozen Chocolate, too, let's not forget about Frozen Chocolate."
"And Golf Course?" said Perry.
"Yeah, you're right, there's Golf Course. I was forgetting Golf Course. But this is Thermostat."
"And they have golf here ....?"
"Oh, they have golf everywhere. Even in Japan."
Even in Japan. Same pattern. Grown men, little white balls. The men chase the balls. They hit them. The balls run away. The balls don't run far enough. The men see where the balls have fallen. They follow their quarry, meaning to hit again.
Off in the distance, Perry saw a woman talking to a couple of golfers. Maybe it was Daphne. Doing a survey? Maybe. Well. Maybe if you finally listened to her for once ....
"The American spirit of optimism will not be quenched even by death," said the parking meter, as if reading his mind.
"Hell, no," said Perry. "It won't. And why should it?"
And, without waiting for an answer, he set off, his mind set for once on winning the woman rather than on teeing off.
The End
-
Life on Planet Earth
Harlan Joe was driving a truck from Chicago through to Denver the day the aliens arrived. Listening to the Big Event on radio, he was puzzled.
"Papua New Guinea? Where the hell is Papua New Guinea?"
Then he saw, up ahead, the woman in the red dress who was standing by the bright red sports car. She was trying to flag him down. For the sake of the red dress, Harlan Joe obliged. When he pulled up alongside of the red sports car, he saw one of the tires had blown out. He also saw that the woman had red, red lipstick. And that she was smiling at him.
That was how Harlan Joe came to meet Avaltreen Blue.
*
Why Papua New Guinea? That was never explained. Landing at Fort Moresby, the capital of PNG, was the first totally inexplicable and utterly alien thing which the aliens did.
Everyone on the planet had been conditioned to expect the arrival of aliens. But the conventions of Hollywood had always called for aliens to show up in Washington DC or New York - or maybe Los Angeles. Not in some place in the tropical nowhere north of Australia.
The aliens arrived in ships which were the color of aubergines, a shining purple fat with the potency of knowledge. They chose, for reasons which they did not choose to reveal, to call themselves the Polysynthacella. They had decided (rightly or wrongly) that they had made themselves into experts on the languages of planet Earth, and that they could legitimately name themselves.
"We will unite you in knowledge," they said.
What did this mean?
Nobody knew. Hypothesis was protean, but all conclusions tentative. And, when asked to explain themselves, the Polysynthacella merely repeated their original statement, as if it was self-evident.
"I don't think they're so bright," said Avaltreen Blue.
It was the first original thought of her life. She might (conceivably) have had a second, except that, at that point, the police kicked in the door of the motel where Avaltreen Blue was shacked up with Harlan Joe, and arrested her for grand auto theft, possession of marijuana and the counterfeiting of United States currency.
"I thought the Secret Service took care of the counterfeiting thing," said Harlan Joe, visiting her in jail.
"Yeah," said Avaltreen Blue, looking tired, "but maybe they were busy or something."
*
After six months in Papua New Guinea, the Polysynthacella moved to Chile, where they established a big base in the desert.
"Yeah, Chile," said Harlan Joe, meeting Avaltreen Blue outside of the jail.
"Where's that?" said Avaltreen.
"Down south," said Harlan Joe, who had seen it on TV - the maps, the explanations and all. "You know. Way down south. Where they speak Spanish and all."
"So maybe the big guys want to learn Spanish," said Avaltreen.
Then she gave way to emotion, suddenly, unexpectedly, and wept. Harlan Joe took her in his arms and she wept all the more. She had not really believed that he would wait for her. She had not really believed that he cared.
*
Down in Chile, the Polysynthacella covered a good half of one of the driest deserts in the world with a gritty substance which they claimed was powdered chimpanzee fur. Nobody knew why they did this, or where they got the fur from.
The Polysynthacella were big, lumbering amphibians which looked like queen-size mattresses covered on both sides with short but powerful tentacles. The tentacles were a rubbery green and yellow tentacles and looked unconvincing, as if the Polysynthacella were not authentic creatures, but, rather, the flawed products of a second-rate plastic toy factory.
"What are you here for?" asked Ispat Bean, winner of the "Meet the Aliens" contest.
"We are here to unite you in knowledge," said one of the Polysynthacella, the one which called itself Medellin Spalding.
"So how come that Papua place?" said Ispat Bean. "You like the coffee, or what?"
"It is part of your planet," said Medellin Spalding. "You should know about it."
"Oh yeah?" said Ispat, who, being from Ohio, didn't see the necessity. "And how about that dumb name of yours?"
"The mind needs chewing gum," said Medellin Spalding, cryptically.
And waved all his (its?) green and yellow tentacles simultaneously for a solid ten seconds.
The scientists of the world were ecstatic. Ispat Bean, who was just a guy who made hamburgers at McDonald's in Cincinnati, a guy who was a part-time computer geek, a guy whose one claim to fame was that he kept piranhas as pets - this Ispat Bean had actually extracted information from the aliens.
The aliens were, it seemed, of the opinion that Papua was important, or should be, not to the aliens themselves but to Earthlings such as Ispat Bean.
That was as far as anyone got with interviewing the aliens, however, because, the very next day, they abruptly departed from the planet, without warning.
*
A year later, the itching disease broke out, simultaneously, all over planet Earth. It was monstrous. It was like your whole body was one big itch. And x-ray analysis showed strange branching structures - a kind of supplementary nervous system, by the looks of it - spreading through the bodies of the afflicted.
"The afflicted" being the entire population of the planet.
"It's those aliens," said Harlan Joe, speaking to other truckers by CB radio as he headed into Akron.
His truck rolled past a car which was stopped by the highway. In the car, a man. Maybe sleeping, maybe dead. Harlan Joe didn't stop. He was intent on his conversation. He was through the itching phase by now - otherwise he wouldn't have been able to drive the truck - but he was still as mad as hell.
Harlan Joe didn't know - and wouldn't have cared if he had known - that the man in the car was Ispat Bean. Harlan Joe had seen Ispat Bean on TV, a while back, but had already forgotten all about him. Everyone else on planet Earth, pretty much, had done the same thing.
Ispat Bean had gone from global supercelebrity to nonentity. His attempt to make it big ("My vision: a piranha in every home! The ecological solution to the food scraps problem!!") had failed absolutely. He was totally broke and was on the run, trying to stay ahead of a consortium of lawyers which wanted to extract one of his kidneys and half of his liver. (Some of the testimony in the class action suit was heartbreaking. "My little girl ... this is a photo of her beautiful little hand, before that ugly ... before that monstrous ... oh! And she did so want to play the violin ....")
"Aliens," repeated Harlan Joe. "They did it. This plague, it's them."
Harlan Joe was no scientist, but, as it happened, the world's best brains agreed with him.
But why?
Nobody knew.
