Post by archangel5871 on Dec 30, 2006 9:05:44 GMT 1
The following writing may or may not be suitable for certain audiences. Be warned that many may not agree with some of the language and situations placed therein. After each piece is a brief explanation in italics as to how it came about.
I realize that much of these works deal with my relationship status and the emotional repercussions of certain situations, but what can I say: it provides some of my best writing.
And my relationship with my girlfriend is not as bad as these make it seem. We're usually very happy but the few times that we do argue, we make it count.
Feel free to comment and criticize if you like, I'm very open to all that stuff. I consider everything a work in progress all the time; so please, speak your mind.
I realize that much of these works deal with my relationship status and the emotional repercussions of certain situations, but what can I say: it provides some of my best writing.
And my relationship with my girlfriend is not as bad as these make it seem. We're usually very happy but the few times that we do argue, we make it count.
Feel free to comment and criticize if you like, I'm very open to all that stuff. I consider everything a work in progress all the time; so please, speak your mind.
Betrayal in an Arid Plain
Alone in a field of snow we build a small fire to ward off the darkness and cold, yet soon you find that flame has betrayed you and an unfamiliar cold comes over you as well as a new warmth.
In the shelter of tall pines, you feel the cold of steel, the steel of a knife placed neatly between your shoulder blades and the warmth of the crimson river that flows down, staining the virgin snow at your feet.
The darkness is safe.
Allow my eyes to act as windows and let the light of my soul rain out.
That cur, the dog that put that fine dagger in your back is the one person you thought you most trusted, and the physical pain is overwhelmed by the mental and emotional anguish. It seems you are alone in a wide and heaving ocean, yet you are here in my encompassing embrace.
The wind plays a sweet melody on his cedar flute that weaves through the boughs above our heads, and in the half-light of the dwindling flames, I take the blade from your back in hopes that there not be another.
Above the wind and crickets I feel something speaking and I answer.
Is it a mistake? your mind queries.
No. replies my emotion.
This is my response to an event that occurred in October between a girl named Minna and I. My girlfriend and I had had a fight and technically broken up and were not on speaking terms, after about a week of hanging out at Valleyscare (she worked directly adjacent to me) Minna and I kissed. She wanted something I couldn’t provide for her, and my girlfriend (whom I love and adore deeply) and I got back together soon thereafter only after a huge argument that resolved itself because of how outward I was with the situation and completely honest to her.
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Emotion
Emotion.
Repetitive emotion with no cause.
Meager.
Veiled in monstrosity, an ill-reflection of oneself.
Two-toned, black and white light so cold, so alone.
Veiled in fear, fear of death.
Any empty vessel is a repetitive holy sacrifice.
Victorian darkness obscures the power fetish,
but is caught in an abrupt connection to the sadness.
Contemplation.
Love is blind.
Sleep deformity, wake wide-open beauty; a solitary light.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone we fear the dark, the dark that awakens beauty.
It is just a charade, a presumed death.
Lies.
Lies.
Lies awake at night, blind, staring at the darkness.
Love is blind.
Contemplation.
Emotion.
This was a response to the works of Diane Arbus. I took a trip to the Walker Arts Center to see the exhibit and write a response to it.
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REALism
Realism. There is no colour, only light.
Realism. Death is the end, adults with imaginary friends are pathetic.
Realism. Nothing can be proved or disproved, only perceived differently.
Perception. The way one takes meaning from something.
Cynicism. The perception of realism most have.
Realism. Everybody lies, especially the most sincere.
Lies. The skewed perception of truth.
Truth. Blatent honesty and outspokenness are looked down upon.
Realism. People are encouraged to lie.
Lies. Only good if one believes it themselves.
Belief. Used to give reason to lies.
Reason. Not enough to give value to life.
Life. Time to kill between birth and death.
Realism. We live to die but are afraid to admit it.
Afraid. Fear both holds us back and drives us.
Drive. Sexual, moral, or 4-wheel.
Moral. Obligations set by one's beliefs.
Realism. To feel is to live and to live is to die, so to die is to feel truly alive.
Realism...
