Writer anon616
Stories (6/0)
what it is
Home. As I grow with time like the nose of Pinocchio grows with his lies, I've surmised, albeit my innate and with no mass stirring of motivation or diligence to pique my intrigue to the point of interest or beyond the confines of limited to the brink or passed the point of what we or just me can see as limitless my impeccable, and if you would please allow me to be bombastic rather than bashful extra-terrestrial inference is not worn out loud with crowds to appease or appear as kings when i'm at home in the soul and the bones that is me. Home Is what it is. Home as what it is represents a multifaceted and dynamic range, a multifaceted and dynamic range of damage and breaks, the kind that align without reasons and whys and for all purposes genuine a good character makes. A multifaceted and dynamic range of rage and havoc can enslave the brain to be spastic achieving feats of reaching clouds 9 to 11 but cant connect the piece it would need to link its cerebellum to heaven. Energy in motion like rockets exploding and the flames enraged engaged with wind twist and bend for a chance to encapsulate forever in them. My ability to infer for instance could lead one to make an inference that my intuition is at home in my intellect seated on the throne of intelligence. To me home is a clone of the mind that spies and seeks to find what may be outside. The grass thats greener on the other side could perhaps shed light if what is shining is shown through the right window of the home you goodnight in on the road to the storefront of woes in the forefront of lobes are closed. Your eyelids like the youth in the warm summer after noon hang low to the Earth. Where the rooster calls and nature concurs. Your eyes with no need for words slips into slumber for a time with no number. Eyes in use with no passion to prove can conclude the absolute truths of youth. Grass is green mom is home dad is too. The sky is free and from what we see of the sky it seems blue. The sky ive seen it weeps and apparently my parents do too. In that I see home is ,we ,I, us ,them, and you.
By Writer anon6163 years ago in Poets
Red Mud
Dust filled air. A dog or some dogs barking somewhere. Getting lost in a city pretending to be the country where rural eyes spy sights that have no reason or deeper meaning. After all why stall when hens need feeding? The benevolent buzz of the bees keeps singing with no need of me tending their wings. The cows need hay, the grass under mass hoof remains safe to say at the least. The fence made to contain these vegan behemoths is seemingly the teeniest of weaklings. The juice running through this poor excuse for fortitude will lend a clue to any who question its abilities regarding its profession of protection. It could be noted by one of importance that the cattle has been accounted for stored in, not up neither boxed nor boarded. Home life, farm life, long days dark nights with the stiffest of drinks in hand here to demand euphoria if for a second one second before slumber. They say numbers don't lie but a clock blamming its alarming horn at 3 a.m. begs to suggest otherwise. The rooster keeps his cool until sooner or later like the sun and the moon or the tide that waves at the stoic rock faces some etched in anguish some aware that theyre rocks and all rocks are brainless. The rooster at some definitive point will lose his cool. By then we will have fixed old hoes and other barely used mostly broke dew covered tools. The hens need seed. The vegan behemoths need hay. The grass is being tended to at least for today. thankful. Our horse could divorce this place without a word either way but she stays. Shes at home. Im at home on a farm. Im at home in a drink. Im at home in my sleep. Until the clock lies where I lay as loud as it may. At this hour rather than cower I sustain. At this our I remain unchanged. The hens need seed. The goats often wonder but they still need me. The horse is adored and adores its importance. The cows in every hour howl their truth. " We love planet earth" *munch *munch *munch "But bring back the moooooo"
By Writer anon6163 years ago in Poets
Home Is Where
Home. As I grow with time like the nose of Pinocchio grows with his lies, I've surmised, albeit my innate and with no mass stirring of motivation or diligence to pique my intrigue to the point of interest or beyond the confines of limited to the brink or passed the point of what we or just me can see as limitless my impeccable, and if you would please allow me to be bombastic rather than bashful extra-terrestrial inference is not worn out loud with crowds to appease or appear as kings when i'm at home in the soul and the bones that is me. Home Is what it is. Home as what it is represents a multifaceted and dynamic range, a multifaceted and dynamic range of damage and breaks, the kind that align without reasons and whys and for all purposes genuine a good character makes. A multifaceted and dynamic range of rage and havoc can enslave the brain to be spastic achieving feats of reaching clouds 9 to 11 but cant connect the piece it would need to link its cerebellum to heaven. Energy in motion like rockets exploding and the flames enraged engaged with wind twist and bend for a chance to encapsulate forever in them. My ability to infer for instance could lead one to make an inference that my intuition is at home in my intellect seated on the throne of intelligence. To me home is a clone of the mind that spies and seeks to find what may be outside. The grass thats greener on the other side could perhaps shed light if what is shining is shown through the right window of the home you goodnight in on the road to the storefront of woes in the forefront of lobes are closed. Your eyelids like the youth in the warm summer after noon hang low to the Earth. Where the rooster calls and nature concurs. Your eyes with no need for words slips into slumber for a time with no number. Eyes in use with no passion to prove can conclude the absolute truths of youth. Grass is green mom is home dad is too. The sky is free and from what we see of the sky it seems blue. The sky ive seen it weeps and apparently my parents do too. In that I see home is ,we ,I, us ,them, and you.