After Harlan Joe had driven past, Ispat Bean got out of the car, where he had been pretending to sleep. He looked around. Nobody was in sight. He hauled the body out of the trunk and dumped it by the roadside. He had already strapped ten pounds of plastic explosive to the body and rigged up a timing mechanism, which he now initiated. Five minutes after Ispat Bean drove away, the body exploded, sending little pieces of flesh and bone flying in all directions.
That night, in his motel room, Ispat Bean watched the TV, eager for the first news of the Exploding Dog Killer. Having been famous once, Ispat was sure he could be famous again.
Kill humans? Anyone can do that. And there is something in our nature which cheers on the Hannibal Lecters of the world. Humans are, after all, our competitors, and our enemies. It's people - strangers - who park in our chosen place, who grab the last carton of milk off of the supermarket shelf, who keep us awake by talking on the plane.
But killing dogs ... now there's a whole new dimension of evil. Unimaginable evil. Evil worthy of prime time interviews, a movie, a video, a TV series, a book.
"Next up," said the announcer, "the exploding elephant."
Elephant? No, idiot! Dog! Not elephant - dog.
But it was an elephant, after all. There was a parade in Sri Lanka, wherever the hell that was, and this elephant exploded.
"Tamil Tiger terrorists have claimed responsibility," said the announcer.
Say what? A bunch of tigers made an elephant explode?
Ispat Bean couldn't quite figure it out. But he was starting to appreciate the truth of Ted Bundy's famous dictum (often erroneously attributed to Andy Warhol): "Achieving celebrity is not only more difficult than you imagine, it is more difficult than you can imagine."
"But Bundy did it," said Ispat, "and I will too."
*
After watching the exploding elephant, Harlan Joe went to take a shower, leaving the TV on, sound turned up loud, so he could listen to the horse racing.
He was in the shower when he was -
- in the truck.
Trapped in a kind of full-sensorium movie of his own life, talking into the CB radio, saying, "It's those aliens," and seeing, out of the corner of his eye, a car by the road, some man slumped inside, maybe sleeping, maybe dead.
Then he was back in the shower.
The impact of the water on his naked flesh was galvanic. His head jerked back and slammed up against the nozzle of the shower, gashing the back of his head.
"What the?!" said the racetrack commentator.
Harlan Joe stumbled out of the shower, heedless of the blood and water he was spreading around the motel room, and went to the TV. The race was still on, but the commentator had lost it - was trying to recover, but had gotten such a shock that he could not remember the names of the horses, the names of the riders. His own name, perhaps.
"You too," said Harlan Joe.
*
"Next up," said the announcer, brightly, "the exploding elephant."
And Ispat Bean was forced to watch the whole thing all over again. The big story which had wiped his little story out of the news (if, indeed, his little story, his exploding dog, had even been noticed by the world.)
Rubbing salt in his wounds.
*
Inside of seventy-two hours, there were three distinct "playback episodes", in which every person on the planet experienced a playback of part of his or her life. The playback episodes were different for each person, but seemed to range in length from three seconds through to about ninety minutes. Regardless of length, however, subjectively each playback episode seemed to take close to zero time.
The scientists came up with a hypothesis pretty quickly.
The new structure which the Polysynthacella had inflicted upon the human race was an organic recording-playback device. It recorded part of your own experience then played that experience back, so you lived through it all over again.
During playback, your perception of time was messed around with, so a couple of seconds were enough to permit the replaying of well over an hour of experience. And, at the same time, you were disconnected from your living body.
The results?
Well, a fair few auto accidents, and a couple of really spectacular mid-air collisions. Plus a big spike in the number of household accidents, particularly in the kitchen - nasty incidents involving boiling water, for example, or boiling oil. And some brutal stories came out of saw mills and factories, as well. The accident and emergency wards were full.
"But we will survive," said the President grimly.
President Bundy - Howie Bundy, the brother of Ted - was everything a president should be in that hour of need. Grim, spiritual, Christian, confident, resolved. No cheap jokes. No canned laughter. But no tears, either. No flinching.
Watching the president on TV, Harlan Joe felt reassured. Okay, so they were living through a disaster, but it was a familiar American disaster, unfolding in the continental United States, as disasters should. You could understand it without a bunch of maps of weird places with strange names nobody could even pronounce. It was a disaster that America owned.
(Okay, okay, so the people in Africa or wherever were living through the same thing. But it wasn't compulsory to think about them.)
*
Harlan Joe fell asleep in front of the TV and woke to find his mouth full of glue. He was breathing it, hauling it in, gulping it down as if his life depended on it. He tried to stop, but found the body which owned him was not responsive to his commands.
The body begged, scavenged, slept on the streets of a busy city. A full sixteen hours.
Then - whammo! Harlan Joe was back in front of the TV again, wide awake. Back where he had started from. He looked at his wristwatch. He'd been asleep when it all started, so he wasn't sure how much time had gone by. The TV announcer was stammering, seemed to have lost his bookmark in the universe.
*
By the next day, the city had a name - Tegucigalpa, capital of Honduras. And so did the boy. Leon, little Leon, now destined to be dried out at the Betty Ford clinic at the expense of the CIA, which had muscled in as his protector.
Leon was the first of the global playback stars. Presumably, there would be a second. If so, should there be a special category in the Oscars for playback stars?
"I don't have an opinion," said Octave Bundy - brother of Howie and Ted - on the set of the movie provisionally entitled "Leon's Playback" (coming to a movie theater near you inside of the week, if technically possible.) "I deal with actors, not the real world."
Meantime, the news was dominated by emergency precautions which people were taking - or could, or should - to cope with the "subjectivity lapses", which were now lasting up to half an hour. Globally, little Leon's playback had killed over 50,000 people and put several million in hospital. "Playback," as it was coming to be simply called, was shaping up to be a major problem for the survival of the human race.
"We will unite you in knowledge," the aliens had said.
And they sure had.
But, hey - who wants to be united with some glue-sniffing kid in some gutter some place where they don't even speak English?
"True charity cannot be coerced," said President Howie Bundy, denouncing the perceived agenda of the Polysynthacella. "The name for forced charity is gunpoint robbery, pure and simple."
The gun manufacturers launched a big advertising campaign advising people to go out and buy themselves guns to protect themselves against "anyone who wants to rob you, whatever the hell their holy excuse."
*
"You know what I want?" said Avaltreen.
"What?" said Harlan Joe.
"I'd like a, you know, playback. With some Hollywood stud, you know, like, someone on TV."
"Someone famous?" said Harlan Joe.
"Yeah ... you know ... doing ... Hollywood things."
What things? Harlan Joe couldn't imagine. Neither could Avaltreen Blue. But they did their best to improvise their own Hollywood-style debauchery.
"So hot," said Avaltreen, afterwards.
"I know I was," said Harlan Joe, breathing her murmering perfume.
What Avaltreen really meant was that she had gotten uncomfortably hot and wanted to cool down in a cold shower. But she let Harlan enjoy his delusions, and let him slip off to sleep before she extracted herself from his embrace and took herself off to the shower.