A random piece of prose poetry. I was relatively happy in the direction it was going, so I typed it up and put it into my portfolio.
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REALism (modified)
REALism. Found in cynics and heretics.
Cynicism. A critical and most times sarcastic viewpoint of reality.
REALism. There is no colour, only light.
Light. Everything we see is a lie. Red in an object is in reality the absence thereof.
REALism. Nothing can ever be proved or disproved, only perceived differently.
Perception. One cannot help but be persuaded into believing falsities as realities.
REALism. Everybody lies. Especially the most sincere.
Lies. Only a biased version of reality.
REALism. Belief in one’s self is far more important the belief in anything else.
Belief. Used to give reason to actions based outside of realistic circumstance.
REALism. The only reason to live is to die.
Life. If to feel is to live and to live is to die than is death the only way to truly feel?
REALism modified. Pure and simple.
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Dorm Room 112
Dorm room 112, hand-in-hand seated on my bed.
Green meets grey. Anxiety. Fear. Both shake. So close. Close enough to hear and feel racing hearts. Lips meet and time slows. The kiss. A solitary movement of attraction, of love, of lust. It ends and we find ourselves back to where we once were.
Dorm room 112, hand-in-hand seated on my bed;
next to a beautiful young woman. I love you but do not know how to tell you. No, I cannot love. Not anymore. Not after what happened, so what's this feeling? I've only ever kissed one girl once and I want to kiss you but am afraid. I'm shaking, my pulse is racing but you are and yours is too, so it is OK. Your eyes, those green pools so beautiful... What's this? The kiss. Was that it? I open my eyes to find yours again. We're still here. In my room.
Dorm room 112, hand-in-hand seated on my bed.
We were afraid. Hesitant. Young love, yet love all the same. Time was running out for us. The year was ending and neither of us wanted to get too close. Lies. We know what we wanted but lied to ourselves to make reality easier. To know that in three months we might never see each other again was frightening. We did not want to lose each other. She was mine and I hers, and the love was ours, it was real and still is. We kissed. We put our shovels in and dug a hole we couldn't get out of. We kissed and it seemed like a promise. We kissed for the first time in dorm room 112, seated hand-in-hand on my bed.
Prose piece written about my first kiss with my girlfriend.
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Lost
Cannot grasp the old drowning feeling of love.
Cannot grasp the concept of trust again.
Taken from me, my love.
Away, away it is gone.
Cannot grasp my heart.
Taken from me.
Away with her it has gone.
Cannot grasp the vase of my heart.
Taken from me and shattered.
Away from her to me it is sent.
Cannot grasp the frailty.
Cannot grasp my heart.
Away, I am detached.
Cannot grasp the feeling.
Cannot grasp the reconstruction.
Taken from me is the old drowning feeling.
Cannot grasp the inside, my heart.
Cannot grasp the truth.
Taken from me, my life.
Away, away I am gone once more.
An exercise in the cut-up method that involved taking random fragments from multiple sources and putting them together with our own words (so to make sense of it all, obviously). I used it as practice with repetition. It is about my girlfriend and I breaking up for that stint in October.
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Love is her name
Her voice is sweet music to my ears,
absolute euphoria with a strange mix of sorrow.
Sorrow for those ignorant enough to take it for granted
and more for those who will never have the chance.
Her eyes are pools of green
so deep I would spend an eternity
exploring their expanses that rival
the infinitismal reaches of the universe.
Her arms act as a blanket;
smooth as silk and warm as fleece.
I am content when they're around me.
I'm safe... I'm home.
Her name is Love,
and for it to pass my lips is
naught but a divine blessing on my soul.
to have her affection is pure ataraxia.
Written in September about my girlfriend when we were happily together. Simple as that.
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Love Lost
The Pain.
I hate it.
I push it away.
Yet I need it.
I crave it.
Why is the one thing that is tearing me apart keeping me together?.. My life is now like an old, dried-up rose; the stem and thorns remain yet the beauty has wilted and fallen away.
The colours have faded and I am left in a world of black and white, everything so sharp and defined to the point of damaging one is s/he passes too close.
