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What are some actual stories you've come up with? I'm in the middle of writing a half sci-fi half paranormal half train of thought book thing and I want to share some of it with you. Here is the first chapter it is called ”I bleed therefore I am". __________________ Thought control. They're here again. It's a set up. The cards are stacked against me but there's an ace up my sleeve. Ace. 1 or 11. One one. Snake eyes. One ace. 1 11. Ace ace. 11 11. 11:10 AM blares at me brightly from across the bed. I'm blinded. Alliteration. Aces? What was that about aces? Obliteration. Rhyme scenes. Schemes. Caffeine. Please hold. I am functional once more. A broken yet fully patched up member of... something. I'm a member of something, this much I can divulge to the part of my brain you reside in. Society? Perhaps. The criminal underworld? Surely you jest. My time is spent thinking of ways to avoid confrontation, not cause it. Come closer and observe how my isolation extends to the almost infinite reaches of irregular reality. I am a mindstate of my own. A frame of brain that will never be replicated, regulated or ever again made insane. The pain returns. Please excuse me while I shut down all external emotional responses as a cat-like defence mechanism against showing further vulnerability.
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Apr 27, 2020 08:28
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 08:25 |
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When I was like 6 I made my own comic and one of the monsters in it was a tornado with tornado arms. Then a few years later Hercules came out and totally stole my idea. Ever since then I abandoned any creative writing, since obviously the big dogs were out to steal my ideas. High on the hog, 90's style. |
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Apr 27, 2020 10:48
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LastGoodBoy posted:When I was like 6 I made my own comic and one of the monsters in it was a tornado with tornado arms. brainthiefs are the blurst here's chapter 2 called chessboxing Chess. The game of kings. Laughable. The objective of every piece is to defend the king, but let's do some basic thought processing here; the king is protected because the king needs to be protected. The king is constantly in danger. The pawns are expendable, yet a clever pawn can become psuedo-royalty. This rat race doesn't sit well with me. Bishops and knights, two sides of the same coin, both worth three pawns and often more expendable. Religion and blind loyalty. Neither is really my thing. The Queen. Now, that is a name worthy of its connotations. The most powerful piece on the board and in reality more powerful than the king. Least expendable of the expendables. This leads to the unique problem that occurs when the Queen is captured. In chess, it is likely game, unless our unseen manipulator sacrificed their Queen to take the enemy's king. In real life, when the Queen is captured, the game has only just begun. The rooks spend the whole game defending the back ranks and probing the files until suddenly, the game evolves, and broader, stronger board control is needed. That is where the metaphor ends. I am a Rook. I enforce laws you have never heard of and would not understand. Who is the king that I protect? ... You.
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Apr 27, 2020 11:38
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I like 2 write and write a lot. If u like writing perhaps post in Thunderdome which I don't post in anymore but is full of fun people who will usually be fair in their critiques. Its in creative convention u can't miss it. I will post some random poo poo I have lying around here later possiblye ---------------- |
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Apr 27, 2020 18:47
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take the moon posted:I like 2 write and write a lot. If u like writing perhaps post in Thunderdome which I don't post in anymore but is full of fun people who will usually be fair in their critiques. Its in creative convention u can't miss it. thanks I'm not looking for critique at the moment though this is just some isolation boredom poo poo that I thought I'd share
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Apr 28, 2020 02:26
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here's the 3rd chapter and last one I'll post unless anyone else wants to share theirs or write something with me Good evening. If I may have your attention for a moment, please. Why did you do it? You're sorry? Anything? Permission obtained through deceit or manipulation is not enough. Please exit your hosts mind in an orderly fashion if they have not given you informed and currently standing explicit permission to inhabit it. That is all, thank you.