*
Harlan slept solidly that night, only to wake to find himself standing by the white plastic door, looking through the little porthole at the wilderness below. Bleak whiteness, snow covered hills with a prickling of black pines. A slow wide river running through the wilderness.
Then he was back in his own flesh, and awake, wide awake.
The CIA never found out who that was, though a dozen claimants came forward - me, me, let it be me, me who housed the human race, if only a single minute.
*
A month, and nothing. Then Harlan Joe was sitting in a roadside cafe, putting ketchup on his hotdog, when the cafe was suddenly gone, and Avaltreen Blue was saying "Yeah ... you know ... doing ... Hollywood things."
Then they were doing those things, Avaltreen Blue was whispering beneath him, her fingers sliding across his sweating flesh.
"So hot," said Avaltreen.
Then she was gone, and Harlan Joe found himself back in the cafe, slumped over the table, his face one huge big mess of ketchup, the ketchup bottle on the floor, the cafe full of choke on account of the stuff which had caught fire in the kitchen.
*
Harlan Joe and Avaltreen Blue were famous for all of a week, until the Bundy thing.
"Hello," said Ted Bundy, speaking for the benefit of the camera which was filming him. "I'm in China. And this package here - let's call it Ching Chaw, though that's not its real name - is scheduled for execution in accordance with the law. Don't feel sorry for the package. It broke a whole bunch of laws. It has it coming."
Then Ted did one of his famous performance art executions, this one using a plastic bag, a scalpel, six pounds of mud and a teaspoon. He had paid ten million dollars for the privilege. He got his money's worth.
In the playback, subjectively, the whole world was Ted. The next day, copycats repeated the whole thing in schools and kindergartens scattered across the world.
"Hey," said Ted, bewildered at the public's outraged response. "I'm an artist."
But the assassin at his door pulled the trigger all the same, scattering his brains across the freshly-painted yellow wall behind.
*
Ted Bundy was famous for all of a week, his fame largely extinguishing that of Harlan Joe and Avaltreen Blue. Then the pack rape in Papua New Guinea left thirty per cent of the world's population with post-traumatic stress disorder. And then came the free fall parachutist, then the twelve-hour production line shift in the Chinese plastic sandal factory, then the ten days in the life of a homeless person, then the electric chair incident which, overnight, jumped the global suicide rate by sixty per cent.
By that time, Harlan Joe and Avaltreen Blue were forgotten.
Almost.
But I remember them.
These days, Harlan Joe does beer advertisements, and Avaltreen Blue has this low-level soft porn career. That's not bad going considering how quickly we've taken to forgetting our playback heroes.
*
Anyway. That brings me to the present moment. To me. You're in me, now. Enjoying playback. Enjoying? Enduring. Whatever. I trust you are. Or will be.
I have this vision, see.
I'm going to be a playback hero.
It hasn't happened yet - granted. But it will. The whole world will be in me, living my life. That's my vision. So let me introduce myself.
See this face in the mirror? This is me. Ispat Bean. Now, I'm going to punch that face right in the jaw. It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt like hell. But there's no escape.
Wham!
Boy ... that hurt. Right?
Oh yeah.
When my time comes, you're not going to forget me. Ispat Bean. Remember the name - okay?
Now, this looks like an electric chair. And it is. Kind of. Only it's not fatal. Let me strap us in. The rest of the process is automatic. See that computer over there? It's programmed to give us a pretty wild ride over the next ... well, I won't tell you how long. That's for me to know and you to guess at.
Ay-ah!
That hurt!
Pain. Lowest common denominator. Binding us - making the many one. E pluribus unum and all that. I believe it is my destiny to fulfill the agenda of the Polysynthacella, to unite us in knowledge, the knowledge being that pain is the ruling One. Now say my name. Ispat Bean! Ay-ah! That hurt, it hurts! Ispat Bean! Ispat Bean! Big one coming - hold tight and scream it! Ispat Bean!
The End
-
Life on Planet Earth
Harlan Joe was driving a truck from Chicago through to Denver the day the aliens arrived. Listening to the Big Event on radio, he was puzzled.
"Papua New Guinea? Where the hell is Papua New Guinea?"
Then he saw, up ahead, the woman in the red dress who was standing by the bright red sports car. She was trying to flag him down. For the sake of the red dress, Harlan Joe obliged. When he pulled up alongside of the red sports car, he saw one of the tires had blown out. He also saw that the woman had red, red lipstick. And that she was smiling at him.
That was how Harlan Joe came to meet Avaltreen Blue.
*
Why Papua New Guinea? That was never explained. Landing at Fort Moresby, the capital of PNG, was the first totally inexplicable and utterly alien thing which the aliens did.
Everyone on the planet had been conditioned to expect the arrival of aliens. But the conventions of Hollywood had always called for aliens to show up in Washington DC or New York - or maybe Los Angeles. Not in some place in the tropical nowhere north of Australia.
The aliens arrived in ships which were the color of aubergines, a shining purple fat with the potency of knowledge. They chose, for reasons which they did not choose to reveal, to call themselves the Polysynthacella. They had decided (rightly or wrongly) that they had made themselves into experts on the languages of planet Earth, and that they could legitimately name themselves.
"We will unite you in knowledge," they said.
What did this mean?
Nobody knew. Hypothesis was protean, but all conclusions tentative. And, when asked to explain themselves, the Polysynthacella merely repeated their original statement, as if it was self-evident.
"I don't think they're so bright," said Avaltreen Blue.
It was the first original thought of her life. She might (conceivably) have had a second, except that, at that point, the police kicked in the door of the motel where Avaltreen Blue was shacked up with Harlan Joe, and arrested her for grand auto theft, possession of marijuana and the counterfeiting of United States currency.
"I thought the Secret Service took care of the counterfeiting thing," said Harlan Joe, visiting her in jail.
"Yeah," said Avaltreen Blue, looking tired, "but maybe they were busy or something."
*
After six months in Papua New Guinea, the Polysynthacella moved to Chile, where they established a big base in the desert.
"Yeah, Chile," said Harlan Joe, meeting Avaltreen Blue outside of the jail.
"Where's that?" said Avaltreen.
"Down south," said Harlan Joe, who had seen it on TV - the maps, the explanations and all. "You know. Way down south. Where they speak Spanish and all."
"So maybe the big guys want to learn Spanish," said Avaltreen.
Then she gave way to emotion, suddenly, unexpectedly, and wept. Harlan Joe took her in his arms and she wept all the more. She had not really believed that he would wait for her. She had not really believed that he cared.
*
Down in Chile, the Polysynthacella covered a good half of one of the driest deserts in the world with a gritty substance which they claimed was powdered chimpanzee fur. Nobody knew why they did this, or where they got the fur from.
