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My Writings

Discussion in 'D.I.Y. - Creative section' started by Rathryn, Mar 30, 2010.

  1. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    I seem to be writing quite a bit again. This comes with spurts and waves, so it might go silent again by the end of this week. However I don't want to crowd this section with topics only by me, so I'll refrain from opening new topics each and every time.
    Anyway, here's a new one, again a couple of minutes old, might rewrite some stuff again, but this is it for now.
    ------------
    Realization
    I look in the mirror, stare at my face and I wonder. I look deep into my own eyes, follow the receding hairline, glance at the protruding nose, languish in the cracks around my mouth and I question. I take the shape of my face in account and I consider.
    What is it that makes me so different from the others on the street? What is it that defines me as different from them? What is it that makes me… me.

    Millions of others have receding hairlines. Millions of others have protruding noses. Millions of others have cracks around their mouths. Yet somehow we seem unable to grasp these simple physiological similarities and focus on the differences. Yet, now that I pay so much attention to myself in the mirror I can recall no difference and only notice the similarities.

    Maybe last night was too hard on me, maybe the morning sun shone too brightly, maybe the clouds made it too overcast for me to think more positively, more constructively. Maybe we’ve just been fooling ourselves with imaginary differences. Maybe we’re more similar than any of us would like to admit.

    And I ponder that statement. I ponder how people would react knowing they had killed someone similar, instead of someone different. I wonder how people would react if they would have known they hurt someone that is more like them, than they were told to believe.
    Could that be the issue, that this constant strife is the result of something we are told to believe? Some imaginary dividing line constructed to keep us apart? A number of fronts created, based on minute differences to keep us divided?

    Are we not social creatures? Animals with brains large enough that we can actually refute our instincts for contact? Animals with an intelligence high enough to contradict our own need for acceptance?

    Do all men not crave to love a woman? Or a man for that matter? Who is loved isn’t really the question now is it? It is the love in and of itself that is the key. Yet perhaps it is also the lock, the locked door out of our confinement cell.

    Are we so locked within our own minds that we cannot accept that others have their faults and problems? Are we so obsessed with their negative traits that we are blinded to our own? Perhaps we should reverse the polarity of our acceptance and question ourselves and accept others unconditionally.

    Should we not question who we are, instead of who they are? Should we not strive to better ourselves? Should we not point out our own fallacies instead of someone else’s?

    And my mind wonders back to the weather conditions that presumably made me so contemplative. I catch myself taking the shape of my face into account. I realize I glance at my protruding nose. I become aware of myself languishing in the cracks around my mouth. I trace back my receding hairline and look into my own eyes again. And I wonder: what makes me so different from the others on the street?
     

  2. Vegetarian Barbarian

    Vegetarian BarbarianExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 19, 2009
     
    I write all the time, its one of the best ways for me to get frustration out. Writing is fucking awesome.

    But i dont feel anyone would read what i have to say anyways :(
     
  3. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    Meh, just give it a shot.
    You'll have one reader at least ;)
     
  4. WitchesHammer

    WitchesHammerMember Forum Member


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    Aug 25, 2009
     
    yeah, I write for me. I enjoy it a lot but it's a nice surprise when someone else enjoys it. Keep writing, everyone, keep writing.
     
  5. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    Well here's another oldie I figured people might like, just came across this after looking through my writings a bit ago:
    I'm Not a Monster
    -=============-
    I can't see anything, but that's fine. I know where I am. I know I'm safe. This is my safe haven, my mother's womb. Hell, I never actually even left it, well not consciously anyway. I've briefly witnessed life outside of this confined space, but I prefer it here, it's warm, safe and cozy.
    I get my food when I need it and I get all the drinks I want... for free, how much better can it get? But it seems like my time is running out, they've been pushing me, I've been getting eviction notices. Even though I've paid rent for 6 more months.
    I can feel my heart race every time they come again, every single time. It goes from its soft pitter-patter to the speed of a thoroughbred horse on the tracks, galloping at full speed, ignoring any and all danger to itself or its rider.
    And then all of a sudden, the notices stop, the pushing stops and I'm forcefully jerked from my safe little haven and thrust into the outside world. I cry out as the cold air caresses my skin, my lungs aren't ready to handle the excessive amount of fresh air and I cough, or at least try to.
    Nothing comes out, nothing but blood, mucus and water. All the waste that is within me starts to drip out of every single orifice my body has and I can feel my tiny, little heart beat slower by the second, slower... and slower... and slower... and I'm barely aware that it stops, as slowly my consciousness leaves my embryonic body and I look down on myself, handled by a pair of gloved hands, my mother lying on some sort of crude contraption, with her legs wide open. They jerked me from the womb and thrust me into death, before I was even considered alive. They killed me, before they technically could've... this is how they justify it to themselves every day.
    But my consciousness fades and slowly but surely it drifts farther and farther away from my body, dissolving in the cold, glaring light. There is no tunnel, no darkness, only light and my consciousness dissolves. Becomes tiny little particles of the same wavelength as the light and I disappe.....
     
