Shock and awe, Labyrinth. This is really good IMO. It's really easy to visualize and it projects itself really well. Startlingly similar to some of my own writing (though I'd never say mine was anywhere near as good). Really liked how you used language that was fitting to the content, and I enjoyed the line about how it was a sort of pledge.
Might post some of my writing, or drawing (pray that I don't) some time.
Okay, so with the Pictures thread running off the hook, I've decided to put up one for shameless egoism.
Feel free to post links or images of your artwork here. Literary works are also welcome.
(Note: for large images or stories put them in spoiler format please.)
If ever performed for an audience i intend for it to be done in the same style as the song "everybody's free (to wear sunscreen)" by Baz Luhrman
Love ... It's a funny thing
When you find it, you like it
And it makes you feel dizzy
Which is funny
You laugh, you smile, you have fun
You feel as though you're soaring
With only a mild concept of where you are
Or, More Importantly, Where you are going
And it's Nice
So you continue to lick the lid of Love
Dip the spoon of inexperience or enjoyment into Love's deep Pot of Pleasure
Get a Taste For it
Enjoy it
And you feel Funny
The Highest joy becomes time with them
And it's the pleasing them that gives you the real high
You think not only of yourself and truely about them
Obsession sets in and whenever you're apart
You find your thoughts are fuzzy and what Is lucid
Focuses only on them
And you go back to wondering, vaguely, whether
Pleasing them to feel good about yourself...
Is selfish
Or, whether it's all good because it balances
But you don't think about it really
Not Really, no one does
Maybe because it's not true
In Truth, so long as you Are making them happy
Rather than simply trying to
Or Thinking that you do
Then, You can only go from strength to strength
Unless...
That's not a nice word
But it's one that leads to say a lot
And what it leads to Helps
Not to make you immediately happy
But to give you sight on what will
Unless You don't make the choices you Know are best
Instead you do what will simply make you Feel best then and there
Unless You don't think about them when you Know You Should
Instead you say to yourself that you don't want to deal with it right now
Unless you see what they really want, Rather than what they simply tell you they want
Instead you make exscuses for the "right" thing
Rather than do The Right thing with good reason
Then...
Then's the follow up
It shows you the possibilities
Then you Will Not Get Better As a Couple
You Will Remain exactly as you are
Because Nothing Will Have changed
Things will keep going up
Or keep going down
Or keep doing nothing
Whatever they're doing, they'll keep doing it
Never say "S/he's done this, so i'm doing that"
It makes things vindictive
You Do Not want to be vindictive with love
Don't Be Too Serious it will only make everyone feel pressured
Do tell her she's beautiful whenever you think it
Don't think of things to say, be calm and chat like you always do
Do tell him he's the only one, he needs to hear it
Don't make personal jokes you don't Know they can take
Do Enjoy every second you have with them
You can never give them enough of your time
There is ALWAYS Time for Love
The price of that is that you always Make Time For Love
But you should remember...
The reason things are funny is because they're fun
Forget nothing and be sure to treasure everything
This is the only thing I've ever done in photoshop under the instruction of a photography teacher. I'm the guy in the jeans and brown shirt.
That's about it. Except for the first drawing, everything else is nearly a year old. I drew that first thing today after not drawing for something like 8 or so months.
I just found something I wrote awhile ago. I'm in need of ego boostage/negative attention, so I'll post it here. Read it.
It's only the prologue, by the way.
It is dawn. It is not a rising sun or stiff morning breeze that alerts me to this, but the pounding alarm inside of my helmet. In here, it is a dark, unchanging place, with no time except an artificial one, created by my suit and represented as a shining light on my closed eyelids.
I open my eyes, and my helmet. Again I see nothing. I try to move, and then I finally notice what has been obstructing my eyesight: Something was on top of me.
A torso, with all limbs and bones seemingly removed, leaving only maggots eating at the innards. This is a great morning surprise, a substitute for my usual ritual of methamphetamines perhaps, but still disgusting in many ways. I push it away from me, and it rolls away, falling into the ground.