The Polysynthacella were big, lumbering amphibians which looked like queen-size mattresses covered on both sides with short but powerful tentacles. The tentacles were a rubbery green and yellow tentacles and looked unconvincing, as if the Polysynthacella were not authentic creatures, but, rather, the flawed products of a second-rate plastic toy factory.
"What are you here for?" asked Ispat Bean, winner of the "Meet the Aliens" contest.
"We are here to unite you in knowledge," said one of the Polysynthacella, the one which called itself Medellin Spalding.
"So how come that Papua place?" said Ispat Bean. "You like the coffee, or what?"
"It is part of your planet," said Medellin Spalding. "You should know about it."
"Oh yeah?" said Ispat, who, being from Ohio, didn't see the necessity. "And how about that dumb name of yours?"
"The mind needs chewing gum," said Medellin Spalding, cryptically.
And waved all his (its?) green and yellow tentacles simultaneously for a solid ten seconds.
The scientists of the world were ecstatic. Ispat Bean, who was just a guy who made hamburgers at McDonald's in Cincinnati, a guy who was a part-time computer geek, a guy whose one claim to fame was that he kept piranhas as pets - this Ispat Bean had actually extracted information from the aliens.
The aliens were, it seemed, of the opinion that Papua was important, or should be, not to the aliens themselves but to Earthlings such as Ispat Bean.
That was as far as anyone got with interviewing the aliens, however, because, the very next day, they abruptly departed from the planet, without warning.
*
A year later, the itching disease broke out, simultaneously, all over planet Earth. It was monstrous. It was like your whole body was one big itch. And x-ray analysis showed strange branching structures - a kind of supplementary nervous system, by the looks of it - spreading through the bodies of the afflicted.
"The afflicted" being the entire population of the planet.
"It's those aliens," said Harlan Joe, speaking to other truckers by CB radio as he headed into Akron.
His truck rolled past a car which was stopped by the highway. In the car, a man. Maybe sleeping, maybe dead. Harlan Joe didn't stop. He was intent on his conversation. He was through the itching phase by now - otherwise he wouldn't have been able to drive the truck - but he was still as mad as hell.
Harlan Joe didn't know - and wouldn't have cared if he had known - that the man in the car was Ispat Bean. Harlan Joe had seen Ispat Bean on TV, a while back, but had already forgotten all about him. Everyone else on planet Earth, pretty much, had done the same thing.
Ispat Bean had gone from global supercelebrity to nonentity. His attempt to make it big ("My vision: a piranha in every home! The ecological solution to the food scraps problem!!") had failed absolutely. He was totally broke and was on the run, trying to stay ahead of a consortium of lawyers which wanted to extract one of his kidneys and half of his liver. (Some of the testimony in the class action suit was heartbreaking. "My little girl ... this is a photo of her beautiful little hand, before that ugly ... before that monstrous ... oh! And she did so want to play the violin ....")
"Aliens," repeated Harlan Joe. "They did it. This plague, it's them."
Harlan Joe was no scientist, but, as it happened, the world's best brains agreed with him.
But why?
Nobody knew.
After Harlan Joe had driven past, Ispat Bean got out of the car, where he had been pretending to sleep. He looked around. Nobody was in sight. He hauled the body out of the trunk and dumped it by the roadside. He had already strapped ten pounds of plastic explosive to the body and rigged up a timing mechanism, which he now initiated. Five minutes after Ispat Bean drove away, the body exploded, sending little pieces of flesh and bone flying in all directions.
That night, in his motel room, Ispat Bean watched the TV, eager for the first news of the Exploding Dog Killer. Having been famous once, Ispat was sure he could be famous again.
Kill humans? Anyone can do that. And there is something in our nature which cheers on the Hannibal Lecters of the world. Humans are, after all, our competitors, and our enemies. It's people - strangers - who park in our chosen place, who grab the last carton of milk off of the supermarket shelf, who keep us awake by talking on the plane.
But killing dogs ... now there's a whole new dimension of evil. Unimaginable evil. Evil worthy of prime time interviews, a movie, a video, a TV series, a book.
"Next up," said the announcer, "the exploding elephant."
Elephant? No, idiot! Dog! Not elephant - dog.
But it was an elephant, after all. There was a parade in Sri Lanka, wherever the hell that was, and this elephant exploded.
"Tamil Tiger terrorists have claimed responsibility," said the announcer.
Say what? A bunch of tigers made an elephant explode?
Ispat Bean couldn't quite figure it out. But he was starting to appreciate the truth of Ted Bundy's famous dictum (often erroneously attributed to Andy Warhol): "Achieving celebrity is not only more difficult than you imagine, it is more difficult than you can imagine."
"But Bundy did it," said Ispat, "and I will too."
*
After watching the exploding elephant, Harlan Joe went to take a shower, leaving the TV on, sound turned up loud, so he could listen to the horse racing.
He was in the shower when he was -
- in the truck.
Trapped in a kind of full-sensorium movie of his own life, talking into the CB radio, saying, "It's those aliens," and seeing, out of the corner of his eye, a car by the road, some man slumped inside, maybe sleeping, maybe dead.
Then he was back in the shower.
The impact of the water on his naked flesh was galvanic. His head jerked back and slammed up against the nozzle of the shower, gashing the back of his head.
"What the?!" said the racetrack commentator.
Harlan Joe stumbled out of the shower, heedless of the blood and water he was spreading around the motel room, and went to the TV. The race was still on, but the commentator had lost it - was trying to recover, but had gotten such a shock that he could not remember the names of the horses, the names of the riders. His own name, perhaps.
"You too," said Harlan Joe.
*
"Next up," said the announcer, brightly, "the exploding elephant."
And Ispat Bean was forced to watch the whole thing all over again. The big story which had wiped his little story out of the news (if, indeed, his little story, his exploding dog, had even been noticed by the world.)
Rubbing salt in his wounds.
*
Inside of seventy-two hours, there were three distinct "playback episodes", in which every person on the planet experienced a playback of part of his or her life. The playback episodes were different for each person, but seemed to range in length from three seconds through to about ninety minutes. Regardless of length, however, subjectively each playback episode seemed to take close to zero time.
The scientists came up with a hypothesis pretty quickly.
The new structure which the Polysynthacella had inflicted upon the human race was an organic recording-playback device. It recorded part of your own experience then played that experience back, so you lived through it all over again.
During playback, your perception of time was messed around with, so a couple of seconds were enough to permit the replaying of well over an hour of experience. And, at the same time, you were disconnected from your living body.
The results?
Well, a fair few auto accidents, and a couple of really spectacular mid-air collisions. Plus a big spike in the number of household accidents, particularly in the kitchen - nasty incidents involving boiling water, for example, or boiling oil. And some brutal stories came out of saw mills and factories, as well. The accident and emergency wards were full.
"But we will survive," said the President grimly.
President Bundy - Howie Bundy, the brother of Ted - was everything a president should be in that hour of need. Grim, spiritual, Christian, confident, resolved. No cheap jokes. No canned laughter. But no tears, either. No flinching.
