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|Saturday, October 28th, 2006|
COME ON PEOPLE.
YOU SHOULD LIKE THIS.
This is an thing which I've just started doing.
I find some fabulous words, usually adjectives.
They are strong words, adjectives (usually) with deep specific meanings.
I would love it if y'all came up with more words for this list, these are just of the top of my head. Ill edit in your suggestions, and then I can use it when I write.
It would be greatly appreciated.
throw in the towel
drunk with sleep
Well, as y'all may guess, I have a strange obsession with the insane...
So I wrote this little monologue type thing.
Ive written it twice, but both times, it just didn't turn out right...
The transitions didn't quite work out the way I wanted.
but I'm going to post both of em anyway.
“I love you Rachel. You know that, right? I’ve told you before, but it seems like you don’t really listen. Like you aren’t all there. Are you listening Rachel? Are you listening?
Do you remember how we met Rachel? All that flirting and laughing. It was perfect. I liked you, and you liked me. We were close. Everything was perfect. You made it perfect. Being around you made things better because… because you were there. I didn’t want to leave you. I tried to be around you. I guess I tried to hard. You turned away. I lost myself for a little while there. I… I got sucked into nothing. And became nothing. But it’s all right. Because we are together now. Because you came back, and held me, and told me everything was going to be alright. I knew you would, Rachel. You were too perfect not to come back. We were too perfect. But I couldn’t feel you Rachel. I couldn’t feel your touch. When you came back. I felt the wind where I saw your fingers. Are you listening? Are you? Talk to me Rachel. Tell me something. Tell me that everything is going to be all right. Please. Please tell me. I need you to. I need it. Tell me. Tell me now. I want to hear you voice Rachel. Please. Please. I’m not mad. I promise. Just tell me it’s going to be alright. Please. Please. It will all be alright. I will all be alright. Just once. For me? Rachel? Rachel? Rachel…
I love you Rachel. You know that, right. I’ve told you before, but it seems like you don’t really listen. Like you aren’t all there. Are you listening Rachel? Are you listening?”
2nd time round
"I love you Rachel. You know that, right? I’ve told you before, but you don’t really seem to listen. Are you listening now Rachel? Are you listening?
Do you remember how we met Rachel? Of course you do, it was the happiest day of your life. You told me so. We hit it right off, didn’t we Rachel. We had lots of fun, right? So much flirting and laughing, it made me so happy, it made you happy to, didn’t it. Of course it did. You told me so. We got together. You were perfect, everything I could have ever dreamed of. Everything was perfect because… because you were there. You made it all better. Everything. Your perfection seeped out into the world. I could not stand to not be near you. I could not stop thinking of you. Your perfection wormed its way into my head, and… and dug in its claws. I could not leave you. I needed you. I needed you. I didn’t leave your presence, or I tried not to. I guess I tried to hard. You left. You left me, and went on. I… I lost myself. Your perfection left, and in its place… nothing. And I became the void. But it’s alright because you came back, and held me, and told me everything was going to be alright. You were to perfect not to come back. We were to perfect not to come back. You came back and held me, and told me that everything was going to be alright. That you weren’t ever going to leave me. That everything was going to be alright… You held me like a mother hold a newborn child, like the sky cradles the sun. But Rachel. I couldn’t feel you holding me. I saw your arms; I saw your glorious face. I felt my tears. But I felt only the wind where I saw your fingers, Rachel. I could not feel you. Do you understand? Do you understand? Help me. Hold me. Tell me everything is going to be alright. Please. Rachel? Rachel? Hold me. Hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright. That you’ll never leave me again. That it was a mistake, a misunderstanding. That you really didn’t mean to. Tell me. Tell me that everything is going to be alright. Tell me now. TELL ME NOW FUCKIT. I’m sorry Rachel; I should not have said that. Please Rachel. For me. For us. Rachel? Tell me everything is going to be alright. Tell me everything is going to be alright. Please? Rachel. Rachel. Can you hold me? Can you hold me, Rachel? Rachel? Please. Rachel? RACHEL? Rachel…
I love you Rachel. You know that. I’ve told you before, but you don’t really seem to listen. Are you listening now Rachel? Are you listening?"
what works, what doesn't.