Confused, I stand up, feeling tense pains inside of my knees and thighs. I also notice that I am currently standing on the ruined shell of a skyscraper, and this surprise torso has just fallen what seems to be 800 feet. I again reel from this sight, a second startle. It seems I will have to make an extra effort to keep my sanity today.
My head starts to feel light, as being on a tall building with no air support would entail. Despite this, I assess the situation: I?ve obviously been confused for dead, and have been ?snuffed? out of the many inanimate plumbing fixtures around our base. This refers to dead soldiers being hurled out of these tubes at great speed, thus getting rid of the often rotting flesh inside the suit, but also providing the off chance of killing another witness to this genocide. I survived this and, just as luck would have it, the auto-doc inside my armor has allowed me to walk.
Unfortunately, not only were my legs crippled, but apparently, my intelligence is too. Aside from a strong blow on my body, I have trouble remembering how I got here. I also feel like I?ve eaten a bowl of cotton.
After sliding down a couple stories, I eventually reach a floor that has yet to be completely obliterated. I see a presumably broken elevator, and a small white sign, bearing the number ?65?. My fear of heights is starting to act up again.
I try to get a response from the elevator, to no avail. Not having a strong desire to test my fate by jumping, I kick down the elevator door, revealing a silo that appeared empty, but on further inspection, revealed that the elevator was jammed inside. Only a couple meters down, I jump. It seemed like a good idea.
Perhaps it would?ve been, if not for my good old armor weighing a ton. I make a large dent in the elevator, and my weight makes the elevator hurtle downwards at a seemingly blinding speed. After a few seconds, in a state of absolute horror, I stick out my elbows on either side of the silo. With an almost deafening screech and an errant spark burning my finger, the elevator begins to slow down, and after about 5 minutes that seem like seconds, stops. I again kick my way into the elevator. I feel fine for somebody who just withstood force equal to a charging rhino times a hundred.
Finally, I am at the bottom floor. From what I can tell, from the cheesy pulp sci-fi posters and scattered bits of (moldy) cake, this was an abandoned hide out of our good friends, the Phreaksters. Famous for disrupting our supply lines and stealing the already scare women, they were hated with a passion. It was not hatred like a white supremacist hated black people, however, but rather hatred like a panhandler hated society. They were an ever elusive, never present foe, and to see that their domiciles where so akin to ours (albeit with significantly lower standards in architecture), was a revealing and confusing experience. At this, of all points in time, I notice I am completely unarmed. Figuring that this was a hideout after all, I search the place. Lo and behold, fate had dealt me a good hand. I found none other than a stolen assault rifle that looked uncannily like the ones used by my fellows. I shoot it at a picture of their employee of the month to make sure it?s still loaded, not out of any desire to have a good defense against those who would do harm to me, but to give me, in this injured state of mind, the gratification of feeling, of knowing that I still live in this fantasy world grounded in reality. I look outside and, for the 1700th time, see no sunrise.
I just found something I wrote awhile ago. I'm in need of ego boostage/negative attention, so I'll post it here. Read it.
It's only the prologue, by the way.
It is dawn. It is not a rising sun or stiff morning breeze that alerts me to this, but the pounding alarm inside of my helmet. In here, it is a dark, unchanging place, with no time except an artificial one, created by my suit and represented as a shining light on my closed eyelids.
I open my eyes, and my helmet. Again I see nothing. I try to move, and then I finally notice what has been obstructing my eyesight: Something was on top of me.
A torso, with all limbs and bones seemingly removed, leaving only maggots eating at the innards. This is a great morning surprise, a substitute for my usual ritual of methamphetamines perhaps, but still disgusting in many ways. I push it away from me, and it rolls away, falling into the ground.
