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Aug. 14th, 2010 09:04 pmTried to make a world out of memories and string, left out the death and anger and saved the joy - this world would survive, I'd say. This world has a will of its own. I'd say it has potential, I'd say it has dreams, and my own dream was that not a soul would get their hands on this one.
pick up a string of thought,
slice it, send it out, watch as the individual
threads become their own life,
counteracting the original will.
Memories and string breed corruption. Worlds end from optimistic misgivings. Ancestors turn their backs and say you can't build a world, you can't build anything but arts and crafts; it's impossible.
[Found this in a notebook from a year or so ago. Typed it up. Damn icons messing up my formats... but I like icons. And I like the backdrop. So.]
(no subject)
Aug. 14th, 2010 08:54 pmTheir nation was new. Shaped out of the desert lines and built up from its grains. The word "tool" replaced "slave" in all their dictionaries and to them, that made then safe from any retribution, as if their choice was better.
The veins of life across the desert pulse at the lack of work being done, a living, angry earth surface. Inside the leaders are cowering from the disaster they are facing; or, will be facing. They could replace the word "tool" with "sacrifice" because every so often they must sate the desert, keep it at peace, keep it from swallowing up their nation whole.
After all, no civilization has ever survived this long in the desert before.
"We can't do this anymore! This is wrong!"
But it's all the leaders know how to do. It's all they can do to save the nation as a whole.
There's nothing else, their hearts achingly protest.
(no subject)
Jul. 6th, 2010 10:18 pmLike angels bleeding from the eye
The fire is amongst us
Burning out through time
And the stars cry out over the smears
“Take us back to the beginning.”
[IDK.]
Shopping List
May. 31st, 2010 03:17 pm- -
- Blue, oil-based paint. NOT WATER.
- Large container... thing. x2-3? (depends on cost) To grow tomatoes in :D ... and wash down my porch :|
-
Groceries:
- Milk.
- Cheerios.
For Fun:
- - Hammock :|
Will edit as I remember.
Marching On
May. 28th, 2010 10:54 pmMasses of students on a run from the gods; today those gods masquerade around as teachers. Yesterday it was social workers. Goddamn social workers - they think they're gods.
Oh wait, yesterday they were.
Fifty million people afraid of a coming war, looking outside and finding fantastic weather, but their constant fear creeps in and ruins it: "A bomb could fall today, at any time. It's safer here."
No more safer than anywhere else.
Don't make excuses for hiding within your four walls, clicking the TV by, channel after channel - there's never anything on.
"Did you see the news today?"
"It's all fake, who cares."
Everything is fake these days; your body, your life, your dreams. Why go into a fake world? It isn't like the old days.
Masses of students in a drug-induced state. Fucking gods took the forms of the dealers. Best way to fix the world, right? Spiral it into delusion because it's all gone wrong. Can't stop it, make it worse, worse, worse.
Fifty-million people dead in their homes. Suicide. War is coming, couldn't take it, had to run.
The gods march on.
[Initially posted at
to want to act
May. 28th, 2010 10:24 pmthe flickering candlelight tells us of its life
They say that you should do what you can because life is short. Make a name for yourself, live life to the fullest. We find ourselves in the places we think we should be; the places that the life around us tell us we should go, because when you don't know what you want to do in life, where else is there for you to go? So we sit in on those classes, as enjoyable as they may be, as much as the professor in the front of the room draws you in, and as much as you would hate to let them down you find yourself just not wanting to put in that effort.
it tells you that it just met Wick today,
that they're in a love-hate relationship
The work clutters around the room, lost pages of stories that others wrote for class that needed to be read, but one is the most unappealing thing you've ever read - and it's multi-chaptered - and you feel put out, and any inspiration you had left drifts away when you read the first few words of it. The pages slip across carpet and you wonder if your program can handle another failing grade. But none of it really matters. You just can't seem to make it matter anymore.
it explains how it lives to dance, trying to compromise with Wick
because all Wick wants is to burn in peace, as its purpose
and sometimes the compromise is just a brief lull in the flickering
to bring Wick some peace, even just a little
Lethargic. Procrastination. They're both biting words, and in your mind you're ill, but it doesn't reach your stomach and your body continues to remain unaffected. It makes a part of you angered, but that's just the part that holds all your characters bundled up together, and their anger for you going about this way of life tries to reach through to you, but you don't want to hear it. You wonder why they don't speak as much as they use to, but then maybe you've just gone deaf.