I really the idea behind these.
so thoughts are greatly appreciated.
|Friday, October 13th, 2006|
It has been forever sence i got on last..........
i hadnt really written anything until about 2 weeks ago. I ve been writing once or twice a week scence then. But no stories. Cause i dont have a story thats writeworthy...
so this is my two favorites... Keep in mind the first took about 2 minutes, and the second 5.
The boy quietly sat at the screen, shoulders humped in the dejected manor of the beaten.
Suddenly he visibly brightened.
“I’ve got it!” he cried
His fingers began to madly type, creating a myriad of words on the screen.
“No writers block shall stymie me today! Nothing can stop me!”
The tippity tap of the keys grew faster still, as the computer's hum joined it to make a small symphony to his ears.
Writers block is no obstacle for the creative.
He walked into the graveyard, that man did. I told him not to. The girl was there. She gives everyone the creeps, even me. There were stories, after her parents died. There were stories of things they had done to her, of how they had ravaged her beautiful body. But people let the dead rest, and stories are only stories. Except to the characters. She always goes there. The graveyard. Where the man went. She sits by their grave. Doing nothing. She doesn’t play, she doesn’t sing. She doesn’t even bring any flowers, ever. She just sits there, and stares at the words on their tomb. Seeking peace, seeking that which will never come. The graveyard tan has seeped into her, has taken root, and it will never leave. While the dead rest she is forced to wander, until she is accepted into their fold.
I wrote that after i heard that phrase on the radio, in some song which wasnt all htat good. I know it sucks. I wanted to include something about him coming to adopt her, but she never comes with her adopters, there have been 5. But it just didnt seem to fit.
And, now, the qoutes which I came up with while i was bored in Am. Lit. They were analizing Poe extremely slowly...
The infant emerged from the womb and began to die. –I really don’t subscribe to this philosophy, but I liked the way this sounded.
There is something to be said for silence; however those who know what it is don’t speak very much. –I’ve had the idea for this quote since freshmen year, pretty self-explanatory. It came from walking home in silence, without music. Don’t like wording though.
To be normal is to die. -I really like the idea behind this, but I don’t think I phrased it as well as I might have. Truly normal things are something which everyone does, and death is the only thing which everyone does. Conversely, it could be taken that as soon as you seek to be, “normal,” you lose yourself, your identity of self, thus, dying.
To analyze oneself is to tell where the forest is, while you are standing under its branches. It can be done with difficulty, but often the answer seems to be, “here.” – I hate the wording on this one. The analogy is stolen from The Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett, but he used it in an entirely different manor. I want to include something about it can be done by traversing the edges comparing to landmarks, but that seems way too specific.
If words could fill me, I would never go hungry. –Reading and eating my words.
When you smile, you go against gravity. You go against the world. You go against the power constantly trying to pull you down. And it still takes fewer muscles than it does to frown.- funny that these words sprouted from the mouth of a pessimist.
And, to make up for the past 4 months, HOW IS EVERYONE DOING.
|Sunday, August 6th, 2006|
Have any of you ever heard of 'infinate jest'?
Its a book.
New York Times bestseller.
Over 1000 pages.
It sounds like a book I might enjoy.
Sadly, I was wrong (possibly)...
It is confusing as all hell.
The book is written in chapeters, all of which take place in differant years, or the same years, and all of which have really random names like year of the depended adult undergarment, so the (i think) main charictor will be 17, then 3, then 11...
In the book, there are some really confusing conversations where both people will be talking to each other, but not responding to each other...
The writing style is rather disjointed,but it works well with how hes writing.
There is no story to speak of, its like looking a snapshots of peoples lives.
It is a book that mode me want to stop thinking...
In short, Imagine parezel's mind on paper.
That was my first impression of the the first 60 pages.
It is gettign easier to read, but it is still time consuming. (I have read a total of 83 pages over I think 4 or 5 hours over the past 3 or four days, by comparison, I can finish the 6th harry potter in 4 hours)
It is getting better, and has some truely strange scenes (20 pages on a guy waiting for his drugs and watching a bug go in a out of a whole in the wall)
Perhaps this was all charictorization, and some plot will arise from the wreckage.