Confused, I stand up, feeling tense pains inside of my knees and thighs. I also notice that I am currently standing on the ruined shell of a skyscraper, and this surprise torso has just fallen what seems to be 800 feet. I again reel from this sight, a second startle. It seems I will have to make an extra effort to keep my sanity today.
My head starts to feel light, as being on a tall building with no air support would entail. Despite this, I assess the situation: I?ve obviously been confused for dead, and have been ?snuffed? out of the many inanimate plumbing fixtures around our base. This refers to dead soldiers being hurled out of these tubes at great speed, thus getting rid of the often rotting flesh inside the suit, but also providing the off chance of killing another witness to this genocide. I survived this and, just as luck would have it, the auto-doc inside my armor has allowed me to walk.
Unfortunately, not only were my legs crippled, but apparently, my intelligence is too. Aside from a strong blow on my body, I have trouble remembering how I got here. I also feel like I?ve eaten a bowl of cotton.
After sliding down a couple stories, I eventually reach a floor that has yet to be completely obliterated. I see a presumably broken elevator, and a small white sign, bearing the number ?65?. My fear of heights is starting to act up again.
I try to get a response from the elevator, to no avail. Not having a strong desire to test my fate by jumping, I kick down the elevator door, revealing a silo that appeared empty, but on further inspection, revealed that the elevator was jammed inside. Only a couple meters down, I jump. It seemed like a good idea.
Perhaps it would?ve been, if not for my good old armor weighing a ton. I make a large dent in the elevator, and my weight makes the elevator hurtle downwards at a seemingly blinding speed. After a few seconds, in a state of absolute horror, I stick out my elbows on either side of the silo. With an almost deafening screech and an errant spark burning my finger, the elevator begins to slow down, and after about 5 minutes that seem like seconds, stops. I again kick my way into the elevator. I feel fine for somebody who just withstood force equal to a charging rhino times a hundred.
Finally, I am at the bottom floor. From what I can tell, from the cheesy pulp sci-fi posters and scattered bits of (moldy) cake, this was an abandoned hide out of our good friends, the Phreaksters. Famous for disrupting our supply lines and stealing the already scare women, they were hated with a passion. It was not hatred like a white supremacist hated black people, however, but rather hatred like a panhandler hated society. They were an ever elusive, never present foe, and to see that their domiciles where so akin to ours (albeit with significantly lower standards in architecture), was a revealing and confusing experience. At this, of all points in time, I notice I am completely unarmed. Figuring that this was a hideout after all, I search the place. Lo and behold, fate had dealt me a good hand. I found none other than a stolen assault rifle that looked uncannily like the ones used by my fellows. I shoot it at a picture of their employee of the month to make sure it?s still loaded, not out of any desire to have a good defense against those who would do harm to me, but to give me, in this injured state of mind, the gratification of feeling, of knowing that I still live in this fantasy world grounded in reality. I look outside and, for the 1700th time, see no sunrise.
It's not bad. You've certainly put together an interesting world there. My only suggestion would be that it seems almost too technical and analyctical. I don't think a person in this situation, a person who is speaking in the present tense, would be that objective.
It does have its good points, where the character shows through. I like the observation, "I also feel like I've eaten a bowl of cotton."
Other than that, well done. Just up the characterization more, unless your plan is to do that in the rest of the story.
I just found something I wrote awhile ago. I'm in need of ego boostage/negative attention, so I'll post it here. Read it.
It's only the prologue, by the way.
It is dawn. It is not a rising sun or stiff morning breeze that alerts me to this, but the pounding alarm inside of my helmet. In here, it is a dark, unchanging place, with no time except an artificial one, created by my suit and represented as a shining light on my closed eyelids.
I open my eyes, and my helmet. Again I see nothing. I try to move, and then I finally notice what has been obstructing my eyesight: Something was on top of me.
A torso, with all limbs and bones seemingly removed, leaving only maggots eating at the innards. This is a great morning surprise, a substitute for my usual ritual of methamphetamines perhaps, but still disgusting in many ways. I push it away from me, and it rolls away, falling into the ground.