By Writer anon6163 years ago in Poets
Angel
Busting straight out of the gate like a vampire out of a fresh grave, I'm going to begin, and most likely continue writing under the assumption that many of you currently reading this Vocal submission is perhaps not very familiar with the television series Angel. That being said, you may be inclined to believe that I'm under yet another assumption when I say that, I am as sure as a sinner in Sunnydale that your boss, husband, or wife would be compelled, to at very least be able to conjure a modicum of leniency and understanding if you dropped all calls, reschedule all meeting with your lawyers, and postpone all business deals to go and binge-watch all five perfectly crafted seasons of this televised masterpiece, Angel. This similarly-themed Buffy The Vampire Slayer spinoff series, Starring David Boreanaz is my favorite television show of all time. If I could sum up in one word the reasoning behind my almost spiritual gravitation towards this series, I would unequivocally choose the word "real". Angel the tv series about a vampire with a soul, aired in October of '99 is demon killing, soul-stealing unrequited romance birthing, action-packed, a fantasy drama, created by David Greenwalt and Joss Whedon. A few of the overall themes of Angel include atonement redemption and the sacrifice of one's desires for the greater good. These themes work so well in Angel because Angel lives as both the protagonist and antagonist in the same body. Angel's arch-nemesis biggest fear and biggest regret is only himself. In traditional vampire lore as with this series, if a human is bitten by a vampire and made to drink the blood of their undead future sire, the human side will die, they will lose their soul and reawaken as an eternally blood-hungry demon of the night. In the show, this exact pseudo intimate process took place in 1753 when Darla, Angels first toxic love interest turned then named Liam from a young irresponsible Irishman, to a gluttonous plague of unbridled evil and wit named Angelus. As one half of the dubiously dubbed duo, The scourge of Europe. The series was set in the present time of then 1999, which gave it a modern feel that neither attempted to recreate the past or represent the mysterious possibilities of the coming 2000s. Angel is one of the very few shows that I've seen that seem to encapsulate the subtle forward-thinking values of the 90s without inundating the audience with enough repetitive overt ideologies to make a human head explode. Angel is a spinoff of the tv show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which could very well be considered a direct testament to the previous statement and the subtle forward-thinking posture of the 90s. I've even seen it rightfully labeled a neo-noir. A vampire detective with a soul trying to atone for his past seems to be a balanced, mixture of some of history's greatest fictional characters such as Bat Man, Sherlock Holmes, and Dracula. For what must have been a century Angelus, the soulless vampire demon along with Darla tore through the families of Europe one after. in the 1800s The pair of vampires Angel and Darla became a quartet of death with the addition of Spike and Drusilla. The four being of like minds and dead hearts continuously fueled each other's evil nature. Sowed as much destruction and terror as the sunset would allow, that is until the unstoppable force met the immovable object and fate would make its presence known in the form of gypsies, grieving the loss of their family member at the hands of Angelus, The gypsies knowing they wouldn't have the ability to match the infernal strength of the undead, decided to give Angelus the only thing that could inflict never-ending damage on a spawn of hell. The gypsies gave Angelus a soul, which in turn gave the once sadistic personification of blood-sucking evil, a conscience. When you mix an eternal life with a conscience and a never-ending reel of evil you committed, the concoction created is eternal life in a self-made hell on Earth. The degree of variance between Angelus with a soul and Angelus without a soul is so distinct that just having a soul creates an entirely new persona named Angel. In addition to having a soul part of the curse states that if Angel experiences one moment of true pleasure he will lose his soul and turn evil once more. A hundred years or so after the curse Angel meets Buffy the vampire slayer, chosen by the powers that be to dedicate her life to fighting evil. When Angel and Buffy's relationship begins it is what