I will reserve judgement for when I finish.
|Tuesday, July 25th, 2006|
Well ive got some belgins at my house this week. Theyre visiting with a choir, and getting some homestays.
They speak some english, but their native language is flimmish.
Theyre pretty cool.
My bro just got back from ghp (statewide tip, exept you get nominated for specific topics (violin, chemistry, art, ect)) It lasts six weeks, and he loved it. I hope i can get to go after my last year at tip, which will be next year. I am going (no doubt).
Band camp started, (its a day thing)
|Tuesday, May 30th, 2006|
I leave on thursday for a youth pilgrimage to morocco.
Its going to be pretty cool...
We are spending a couple of nights in the sahara with the nomads, and we get 3 days
There is also a forest full of monkeys which we are going to see...
Theyre pretty tame (supposedly), so that should be fun.
But this is a spiritual trip, (even though we are southern babtists going to a 99%
muslim country), so we are spending a couple of days in a trappist monistary in
the mountains, following the monks style of life, (prayers 7 tiems a day... ect.)
and we are visiting the worlds second larges mosque.
Im pretty exited about it, as you can probibally tell.
I fudnraised like crazt to go, and its finally here...
So i wont be able to get on a comp for 2 weeks...
not that it would be any differant if i was here...
|Saturday, May 20th, 2006|
Im really tierd...
and its only ten...
ive got exams in a week...
dont you love life.
|Wednesday, April 26th, 2006|
Sorry its been so long sence I could get online...
Lacrosse took a lot out of me...
But im back now...
Cant be on long though, so please just respond ot this, i just wrote it...
“Ben, get off the computer,” the stupid fat ugly woman at the bottom of the stairs yelled. She was so annoying. He really wished she would go away.
“Ben, I know you’re on it, so get off and start reading your book for school. You have to have the first 5 chapters done by tomorrow; your teacher emailed me,” she yelled again, using the shrill voice that seemed to gnaw a way into his brain, despite the, “thick,” skull that seemed to block out everything else.
“Now,” she spat, her voice rising like the incoming tide. “Don’t make me come up there.”
How easy would it be to silence that voice? How easy would it be to stop it from invading his life…?
“Benjamin Arthur Hunter, I know you can hear me and I know your* still on the computer,” the voice got louder and louder, “I don’t care if you don’t speak, I can see you on the camera.”
Ah yes, the idiotic security camera that they had installed after the incident. Did they really think that would stop him from doing anything? Did they think that it would really make a difference? It only made them feel like they were in control.
Her footsteps started up the stairs, “You won’t like it when I get up here,” she screamed, “you’re going to wish you had listened to me the first time.”
Now the threats begin, the stupid idiotic threats that they never enforced. They were middle class, middle age, white ex-hippies who believed in nonviolence. What could they do to him that they hadn’t done already? They couldn’t starve him; the weekly doctor’s visits would reveal that in a flash. They couldn’t beat him. They couldnt kill him. What else could they take away? His nonexistent freedom?
“If you aren’t reading that book by the time I get to your room,” she screamed even louder, “There will be consequences and they will be serious.”
There she goes talking about the consequences again. What did that word really mean: a punishment, a natural repercussion for an act? If he didn’t read the book, he would fail the test. That was a consequence. He didn’t care about the book or the test. He didn’t care about her. What consequence could possibly affect him?
“I’ve given you your free time on the computer, I’ve given you time for your game. Now get your book and start reading,” he could practically hear the spit fly from her mouth.
Now she talks about time, as if it was hers. This was his life. This was his time. Who was she to doll it out like a stingy paymaster. She had no such power. What gave her the illusion that she did?
“Your father and I will talk about this later this evening,” she screamed. The words were barely understandable at this volume. “You better hope he is in a better mood then I’m in right now.”
Now she brings her husband into this. The man isn’t even his father. Short, and balding, the man gives way to anyone who disagrees with him. She probably bossed the man into marrying her. The man only adopted him because his wife wanted to adopt a child, and she thought she could take in a troubled teenager. Of course she was wrong.
Her feet began the walk down the short hall.
He got up.
“I’m about to come in your door,” she said, her voice taking on the cold, icy tone of someone reaching the edge. “If I don’t find you reading The Secret Life of Bees when I walk in…” She let her voice drift away.