Watching the president on TV, Harlan Joe felt reassured. Okay, so they were living through a disaster, but it was a familiar American disaster, unfolding in the continental United States, as disasters should. You could understand it without a bunch of maps of weird places with strange names nobody could even pronounce. It was a disaster that America owned.
(Okay, okay, so the people in Africa or wherever were living through the same thing. But it wasn't compulsory to think about them.)
*
Harlan Joe fell asleep in front of the TV and woke to find his mouth full of glue. He was breathing it, hauling it in, gulping it down as if his life depended on it. He tried to stop, but found the body which owned him was not responsive to his commands.
The body begged, scavenged, slept on the streets of a busy city. A full sixteen hours.
Then - whammo! Harlan Joe was back in front of the TV again, wide awake. Back where he had started from. He looked at his wristwatch. He'd been asleep when it all started, so he wasn't sure how much time had gone by. The TV announcer was stammering, seemed to have lost his bookmark in the universe.
*
By the next day, the city had a name - Tegucigalpa, capital of Honduras. And so did the boy. Leon, little Leon, now destined to be dried out at the Betty Ford clinic at the expense of the CIA, which had muscled in as his protector.
Leon was the first of the global playback stars. Presumably, there would be a second. If so, should there be a special category in the Oscars for playback stars?
"I don't have an opinion," said Octave Bundy - brother of Howie and Ted - on the set of the movie provisionally entitled "Leon's Playback" (coming to a movie theater near you inside of the week, if technically possible.) "I deal with actors, not the real world."
Meantime, the news was dominated by emergency precautions which people were taking - or could, or should - to cope with the "subjectivity lapses", which were now lasting up to half an hour. Globally, little Leon's playback had killed over 50,000 people and put several million in hospital. "Playback," as it was coming to be simply called, was shaping up to be a major problem for the survival of the human race.
"We will unite you in knowledge," the aliens had said.
And they sure had.
But, hey - who wants to be united with some glue-sniffing kid in some gutter some place where they don't even speak English?
"True charity cannot be coerced," said President Howie Bundy, denouncing the perceived agenda of the Polysynthacella. "The name for forced charity is gunpoint robbery, pure and simple."
The gun manufacturers launched a big advertising campaign advising people to go out and buy themselves guns to protect themselves against "anyone who wants to rob you, whatever the hell their holy excuse."
*
"You know what I want?" said Avaltreen.
"What?" said Harlan Joe.
"I'd like a, you know, playback. With some Hollywood stud, you know, like, someone on TV."
"Someone famous?" said Harlan Joe.
"Yeah ... you know ... doing ... Hollywood things."
What things? Harlan Joe couldn't imagine. Neither could Avaltreen Blue. But they did their best to improvise their own Hollywood-style debauchery.
"So hot," said Avaltreen, afterwards.
"I know I was," said Harlan Joe, breathing her murmering perfume.
What Avaltreen really meant was that she had gotten uncomfortably hot and wanted to cool down in a cold shower. But she let Harlan enjoy his delusions, and let him slip off to sleep before she extracted herself from his embrace and took herself off to the shower.
*
Harlan slept solidly that night, only to wake to find himself standing by the white plastic door, looking through the little porthole at the wilderness below. Bleak whiteness, snow covered hills with a prickling of black pines. A slow wide river running through the wilderness.
Then he was back in his own flesh, and awake, wide awake.
The CIA never found out who that was, though a dozen claimants came forward - me, me, let it be me, me who housed the human race, if only a single minute.
*
A month, and nothing. Then Harlan Joe was sitting in a roadside cafe, putting ketchup on his hotdog, when the cafe was suddenly gone, and Avaltreen Blue was saying "Yeah ... you know ... doing ... Hollywood things."
Then they were doing those things, Avaltreen Blue was whispering beneath him, her fingers sliding across his sweating flesh.
"So hot," said Avaltreen.
Then she was gone, and Harlan Joe found himself back in the cafe, slumped over the table, his face one huge big mess of ketchup, the ketchup bottle on the floor, the cafe full of choke on account of the stuff which had caught fire in the kitchen.
*
Harlan Joe and Avaltreen Blue were famous for all of a week, until the Bundy thing.
"Hello," said Ted Bundy, speaking for the benefit of the camera which was filming him. "I'm in China. And this package here - let's call it Ching Chaw, though that's not its real name - is scheduled for execution in accordance with the law. Don't feel sorry for the package. It broke a whole bunch of laws. It has it coming."
Then Ted did one of his famous performance art executions, this one using a plastic bag, a scalpel, six pounds of mud and a teaspoon. He had paid ten million dollars for the privilege. He got his money's worth.
In the playback, subjectively, the whole world was Ted. The next day, copycats repeated the whole thing in schools and kindergartens scattered across the world.
"Hey," said Ted, bewildered at the public's outraged response. "I'm an artist."
But the assassin at his door pulled the trigger all the same, scattering his brains across the freshly-painted yellow wall behind.
*
Ted Bundy was famous for all of a week, his fame largely extinguishing that of Harlan Joe and Avaltreen Blue. Then the pack rape in Papua New Guinea left thirty per cent of the world's population with post-traumatic stress disorder. And then came the free fall parachutist, then the twelve-hour production line shift in the Chinese plastic sandal factory, then the ten days in the life of a homeless person, then the electric chair incident which, overnight, jumped the global suicide rate by sixty per cent.
By that time, Harlan Joe and Avaltreen Blue were forgotten.
Almost.
But I remember them.
These days, Harlan Joe does beer advertisements, and Avaltreen Blue has this low-level soft porn career. That's not bad going considering how quickly we've taken to forgetting our playback heroes.
*
Anyway. That brings me to the present moment. To me. You're in me, now. Enjoying playback. Enjoying? Enduring. Whatever. I trust you are. Or will be.
I have this vision, see.
I'm going to be a playback hero.
It hasn't happened yet - granted. But it will. The whole world will be in me, living my life. That's my vision. So let me introduce myself.
See this face in the mirror? This is me. Ispat Bean. Now, I'm going to punch that face right in the jaw. It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt like hell. But there's no escape.
Wham!
Boy ... that hurt. Right?
Oh yeah.
When my time comes, you're not going to forget me. Ispat Bean. Remember the name - okay?
Now, this looks like an electric chair. And it is. Kind of. Only it's not fatal. Let me strap us in. The rest of the process is automatic. See that computer over there? It's programmed to give us a pretty wild ride over the next ... well, I won't tell you how long. That's for me to know and you to guess at.
Ay-ah!
That hurt!
Pain. Lowest common denominator. Binding us - making the many one. E pluribus unum and all that. I believe it is my destiny to fulfill the agenda of the Polysynthacella, to unite us in knowledge, the knowledge being that pain is the ruling One. Now say my name. Ispat Bean! Ay-ah! That hurt, it hurts! Ispat Bean! Ispat Bean! Big one coming - hold tight and scream it! Ispat Bean!