"I don't have much time to live," the candlelight speaks. "My life is short, and I just want to dance."
It pauses, part of its compromise, and part because it needs to think.
"Do you understand? I'm not alone, thinking like this?"
Frustrated with yourself, because you know of all the people left, you can't let down the faith this last professor has in you. You haven't told him yet that your partner abandoned you; left you in the dust without a word and leaves you to pick up the pieces of what you had already broken yourself. Now it's just worse, and your bare feet catch on the glass. This isn't how it was meant to be. You try to focus on what you should do, but the twitch in your mind that's always been defiant and the reason you keep falling into this endless cycle wants to do what it wants to do. Read what it wants to read, write what it wants to write - not what it has to do.
the wax pools
You remember the candlelight's words, and you know that it isn't alone. You wish you told it that how it thought was okay, but you know that there are things you must do to get to where you want to be, even if that ending goal is still marked with a question. If the candlelight wasn't distracted, you think that it would say the same things humans say: "Life is too short." But how can you escape where you know you have to be, when once that fall-back is gone, what will you do? You're afraid. Afraid what will happen when you finally are done with school, of when it's finally just... gone. Even if you have no care of doing the work or showing up, you can't stop thinking
that you should care. but you don't. you have to. but you can't.
and it all just boils up within this cycle, makes your mind, your
characters scream out at you, begging you to get outside
the howling of Wolf tries to push the pieces together
to pick up what shattered
and no one wants to watch this anymore
no one wants to keep failing like this
they have more dreams than you do; to be someone
to exist
you gave them life, meaning
but it all fell away when you fell
"My life is short, and I just want to dance."
EXTINGUISH
[Initially posted at
(no subject)
May. 28th, 2010 09:51 pmSo yes, my betta. Another male. I've never bought a female. This is my third. My first was a blue/reddish one named Leviathan. He lasted about three years. My second was pure red, named Phoenix. He lasted barely a week :| I think he was blind, honestly lol. The first two were named after gods from my original story And They Were to Engulf the World.
My new one is a green/teal sort of mix. His name is Fernley, based off one of my characters from Overcast. Admittedly he starts the story as kind of a pathetic sort, but he redeems himself and comes out of his shell, eventually.
I think I'm going to run away for a bit to California end of June, beginning of July. Admittedly that'll run me about $500, but I need to run away. I'm in flight-and-flight mode and I just want to go. At least I'd have someone to pick me up and somewhere to stay.
Will you help us?
>>Yes
>>No
He shifts awkwardly in the chair, staring at the screen, waiting for his answer. How'd he get in this mess? He doesn't even know what's going on? Woke up to find himself in a nearly empty room, save for a desk and old-fashioned computer. He wrings his hands together awkwardly. Bites the inside of his lip, glances away to try and find a door.
Why will you not help us? We need your help. You must help us. Why are you waiting...?
"I don't know! Who are you? What's going on?"
He wasn't expecting an answer.
Do you not know how to read? We don't know. We've forgotten. We need to remember or everything will repeat itself...
"...w-what will repeat itself?"
The End. It will come again as it has come before. We knew how to stop it, and then They made us forget...
"But I don't know how I can help..." The computer flickers and the monitor blackens. Behind him, a sliver of light stretches up from the floor to and forms into an outline of a door. The screen flashes back on, with the words:
And then it blackens again. A door opens in the path.
He moves.
“That’s amazing.”
“Can you teach me?”
“No!” she replies quickly to her playmates, jerking her cupped hands towards her chest. “I don’t share this with anyone. It’s a talent. A secret talent. It’s mine, not yours.” Single child. Spoiled. Special. Unique. Different. Her hands tighten together, and the glow is almost completely hidden now. “The talent chooses you, of course. It has to choose. And I was chosen. That’s it.”
“But –”
The girl huffs. “Forget it.” A twist of her hands and palms clap together. The magic dies. The girl rises to her feet and she turns away swiftly. “I don’t want to play with you anymore.”