As if she could intimidate him. He had all the power. She couldn’t do anything. He opened the drawer directly beneath the security camera, the drawer they couldn’t see. He pulled out a rusty knife, the one he found on the sidewalk a month ago. He planned for this day.
The door opened.
She stepped in.
He knocked his dresser over. He choked himself, making vicious pink finger marks that remained at his neck. He punched himself in the mouth, in the side, in the eye. He ripped at his skin, leaving bleeding claw marks. He gouged out one of his eyes, making a stream of blood flow down his face.
She watched him with awestruck eyes, not even attempting to stop him from hurting himself. This suicidal rage had stunned her from speech. She didn’t understand what he was doing. And she thought he had a thick skull.
He threw the knife at her. She picked it up. She was so stupid, so ignorant. How could she not see what he was doing to her? He ran over to her, and pulled the knife from her hands, cutting his own in the process.
He spoke his first four words to her, “This is your consequence.” Then he stabbed himself in the chest. The blood fell from his body, making a beautiful rose stain on the carpet. He had all the power.
The husband came home to find the wife with a bloody knife in her hand. He called 911. They took her away. No one could understand what could have driven her to do such horrible things. No one knew the truth.
One month later:
“Now Mrs. Hunter, I’ve been reviewing the security tapes from your cell, and I would like to ask you what exactly you think about when you…” the physiatrist’s voice faded into the dull gray of the room.
Ah yes, the idiotic security camera in her cell. Did they really think that would stop her from doing anything? Did they think that it would really make a difference? It only made them feel like they were in control.
“Mrs. Hunter, I can’t make you listen, but if you refuse to take our sessions seriously, there will be consequences,” the dull voice seemed to force a way into her brain.
There he goes talking about the consequences again. What did that word really mean: a punishment, a natural repercussion for an act? She didn’t care about the session, or the physiatrist. What could they do, take away her nonexistent freedom? She had all the power.
|Thursday, January 12th, 2006|
Lacrosse season starts in a week.
I dont want to hear in comments about the fool I made of my self at the end of TIP.
Lacrosse is my favorite sport.
I absolutly love it.
I dont think that many people will want to hear me rant on about how much I love lacrosse, so Im going to rant about the problems I have with lacrosse.
For those of you who dont know, lacrosse is a sport with a stick with a net at the end in which people throw a ball between each other using the sticks and try to throw it in the gaol. The sticks range from 6 feet to 3 feet. I use a 6 foot one.
Hand eye coordination completely goes once you play this sport. You learn how to possition you body/hands/stick in accordence to the ball on the lacrosse field. Its really easy once you get it. The big problem is that you lose all coordination in every other throwing game. Its quite annoying.
The heads (the things that hold the net in place) are made out of PLASIC. Granted, theres nothing better around, but in cold weather, plasic gets brittle and breaks, especailly when you are hitting other people with them. The biggest problems is that the heads are not cheap, and so you end up paying a LOT, replacing them.
Modern Lacrosse Companies seem to think that lighter-better. They dont consider the fact that if youre playing defence, you want a heavy stick so that you can hurt your opponite more. This is what my coach did in collage: 1.he got a wooden stick. 2.He aimed in the gaps between the pads. Wooden sticks are good but extremely hard to come by. THey leave whelts.
These are problems without viable solutions. I just felt like writing something.
|Wednesday, January 4th, 2006|
this semester is going to suck.
|Wednesday, December 28th, 2005|
|Believe it or not, it isnt actually as morbid as most of my writings...
It sucks, but I need to start writing again...
The man climbed up the stairs, sweat dribbling down his unshaven face. The humid air paired with the hot afternoon sun made for a day designed for air conditioned play. You would think everyone in the Southern town, including him, would be indoors, sitting next to the vents. However, everyone stood outside, watching him because this would be the day he died.
He had been wrongfully accused of a crime. With the government in a tangle, funds could not be raised to fix the electric chair legally necessary for his execution. The town improvised, reverting back to the traditional gallows that had been used for centuries in the medieval ages.
He listened as the single crime was said.
He felt the noose being loosely draped around his neck.
He heard the lever pulled.
He began to blink.
That was when he died.