  6. Anxiety69

    Anxiety69Experienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 18, 2009
     
    good job... but you probably picked a bad day to share this :ecouteurs: :ecouteurs: :lmao:
     
  7. Protspecd

    ProtspecdExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Mar 3, 2010
     
    Didn't see anything about NGNM85 so I am not impressed.

    I am kidding =P

    They're great man, keep on writing and make sure you post them here. Was enjoyable to read =)
     
  8. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    I don't really give a fuck, the NGNM-discussion is starting to be too drawn out and fucking annoying for me anyway. I can't be arsed to follow it any further and will just wait for the outcome as is. I've made my opinion clear on MULTIPLE occasions, both in public and in about the same words in the mod-section, I have nothing further to add.
     
  9. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    Meh bad day, good day, whatever, have been needing to get this off my chest. They're lyrics basically for a FFDP meets Clawfinger-style sing/rap/grunt-mix.
    -===============-
    HATRED
    I’m a product of my past
    Nothing but an outcast
    And as you can see
    I am nature’s freak
    So step up to me
    And we’ll see
    Which of us is weak

    I’m the one you love to despise
    Now look through your own eyes
    Or see if you can choose
    To walk a mile in my shoes

    I’m a menace to society
    But you’re happy on your knees
    So just call me
    One of nature’s freaks
    Now step up to me
    Let's just see
    Let’s find out
    Which one of us we’ll oust

    I’m the one you’ve loved to hate
    Ever since we were in first grade
    So see if you can choose
    To walk a mile in my shoes

    I exist outside of every clique
    I’ve been branded a freak
    So you just tell me
    Are your friends real?
    Step up to all of us
    To all the ones I trust
    And then we’ll know
    Who the fuck is all alone

    We’re the ones you’ll despise
    Looking through tinted eyes
    We’re the ones you love to hate
    Our reputations raped
    By the likes of you
    Now what will you do?
     
  10. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    New one once more. Been stuck in my head for a couple of days... now if ANYONE can give me the perspective from which this is written, they get a special treat :p
    I'm thinking of starting a pulp kind of thing inspired by G.I. Joe (but in this case they would be a rebellion against a global state/corporation) and you'd get a hand in the design process of the plot.
    So crack those brains and post your answers here: from whose perspective is this written? And I mean the character has a name and is very, very widely known.
    -===========================-
    DIVINITY
    It seems I have been forgotten. It is as if I have been slipping from people’s minds, from reality even. As if reality slips through my hands like the sands of time through the hour glass. Like ashes blown away by the wind. Forgotten, forlorn and forsaken.
    It seems as though I am nothing but a shadow of my former self. A reflection in a broken mirror, in a pool of rippling water. Distorted, distraught and destroyed.
    No longer do I have the respect, recognition and renown I have earned through the ages. Instead, I am set back to a state of anonymity, animosity even. My state of being has been suspended, an suspended animation, where once there was prowess. Now I am but defanged, disarmed, devastated.
    My likeness used for entertainment purposes, reduced to child’s play. Reduced to an insignificant spectacle, a useless show-piece. No longer is my work a masterpiece, a work of art, a product of refinement. It has become unreal, a flight of fancy for the masses, without message, mastery, meaning.
    Is it not fitting though, that my destruction, my death comes from the hands of those whose lives I have ruled for centuries? That the end for me comes from those that have deemed my actions immoral, inappropriate and inhumane.
     
  11. Probe

    ProbeExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Jan 30, 2010
     
    the whole time, the only "theme" or point of view that came into my mind was God but then....its highly unlikely that you would write about god
     
  12. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    Perhaps ;)
     
  13. Anom

    AnomExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Dec 21, 2009
     
    If not god, then maybe johnny rotten..? :p
     
  14. Probe

    ProbeExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Jan 30, 2010
     
    I don't think that applys to Johnny Rotten... :p
     
  15. Anom

    AnomExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Dec 21, 2009
     
    This does... :p
     
  16. QuarantinedDog

    QuarantinedDogMember Forum Member


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    May 24, 2010
     
    'It goes from its soft pitter-patter to the speed of a thoroughbred horse on the tracks, galloping at full speed, ignoring any and all danger to itself or its rider.' I was like.. WOW.
     
  17. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    Thanks :)
    Anyway, any idea who the character is in that last piece? I want more suggestions than God or Johnny Rotten :p
     
  18. Rathryn

    RathrynExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Oct 21, 2009
     
    Seeing as to how I'm expecting no further attempts at finding out who's the 'I' in Divinity, Probe won the coin toss. Sorry Anom, neither was right.
    The correct answer was: Death/The Grim Reaper, however you want to call him.
    So Probe I'll contact you with the details.
    Don't worry tho Anom, I might still need your help with the Zombie-thing XD
     
  19. Probe

    ProbeExperienced Member Experienced member Forum Member


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    Jan 30, 2010
     
    HUZZAH! :)
     
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