The End
-
Consenting Adults
Burton Hurst saw Matilda at the Electronic Grandmother launch. Her fluorescent pink name tag proclaimed her corporate handle, but her real name, of course, was unknown to him. A woman of phosphorescent beauty, the light gleaming from her white, white teeth.
"And you're Paul," she said, reading his corporate tag.
"Burton, actually," he said, using his real name.
A mistake. In one fingersnap instant, he was blanked out of the launch. He found himself in a corporate lecture theatre, empty but for the cartoon figure of a Vigilant.
"You know the rules, Paul," said the Vigilant.
"Sure," said Burton. "Mea culpa. It won't happen again."
The rules of Business-Business were simple. Business is business, and leave your personal life out of it.
However, a month later Burton saw Matilda again at the Pyongyang condominium launch. (Pyongyang? Sometime capital of North Korea. Available for development now that there were no more North Koreans. And, once you've made your house into a cheery home by installing an electronic grandmother, you're going to want somewhere to put the real one, and what better place than an all-care automated condominium in Pyongyang? Right?)
"I'm going to be expert-systemed next month," she said, all matter-of-fact.
Expert-systemed. That meant she would appear no more in the vitual world Business-Business. Instead, a computer would be doing her job. A computer model of the real woman would perform all the woman's business functions, and any chance of ever meeting the real-and-truly flesh-in-the-flesh Matilda would be lost to Burton forever.
He petitioned Dave Glingor, his boss.
"I'm in love," said Burton.
"In love!" said Dave. "What a nonsense! You've only seen her twice! Besides, you know how it is."
Burton knew. Ever since the virtual T-Rex had eaten the kid in the Dinosaur Wonderland, initiating the virtual malpractice lawsuit, virtual corporations had turned mother-nanny cautious. Virtual rape lawsuits, virtual sexual harrassment lawsuits, molestation lawsuits - it had got to the point where the hard-hit corporations had no option but to compel their employees to behave like robots in suits.
"You know how it is," said Dave. "If I so much as give you permission to ask her real name, that lays us wide open to a sexual harrassment suit."
Checkmate. Or was it? No! There was one more thing to try. So Burton did it. Masquerading as the cockroach control man, he penetrated the headquarters of Business-Business, and burgled Matilda's personal details.
Tuesday was her day off. And so, the next Tuesday, Burton headed out to her personal residence. The landscape through which he travelled was desolate, deserted but for pizza delivery vans. In a world of virtual work, virtual holidays and virtual education, hardly anyone was on the move during the day except the pizza delivery guys and the relocation trucks which handled the grandmothers.
Bing-bong. Anyone home? Maybe she's still in her hook-up suite, doing a virtual day in virtual Hawaii. And maybe, too, she's not like her Business-Business image. Maybe the real Matilda is 56 years old with hair like the Medussa. Then the door opened and - hey. There she was.
"Burton," she said.
"You remember!" he said.
"Of course I remember," she said. "I was sure you'd get here. I'm ... I'm attractive to men."
Such confidence! It suggested - in a way that Burton did not entirely like - that Matilda had done this before.
"Who knows you're here?" she said.
"Nobody," said Burton. And then: "Matilda! I've waited for this moment for so long! Tell me - what's your real name?"
"People like me don't have real names," said Matilda. "Come on in."
She didn't waste time. She dragged him inside and flung him on the floor. He grinned. So quick? This right-down-to-it stuff was amazing!
Then she bit him. Her long sharp fangs sliced into his neck. More surprised than shocked, he just lay there, listening to the vacuuming guzzle and suck of her hunger. By the time he was ready to start fighting, he was already too weak to fight back. Then he handcuffed him so he couldn't fight any longer.
"You're not going to get away with this," he said. "Dave will figure it out."
"Dave?" said Matilda. "Who is Dave?"
"I don't think I want to tell you that," said Burton, realising he might have made a mistake.
"Share a woman's privilege," she said, putting some water on to boil. "Change your mind."
After he talked, she used the last of the water to make a cup of coffee.
"Coffee," she said, grinning at him as she lowered her mouth to his neck, "is very good for the digestion."
A long while later, she finally raised her head again. He was very weak by then, and realised he was not far from passing out.
"So," he said. "Will I become a vampire like you?"
"Somehow, I don't think so," she said, walking to the corner where she kept the chainsaw and the rubber sheets.
And she was right - he didn't.
The next day, Dave Glingor saw a woman of phosphorescent beauty smiling at him at the Bubble of Joy design-a-baby conference. Her corporate handle was a bit clunky - Matilda - but the gleaming enthusiasm of her long-toothed smile more than compensated for the name.
The End
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America vs. Russia
The Americans and Russians, at the height of the arms race, realized that if they continued in the usual manner they were going to blow up the whole world.
One day they sat down and decided to settle the whole dispute with one dog fight. They'd have five years to breed the best fighting dog in the world and whichever side's dog won would be entitled to dominate the world. The losing side would have to lay down its arms.
The Russians found the biggest, meanest Doberman and Rottweiler ------- in the world and bred them with the biggest meanest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest and strongest puppy from each litter, killed his siblings, and gave him all the milk. They used steroids and trainers and after five years came up with the biggest meanest dog the world had ever seen. Its cage needed steel bars that were three inches thick and nobody could get near it.
When the day came for the fight, the Americans showed up with a strange animal. It was a nine-foot long Dachshund. Everyone felt sorry for the Americans because they knew there was no way that this dog could possibly last ten seconds with the Russian dog.
When the cages were opened up, the Dachshund came out and wrapped itself around the outside of the ring. It had the Russian dog almost completely surrounded. When the Russian dog leaned over to bite the Dachshund's neck, the Dachshund reached out and consumed the Russian dog in one bite. There was nothing left at all of the Russian dog.
The Russians came up to the Americans, shaking their heads in disbelief. `We don't understand how this could have happened. We had our best people working for five years with the meanest Doberman and Rottweiler ------- in the world and the biggest, meanest Siberian wolves."
"That's nothing," an American replied. "We had our best plastic surgeons working for five years to make an alligator look like a Dachshund."
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$200 Bucks It Is...
A guy goes over to his friend's house, rings the bell, and the wife answers.
" Hi, is Tony home?"
" No, he went to the store."
"Well, you mind if I wait?"
" No, come in."
They sit down and the friend says "You know Nora, you have the greatest breasts I have ever seen. I'd give you a hundred bucks if I could just see one."
Nora thinks about this for a second and figures what the hell - a hundred bucks. She opens her robe and shows one. He promptly thanks her and throws a hundred bucks on the table.
They sit there a while longer and Chris says "They are so beautiful I've got to see the both of them. I'll give you another hundred bucks if I could just see the both of them together."