After a 10 foot drop off of the mayors back deck, the rope pulled taught, snapping his fragile neck. After a couple of spasms, it was over. But something was wrong. He was blinking over and over. His brain still had the miniscule energy to continue blinking, even after everything else had died. The town’s people muttered among themselves until it stopped, about 30 seconds later.
Then they left, and life went on as usual. Current Mood: listless
|Tuesday, December 27th, 2005|
EDIT: We are nowhere and its now (I looked up the wrong track #)
Im wide awake, its morning
Two very differant songs.
Two very differant artists.
Which do I like more?
I would have to say, 'we are nowhere and its now'
It might sound like shit at times.
It might have a horriable backup singer.
But its music.
It sounds like someone actually recorded it live.
That is not to say hash pipe is a bad song.
It is a excellent song.
I love it.
It just isnt as real.
You cant... feel the artist.
You dont connect.
I guess thats why I love bright lights.
Yall should try to listen to both of these excellent songs, if you can afford it, and have halfway decent internet that lets you dl music and video. Im bored. Current Mood: indescribable
|Sunday, December 25th, 2005|
I just sortuv realized that while I read evryones posts, I never actually post myself...
Im a recluse...
Well, here goes nothing...
Time to talk about anything and everything that comes to my mind...
Its christmas. Yay. How exiting.
Now that thats over with, lets get on to something a bet less... happy...
Lets start with that phrase. recluse... There is a spider down here in Georgia known as the brown recluse. Its a brown spider. Sortuv large, and very rare, but it doesnt look very unusual. It is, however, very poisinous. The secound most poisinous spider in GA, behind the black widow. The interesting thing about the brown recluse is that its venom works very differantly from most other deadly spiders in GA. For example, the black widows venom attacks you nervus system. If not treated you will die. The recluse's venom takes a slightly differant route. It doesnt target a spesific part ofr your body. It targets all of your body. Some people dont even really react to it. Most dont even notice withen 3-8 hours. In some cases it goes away, but in others, it literally distroys the tissue surronding the bite, making a wound the can be inches wide. It will persist growing, until... I really dont know when... If you are out camping, that is bad news. It takes a while to get back to civilization and treatment. I ahve been told that they sometimes have to amputate... Pretty nasty, but interesting...
Here are some pics...http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/user/chp/brown%20recluse/brown6.jpghttp://www.acponline.org/graphics/bioterro/canthrax/brown_spider2.jpghttp://animals.timduru.org/dirlist/spider/Brown-recluseSpider_02-Closeup.JPGhttp://www.highway60.com/mark/brs/images/bite_maretta6.jpg
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HANUKKAH, KWANZA, AND FESTIVUS. (sinfeld)
I got a subscription to paste, and 5 CDs for christmas, along with clothing... Current Mood: calm
|Tuesday, November 15th, 2005|
|Anouther random writing, writin on the spot
The boy stared off into nothingness. Into the stars. His eyes mirrored the murky blackness of the space between. He was nothing. The sun rose. The boy stared into the day. Into the sun. Warmth spread into his eyes. Happiness lurked within his gaze. Then came sunset. Sadness and satisfaction plagued through his eyes, just before the nothing of the night took hold.
|Thursday, October 6th, 2005|
The flame forked into the sky, reaching for the heavens. Reflecting in my eyes. I am it, it is I. We both reach for the heavens. We both never come close. And we die when we lose our fuel.
|Sunday, September 18th, 2005|
Wow... I wrote something... Pretty bad, but I have been toying with the idea for a while, and not only as a writing peace. Called "Escape"( Read more...Collapse ) Current Mood: dark
|Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005|
Crappily written, but I loved the idea so much that I had to steal it...( Read more...Collapse ) Current Mood: drained
|Monday, August 15th, 2005|
There was a metiphore last night...
My power went out...
It is about halfway through the 8th month...
School is starting in a hour...
The power came back on at 12:36...
What happens in the middle/late days of the twefth month (december)...
My power went out from now till I get out on winter vacation...
This is not a good sign... Current Mood: gloomy
|Monday, August 8th, 2005|
|Sunday, August 7th, 2005|
The problem with some people is that they know the cost of everything, but the value of nothing Current Mood: gloomy