My mind reels and I am left in a squall of emotion that I cannot place.
I want to be left alone yet I lust for human interaction.
That demon is here again, and he is winning the battle... I thought I had cut him down long ago.
During the summer when my girlfriend and I separated hardcore and were on very bad terms.
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Direct Address Exercise
I don't understand people. You people just perplex me.
Take for example this situation, perhaps: A highway, well after rush hour and on a weekend, yet we are set bumper-to-bumper -- gridlocked. And we sit wondering why for a good part of a half hour until we see the blinking sign stating that an accident has occurred further up the road. Each and every one of you is pissed off at the next for exactly the same thing you and every other person does -- driving so slowly, each taking your own sweet ass time to gawk at the terribly uninteresting sight. Surprising how quickly traffic moves thereafter the incident site, seeing as how there isn't a stockpile of nosey busybodies ogling something slightly uncommon. And this is what confuses me. How can you be so terribly upset at the people before you when, lo and behold, do the exact same thing? Hypocrites...
How about those of you who sit on your ass, stuff yourselves with fastfood and baked goods and bitch about how you're fat? Do something about it, you fucking genius, bitching about it causes stress, which has been proven to add to weight gain, so you're only making the matter worse not just for yourself but for everyone else who has to listen to your pathetic whining.
Or those of you fucking sad disillusioned wannabe optimist saps who preach the "everybody is a winner" tag line? Stop lying to yourselves and get the fuck over it. When you win, you win and it feels pretty fucking good to know that you stomped the other team into submission; whereas when you lose it sucks yet teaches you one thing. That one thing is this: losing fucking sucks and your should try harder next time! And sometimes you just have to face the fact that when you're a loser, you'll stay a loser until you win; which, for most of you, will never happen.
"Oh, but I got second place" you might say. Fuck you; being second is like being the first loser.
These are purely a few of my observations of your amazing ignorance thusfar, and I cannot help but question "How?". How can an entire population be so incredibly dense as not to realize these simple concepts? Truly, you are an amazing race. Congratulations.
Character monologue exercise using the direct address form (d’uh).
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Where can I find you?
Where can I find you?
Just tell me so I need not search more.
Are you everywhere?
For I have found your eyes hidden away in the night sky,
your lips in a bed of roses,
and your skin in the face of the moon.
Please do not tell me my eyes deceive.
Random writing that I liked. I believe it was part of a larger poetry assignment, it was obviously revamped from the original.
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People come in all shapes, shades, weights, sizes, and states of sobriety, misery, and confusion.
Lucas Nicholai Darcy. He is sly as a fox, has the nerve of a dope addict, the stories of an old sailor, the sincerity of a politician, and the subtly of Mt. Saint Helen. He is extremely irresistible, totally irrational and completely indestructible.
He is loyal all his life. He is a magical creature. You can kick him out of your house but not out of your heart. You can take him off your mailing list but not off your mind. His mind is found everywhere... in love... in battle... in lust... in trouble... in debt… in bars and… behind them. No one can write so seldom and yet think so much of you. No one else can get so much enjoyment out of a letter or clean clothes or an embrace.
Lucas is a genius with no education. A millionaire without a cent and brave without a grain of sense. When he wants something it's usually 30minutes of rest, music that hurts the ears, a five dollar bill...or a woman he can count on.
Girls love him, mothers tolerate him, fathers brag about him, the government pays him, and somehow he still manages to get on everyone's nerves.
You can beat his body but not his mind.
You can tame his heart but not his soul. He likes girls, females, women, ladies, and the opposite sex. He dislikes small checks, working weekends, answering letters, waking up, and the day before payday.
You may as well give in. He is your long distance lover...he is your steel eyed, warm smiling, blank minded, hyperactive, over reacting, curious, passive, talented spontaneous, physically fit, good for nothing bundle of worry.....
He shatters all your dreams and fantasies when he crawls into bed with you at 3:00am kisses you for 5 minutes, tells you how much he loves you, checks the clock and falls asleep with his head on your breasts, his hand between your legs......and his mind on both.
Done in the summer. It is a prose response to the question “Who am I?”.