Confused, I stand up, feeling tense pains inside of my knees and thighs. I also notice that I am currently standing on the ruined shell of a skyscraper, and this surprise torso has just fallen what seems to be 800 feet. I again reel from this sight, a second startle. It seems I will have to make an extra effort to keep my sanity today.
My head starts to feel light, as being on a tall building with no air support would entail. Despite this, I assess the situation: I?ve obviously been confused for dead, and have been ?snuffed? out of the many inanimate plumbing fixtures around our base. This refers to dead soldiers being hurled out of these tubes at great speed, thus getting rid of the often rotting flesh inside the suit, but also providing the off chance of killing another witness to this genocide. I survived this and, just as luck would have it, the auto-doc inside my armor has allowed me to walk.
Unfortunately, not only were my legs crippled, but apparently, my intelligence is too. Aside from a strong blow on my body, I have trouble remembering how I got here. I also feel like I?ve eaten a bowl of cotton.
After sliding down a couple stories, I eventually reach a floor that has yet to be completely obliterated. I see a presumably broken elevator, and a small white sign, bearing the number ?65?. My fear of heights is starting to act up again.
I try to get a response from the elevator, to no avail. Not having a strong desire to test my fate by jumping, I kick down the elevator door, revealing a silo that appeared empty, but on further inspection, revealed that the elevator was jammed inside. Only a couple meters down, I jump. It seemed like a good idea.
Perhaps it would?ve been, if not for my good old armor weighing a ton. I make a large dent in the elevator, and my weight makes the elevator hurtle downwards at a seemingly blinding speed. After a few seconds, in a state of absolute horror, I stick out my elbows on either side of the silo. With an almost deafening screech and an errant spark burning my finger, the elevator begins to slow down, and after about 5 minutes that seem like seconds, stops. I again kick my way into the elevator. I feel fine for somebody who just withstood force equal to a charging rhino times a hundred.
Finally, I am at the bottom floor. From what I can tell, from the cheesy pulp sci-fi posters and scattered bits of (moldy) cake, this was an abandoned hide out of our good friends, the Phreaksters. Famous for disrupting our supply lines and stealing the already scare women, they were hated with a passion. It was not hatred like a white supremacist hated black people, however, but rather hatred like a panhandler hated society. They were an ever elusive, never present foe, and to see that their domiciles where so akin to ours (albeit with significantly lower standards in architecture), was a revealing and confusing experience. At this, of all points in time, I notice I am completely unarmed. Figuring that this was a hideout after all, I search the place. Lo and behold, fate had dealt me a good hand. I found none other than a stolen assault rifle that looked uncannily like the ones used by my fellows. I shoot it at a picture of their employee of the month to make sure it?s still loaded, not out of any desire to have a good defense against those who would do harm to me, but to give me, in this injured state of mind, the gratification of feeling, of knowing that I still live in this fantasy world grounded in reality. I look outside and, for the 1700th time, see no sunrise.
It's not bad. You've certainly put together an interesting world there. My only suggestion would be that it seems almost too technical and analyctical. I don't think a person in this situation, a person who is speaking in the present tense, would be that objective.
It does have its good points, where the character shows through. I like the observation, "I also feel like I've eaten a bowl of cotton."
Other than that, well done. Just up the characterization more, unless your plan is to do that in the rest of the story.
.....Chances are, if you're nice to him, he'll be nice to you (he is a reasonable sort)- you know, reciprocation and that sort of thing.
Back on topic, I really enjoyed the excerpt you wrote. Very meticulous in its detail, as well as engaging. Maybe that's just because I'm a huge sci-fi nerd, but I think it's very well-written.
Sorry I can't think of any criticism for it, GenHellSpawn, but I really think it's good.