hopeless romantics daydreams are made of. Although Darla and Angel have very strange chemistry, Angel is often portrayed as Darla's puppet. She understands what he longs for and teases and hints at her power to grant his wish, but he and she both know that's not possible. Darla only can be evil and manipulate anyone who can benefit her evil nature. Buffy on the other hand is the antithesis of Darla in every sense of the word minus the blond hair. When the characters meet, a love story fit for a teen drama ensues. Angel equipped with a human soul can for what may have been the first time in his life feel the pleasure of romantic love. What makes their love interest more significant than most is the underlying consequence of indulging in what is on many levels forbidden. Buffy is the vampire hunter in love with a legendary vampire demon who has a soul that he will lose upon enjoying one moment of true pleasure. Angel's desire for love clouds his judgment leading him to causes Angel to lose his soul, turning him into Angelus, one of the evilest and dangerous antagonists either show had to face. After their very first night of physical intimacy, Angelus does that thing he does where he toys with his victims before he kills every single one of them. Although I haven't even begun to give full character breakdowns, Angel in general was a show that I made a connection to as just a kid. I didn't understand a lot of the underlying themes and motifs then, which to me means that even taken as a surface-level drama Angel the tv series about a vampire with a soul can be enjoyed just for what it is, A great show.
By Writer anon6163 years ago in Geeks
hate am becoming
i dont like this. dead dying death bliss. face take took them make made hook in here there yes this. it. the end was found in the beginning and discarded. Saw myself. Saw seen sowed sewed time stitching stitched unravels unwinds wounds. wound up. womb. times up. womb darkness. whom not us. whos, not yet. move, my guest. two times yes. fools find us. fools find it. tools time tic, tools im it. mule mind mint. stool cry bricks. mind witch time nix. nine six. five beats dine in. frightened highten light give spine chill rhyme kill, time will. buy sell hi hell. life vail mind gel mind tell time tell sky fell light shell bright quell.
By Writer anon6163 years ago in Poets
Its bigger Than Religion
My passion in this human life above all other things is art. Art in every waking moment is both the raging fire and fuel of my existence. Art whether created in nature as the byproduct of a complex sentient being composed of nothing more than an ethereal cosmological heft, or art created by a mere mortal who has been stricken with a flash of inspiration that leads him or her to create not just a structure or an object that will fade with the passing times of its creator, but a human experience so novel that it will affect the shape of human history. Art has the ability to shift the paradigm around societal expectations that sometimes dictate an artists ability to communicate a vision with a world who may feel a desire to experience what one could call, a peek beyond the veil of normality, while still not being ready for the sometimes perplexing constructs that are oftentimes formed on the leading edge of socially acceptable. Primarily I choose to express my passionate artistic energy is through the art of storytelling. My passion for storytelling is as natural to me as my heartbeat. The passion I have for creating stories overflows ever abundantly and without end. I feel very lucky that there are so many mediums through which I can channel my energy. I have been writing stories since I learned how to write full words and sentences. I became obsessed with storytelling after reading the first page of the first comic book I ever read. I was astounded that I was still allowed to read books that had all of my favorite superheroes, and on top of that there were vividly colored pictures of the heroes that I loved so much. I fell in love in an instant and have been dreaming of being a comic book writer ever since then. I as of now have what will be my debut comic book in the works. Though comics is one of my primary mediums for expressing my joy of storytelling it is but of multiple. Being a 29-year-old millennial I have not only a joy and knack but also what seems to me to be a borderline addiction to the art of long-form microblogging, which at first glance may sound like an oxymoron until you indulge in the experience of Twitter.
By Writer anon6163 years ago in Humans