Nora thinks about this and thinks what the hell, opens her robe, and gives Chris a nice long look. Chris thanks her, throws another hundred bucks on the table, and then says he can't wait any longer and leaves.
A while later Tony arrives home and his wife says "You know, your weird friend Chris came over. "
Tony thinks about this for a second and says "Well did he drop off the 200 bucks he owes me?"
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The European Commission have just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the EU rather than German, which was the other possibility. As part of the negotiations, Her Majesty's govt conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5 year phase in plan that would be known as "EuroEnglish": -- In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c".. Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favor of the "k". This should klear up konfusion and keyboards kan have 1 less letter. There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with the "f". This will make words like "fotograf" 20% shorter. In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkorage the removal of double letters, which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horible mes of the silent "e"'s in the language is disgraceful, and they should go away. By the 4th yar, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v". During ze fifz year, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaiining "ou" and similar changes vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters. After zis fifz yer, ve vil hav a reli sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubls or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech ozer.
ZE DREM VIL FINALI KUM TRU!!
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4 Sons
These 4 gents go out to play golf one sunny morning. One is detained in the clubhouse, and the other three are discussing their children while walking to the first tee.
"My son Kent," says one, "has made quite a name for himself in the home-building industry. He began as a carpenter, but now owns his own design and construction firm. He's so successful in fact, in the last year he was able to give a good friend a brand new home as a gift."
The second man, no to be out done, tells how his son began his career as a car salesman, but now owns a multi-line dealership. "Norm's so successful, in fact, in the last six months he gave his friend two brand new cars as a gift."
The third man's son, Greg, has worked his way up through a stock brokerage, and in the last few weeks has given a good friend a large stock portfolio as a gift.
As the fourth man arrives at the tee, another tells him that they have been discussing their progeny and asks what line his son is in.
"To tell the truth, I'm not very pleased with how my son turned out," he replies. "For 15 years, Chico's been a hairdresser, and I've just recently discovered he's gay. However, on the bright side, he must be good at what he does because his last three boyfriends have given him a brand new house, two cars, and a big pile of stock certificates."
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A Case for More Beer
A herd of buffalo can move only as fast as the slowest buffalo, and when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular culling of the weakest members.
In much the same way the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, we all know, kills off brain cells, but naturally it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first.
In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, constantly making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.
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Acceptable Excuse
The college professor had just finished explaining an important research project to his class. He emphasized that this paper was an absolute requirement for passing his class, and that there would be only two acceptable excuses for being late. Those were a medically certifiable illness or a death in the student's immediate family. A smart ass student in the back of the classroom waved his hand and spoke up. "But what about extreme sexual exhaustion, professor?" As you would expect, the class exploded in laughter. When the students had finally settled down, the professor froze the young man with a glaring look. "Well," he responded, "I guess you'll just have to learn to write with your other hand."
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Much props to anyone who has read ALL THESE stories and whatever else.
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A snail walks into a bar and ask for some water.The bartender says 'that snails are not allowed in the bar 'so he picks the snail up and throw him out.Two years later the snail walks into the same bar and asked the bartender 'why did u do that'
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A Mime in a Zoo
One day an out of work mime is visiting the zoo and attempts to earn some money as a street performer. As soon as he starts to draw a crowd, a zoo keeper grabs him and drags him into his office. The zoo keeper explains to the mime that the zoo's most popular attraction, a gorilla, has died suddenly and the keeper fears that attendance at the zoo will fall off. He offers the mime a job to dress up as the gorilla until they can get another one. The mime accepts.
So the next morning the mime puts on the gorilla suit and enters the cage before the crowd comes. He discovers that it's a great job. He can sleep all he wants, play and make fun of people and he draws bigger crowds than he ever did as a mime. However, eventually the crowds tire of him and he tires of just swinging on tires. He begins to notice that the people are paying more attention to the lion in the cage next to his. Not wanting to lose the attention of his audience, he climbs to the top of his cage, crawls across a partition, and dangles from the top to the lion's cage. Of course, this makes the lion furious, but the crowd loves it.
At the end of the day the zoo keeper comes and gives the mime a raise for being such a good attraction. Well, this goes on for some time, the mime keeps taunting the lion, the crowds grow larger, and his salary keeps going up. Then one terrible day when he is dangling over the furious lion he slips and falls. The mime is terrified.
The lion gathers itself and prepares to pounce. The mime is so scared that he begins to run round and round the cage with the lion close behind. Finally, the mime starts screaming and yelling, "Help, Help me!", but the lion is quick and pounces. The mime soon finds himself flat on his back looking up at the angry lion and the lion says, "Shut up you idiot! Do you want to get us both fired?"
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A Lawyer's Question
A small town prosecuting attorney called his first witness to the stand in a trial--a grandmotherly, elderly woman. He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"
She responded, "Why, yes, I do know you Mr. Williams. I've known you since you were a young boy. And frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you're a rising big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you never will amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you."
The lawyer was stunned. Not knowing what else to do he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Williams, do you know the defense attorney?"
She again replied, "Why, yes I do. I've known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster, too. I used to baby-sit him for his parents. And he, too, has been a real disappointment to me. He's lazy, bigoted, he has a drinking problem. The man can't build a normal relationship with anyone and his law practice is one of the shoddiest in the entire state. Yes, I know him."
At this point, the judge rapped the courtroom to silence and called both counselors to the bench. In a very quiet voice, he said with menace, "If either of you asks her if she knows me, you'll be in jail for contempt within 5 minutes!"
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An old woman came into her doctor's office and confessed to an embarrassing problem. "I fart all the time, Doctor Johnson, but they're soundless, and they have no odor. In fact, since I've been here, I've farted no less than twenty times. What can I do?"
"Here's a prescription, Mrs. Harris. Take these pills three times a day for seven days and come back and see me in a week."
Next week an upset Mrs. Harris marched into Dr. Johnson's office. "Doctor, I don't know what was in those pills, but the problem is worse! I'm farting just as much, but now they smell terrible! What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Calm down, Mrs. Harris," said the doctor soothingly. "Now that we've fixed your sinuses, we'll work on your hearing!!!"
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like i am the only one who have stories
A RELIGIOUS HUNTER
A man was out hunting. He just happened to be hunting bears. As he trudged through the forest looking for the beasts, he came upon a large and steep hill. Thinking that perhaps there would be bear on the other side of the hill, he climbed up the steep incline and, just as he was pulling himself up over the last outcropping of rocks, a huge bear met him nose to nose.
The bear roared fiercely. The man was so scared that he lost his balance and fell down the hill with the bear not far behind. As he tumbled down the hill, the man lost his gun. When he finally stopped at the bottom, he found that he had a broken leg. Escape was impossible and so the man, who had never been particularly religious (in fact this just happened to be a Sunday morning), prayed, "God, if you will make this bear a Christian I will be happy with whatever lot you give me for the rest of my life."