I was about to say "Not as many as you think" then I looked to my right where there are two yoghurt containers stuffed with pencils. One contails about $130 worth of coloured/water colour pencils, the other about the same of graphite and charcoal.
My best art peices are done in photoshop. Here is one I did quite some time ago.
This one is (as you may figure out) based around the theme of toasters for which I did for Art Class. Got an A+ on it which I was quite happy with though a fellow student said I cheated because I used computers in art. Not my best work but I think it is pretty snazzy.
Back on topic, I really enjoyed the excerpt you wrote. Very meticulous in its detail, as well as engaging. Maybe that's just because I'm a huge sci-fi nerd, but I think it's very well-written.
Sorry I can't think of any criticism for it, GenHellSpawn, but I really think it's good.
done some time ago. it has its faults, but i still think there's something about it. i should probably update it with a bit more of a sky reflection in the water, but i'm too lazy. slacking too much inbetween working on research and projects.
Okay. Here is a second poem I wrote (first one a few pages back...and could anyone comment since constructive criticism is always appreciated).
As I stare into the Abyss,
I realize something is a-miss,
While the light fades from my soul,
I feel my hear, now dark as coal.
As I look into the black,
My soul with pain is now racked,
I feel the pain well up inside,
I wonder how long I can hide.
As I admire the murky dark,
I know that it has left its mark,
I know that I won't be the same,
The warmth and happiness is now stained.
As I gaze upon this chasm,
My soul now taken by a spasm,
My heart now cleansed of all the light,
I now know I need not fight.
As I peer into the void,
Of joy I know am devoid,
I now have nothing else to say,
As the world melts away.
Also here are some lyrics I wrote. I unfortunately haven't written the song (but I can do a B-Minor arpeggio on guitar). If anyone wants to write any music with this song feel free. Just send me a recording so I know what it sounds like.
look inside myself,
I listen to my song,
I begin to worry,
That something must be wrong,
All I hear is silence,
No music plays at all.
Then it starts to play,
Something really slow,
Something faint and tragic,
A sad arpeggio.
It is a B Minor,
A silent, sad chord,
The music from within,
Chills me to the core.
A piano begins to play,
Soft yet defiant and strong,
Playing its melody,
Takin' over the song.
The music from within,
It is my Wordless song,
An easy way to escape,
All that has gone wrong.
Dancing on its keys,
The piano steals the show,
It inspires me,
The way my music flows.
The music from within,
It is my Wordless song,
An easy way to escape,
All that has gone wrong.
As the song begins fade,
I begin to wish it could've stayed,
Cuz I love the notes my soul could play.
The music from within,
It is my Wordless song,
An easy way to escape,
All that has gone wrong.
And finally one more song. This one is slightly more depressing though. So WARNING if you are sad then don't read the lyrics it's called "Quiet Suicide" so thats a hint.
[spoiler}] I'm sitting here, on the edge of my bed,
Wondering what would happen,if I was dead,
Sitting here, wonder why I should choose,
Got nothing to gain and nothing to lose.
If I should jump off my six story balcony
Become nothing more then a memory,
Who the hell would want to remember me?
Standing here looking off the ledge,
Never been so close to the edge,
Would someone stop me?
Would they care?
Would it matter
If just I died there?
Or would I just settle then fade away,
Another quiet suicide for another sad day,
Asking just, why did it have to end this way.
Feels like I'm suffering,
In pain for absolutely nothing,
And no-one willing to do a fucking,
Thing bout me.
They talk like they know just how I feel,
When all I wanted to do is feel somethin' real.
IF it were to end this way,
Would I just fade away?
Another quiet suicide for another sad day
Thinking, bout why I had to pay.
But if i stayed,
Did not betray,
The friends and family
That give a damn bout me.
Could I survive for them and not for me,
For those same friends and family,
Like I said I got nothing to lose,
But still, life is what I choose.
I'm not gonna fade away,
No suicide,
I will survive this day,
But I won't stop wondering,
What If it went that way?[/spoiler]
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