The bear was no more than three feet away from the man when it stopped dead in its tracks... looked up to the heavens quizzically... and then fell to its knees and prayed in a loud voice, "O Lord, bless this food of which I am about to partake."
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Deregulation of the chicken's side of the road was threatening its dominant market position. The chicken was faced with significant challenges to create and develop the competencies required for the newly competitive market. Andersen Consulting, in a partnering relationship with the client, helped the chicken by rethinking its physical distribution strategy and implementation processes. Using the Poultry Integration Model (PIM) Andersen helped the chicken use its skills, methodologies, knowledge capital and experiences to align the chicken's people, processes and technology in support of its overall strategy within a Program Management framework. Andersen Consulting convened a diverse cross-spectrum of road analysts and best chickens along with Andersen consultants with deep skills in the transportation industry to engage in a two-day itinerary of meetings in order to leverage their personal knowledge capital, both tacit and explicit, and to enable them to synergize with each other in order to achieve the implicit goals of delivering and successfully architecting and implementing an enterprise-wide value framework across the continuum of poultry cross-median processes. The meeting was held in a park like setting enabling and creating an impactful environment which was strategically based, industry-focused, and built upon a consistent, clear, and unified market message and aligned with the chicken's mission, vision, and core values. This was conducive towards the creation of a total business integration solution. Andersen Consulting helped the chicken change to become more successful.
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how come is only i posting here oh well posting stories are fun i am making a story right now but it might take a while..so i hope u ppl can post some stories and thing by the time
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The ancient stone suddenly went ablaze with the jagged lightning as it struck. The stone turned a brilliant fluorescent blue in the stormy night, but yet not one black mark marred it where the lightning had struck.
A flying owl quickly sought shelter in a bent birch tree, its branches waving violently in the rain-slashed night. The thunder roared as great clashing drums that had rolled in from a endless black sea.
In the cottage below the hill, not far from the old monolith, a pair of lovers slept through the raging of the night.
Meg lay curled in the arms of her lover, her flaxen hair spread across his chest. He held tightly even in his sleep. His facial expression one of joy and fulfillment.
The cob in the stable whinnied in fear of the tumultous storm and moved restless in his stall. His ears pricked as he heard another horse above the din of the storm. He whinnied again but there was no answer.
He also heard the cry of pain from the woman mounted on the black maire as she saw a sight that was not what it appeared to be.
Her husband did not sleep there, only his brother. Yet, she did not know this but weeping in pain, she turned the mare and headed back into the night across the misted moors. Back to the blue-runneled monolith to await for what she knew would eventually come. She would wait for her husband at the old sight as he headed home and there it would end.
She pushed the black mare hard, unseeing between the rain and tears. Uncaringly reckless for the horse's slender legs, she raced on towards her destination.
As they drew upon it, she saw a figure of a horse and rider standing in the drenching rain. She felt her heart stop and then go soft with joy.
Another grey horse stood there, mounted by a man, his face lost in the shadows of his hat. She did not need to see his face to know who it was. It was her husband, her love and hers only.
Shamed but filled with happiness, she drew the black mare to a halt beside the grey and held out her hand in offering. His reached out, clasped it and brought it to his lips.
In forever love, she would be glad that she had been mistaken of who slept in that cottage on the misted moors.
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I was just about to ask you if you didn't notice that you are the only one doing anythign in this thread...... but i see you have noticed....
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Shall I post another song I wrote then...?
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Shall I post another song I wrote then...?
if you want...
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Ok check dis one dis is 4 all my ppl
I smoke weed,i smoke weed,i smoke weed,i smoke weeddd
I smoke weed in d morning
I smoke while am yawning
I smoke weed in the day and night
I smoke weed before i fight
I smoke weed in d afternoon
I smoke weed when am eating with a spoon
I smoke weed my cat
I smoke with a stinking rat
I smoke with the devil
I smoke weed when am not evil
I smoke weed with all my friends
I smoke in a benz
I smoke weed,i smoke weed,i smoke weed,i smoke weeddd
I smoke weed when am eating ham
I smoke weed with bread and jam
I smoke weed in my mother's womb
I smoke weed when am dead in my tomb
I smoke weed with a nazi
I smoke weed n i don't eat pu$$y
I smoke weed when its on a stick
I smoke weed when a girl is sucking my .....
I smoke weed with the man above
I smoke weed when am making love
I smoke weed,i smoke weed,i smoke weed,i smoke weedddd
I smoke weed when eating popcorn
I smoke weed while watching porn
I smoke weed when your girl is sucking
I smoke weed while am jocking
I smoke in ATL
I smoke weed when am not will
I smoke weed when am sniffing coke
I smoke weed with the Pope
Dats it the weed song anyway wat u'll think of dis?
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smoke weed when eating popcorn
I smoke weed while watching porn
I smoke weed when your girl is sucking
I smoke weed while am jocking
Hoss u must be a boss 2 do all dat at de same time. Tell meh yuh secret so i could do it 2 :lol:
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boy i can't tell u dat d sh!t jus runs in d family i get dat n headshot/handsome get d talent to draw real good
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I know dis thread has gone through but i will jus like to dedicated to my rubberducky
Rubberducky ur the one
Oh rubberducky we had lots of fun
Oh rubberducky why did u go
Oh rubberducky rubberducky ur feelings didn't show
Oh rubberducky i miss u
Oh rubberducky i wonder if u miss me too
Oh rubberducky u broke my heart
Oh rubberducky rubberducky u tore it apart
Oh rubberducky i was 8 years old
Oh rubberducky when i lost u i had lost my soul
Oh rubberducky i know i shouldn't hav drain d tub
Oh rubberducky i called u my rubber rub
Oh rubberducky i wish i could go back
Oh rubberducky i know ur out there somewhere n dats a fact
Oh rubberducky ur all i dream about
Oh rubberducky i miss u no doubt
Oh ruuberducky i didn't even sy good-bye
Oh rubberducky rubberducky why why why?
If anyone see my rubberducky or hav seen him please tell me
Look some pics
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I is d only one on dis but frig it here dis one
Rubber Ducky, you're the one.
You make bath time lots of fun
Rubber Ducky, I'm awfully fond of you.
Rubber Ducky, joys of joys
When I squeak you, you make noise
Rubber Ducky, you're my very best friend, it's true!
Everyday when I make my way to the tubby
I find a little fella who' cute, yellow, and chubby.
(rub-a-dub-a-dubby)
Rubber Ducky you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber Ducky, I'm awfully fond of you.
Everyday when I make my way to the tubby
I find a little fella who's cute, yellow, and chubby.
(rub-a-dub-a-dubby)
Rubber Ducky, you're so fine
And I'm glad that you're mine
Rubber Ducky I'm awfully fond of...
Rubber Ducky I'd like a whole pond of . . .
Rubber Ducky I'm awfully fond of you.
I know wat u'll thinking i sick but rubberducky is d best toy evermade 4 d bathe