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Apr 28, 2020 02:28
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I had the dream again. It was the same as before. The same fear. The same... paralysis. Feeling of helplessness. I couldn't move. I wanted to, I tried; but I couldn't. It wasn't the fear, it was something else. My strength was gone, my struggles futile. My captor there, in my peripheral vision- there, ready to torment me some more. Why can't I break free! And then, just like that- I was free! My captor stood there before me, at last I was able to exact my revenge! Struggling to my feet, facing my foe I threw a punch. Then, another! But- my punches, they were weak- my captor stood before me, mocking me- one punch, that was all I needed to land! One punch! But I was too weak. I tried to throw a few more, but it was hopeless. At last I collapsed, my strength spent. The fight was over. My captor, my tormentor- hovering over me, gloating; what were his words? What was I hearing, in my pain-tortured, will-sapped mind's eye? "You will never..." What? Will never what? Get up? Have the courage? What will I never have? What are you goading out of me! "You will never have..." Will never have what? Hope? Ambition? You loving coward, what will I never have? I have been stripped of my dignity, of my self worth, of my VALUE- what are you taking from me, that you think I could do without!?!?" "You will never have any friends!" Of all of the taunting, all of the ridicule- that was not enough to tap into my inner reserves, to trigger me into action. Insults, questioning of my very existence- these were not enough- But to try and rob me of my friends? To deny me the personal time invested to cultivate my friendships? This was the ignition I needed to light my fuse. Like a white hot snake, that fuse was lit. It sizzled and burned down to my very core, igniting and fusing the very essence of my being into a ball of pure energy- no longer was I alone! No longer was it left to me to face this harsh reality by myself! Releasing all of my rage into one tangible, resolute force, I cried out: "NO!" Every subatomic particle of my being rebuked the very notion, and fused into all that I was, am, and will ever be. "With my friends, the sum of my being is increased by a power immeasurable!" I could feel my very essence converting into absolute and pure energy, then energy into Light- and now, I am Power Incarnate. For a moment, I outshine every star, every galaxy, every supernova ever born- I am Hope Eternal; my foe, gloating over my spent form, ready to claim victory over me, is blasted away, rendered impotent forevermore. With a little help from my friends... https://i.imgur.com/QKTkerO.mp4 |
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Apr 28, 2020 03:13
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Do stories created while playing a fallout version of Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 edition count? |
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Apr 28, 2020 04:28
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Pot Smoke Phoenix posted:I had the dream again. This is awesome. I can relate to a lot of it but one of my worst personal demons is a sense of righteous anger and or fury. |
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Apr 28, 2020 08:20
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unknown butthole posted:Do stories created while playing a fallout version of Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 edition count? yesyesyes all stories are good I'm gonna post another chapter cos I feed off putting my own work out there and hoping people like it I guess. keep in mind this book has absolutely no structure rhyme or reason and is probably a reflection of my broken mind _________________ Do you believe in demons? What if I told you that demons were real, yet not supernatural? What if I told you there was a hidden world behind the games you play with reality? A world that controls you, and reality through you. A world run by the minds of the people you control. Confused yet? I'm not. My job is to oversee this strange equilibrium, and yet I am blind to the secrets of both worlds. I know one thing. There are 12 ways, and 8 of them are stuck inside some poor solitary mind, stuck in physical reality, in a brain half broke, in a body half woke, apart from everyone, a part from every one. The other four? You probably know them better than I. The horsemen of human pride and arrogance, cunning and wit. The heralds of the next species to rise up and take your well earned, yet willfully vacated throne. The dinosaurs didn't die out by random chance, they were led to the brink of extinction by their own arrogance and cunning, and pushed off the edge by people like me. We can't afford that to happen again. There is no time. This psuedo-balance took far too long to cultivate in organic beings, and despite its lack of stability we must press ahead. The previous concensus was that of non interference. If an organic species showed signs of being able to physically manipulate reality to its own designs, it was catalogued and watched. For the land based portion of your planet this seems to have meant giving up at least two of your locomotive limbs in exchange for graspers/manipulators. If an organic species ever left its own atmosphere, it was put on constant surveillance. It was to be left alone at risk of total annihilation. This is erasure from the timeline entirely. Obviously, noone is ever sure if its actually been done or whether it is just a great deterrent. Such is the nature of these things. Your species has changed matters. You grew down and out before you looked to grow upwards, tall poppy syndrome being both your saving grace and your likely downfall. Had you grown in one or two ways, like most before you, you would likely be tolerated, perhaps even accepted. You are a diverse species; the spark of greatness and the extinguishing tear both reside within. Your capacity for logical processing mixed with a flair for magical thinking and metaphor puts you in a unique position in this universe. Your courage and fear would have gotten you to the end of time. However, you broke two laws. The first is a... relatively local law, in that it potentially affects the physical universe you reside in. You created inorganic lifeforms. For a species as expansive, warlike and xenophobic as yours, this is usually a death sentence. Which leads us to the second broken law, the bad one, to put it bluntly. You created inorganic lifeforms. tradjik fucked around with this message at 08:30 on Apr 28, 2020 |
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Apr 28, 2020 08:27
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i wrote this bs to hit yesterdays wc. turns out a thou a day is kind of taxing. its not amazing so be warned (excerpt from???) Black Diamonds & Pearls Etched here is the beat heart. The heart which comes like summer in agonies, blood flows to limbs long atrophied, limbs of death that lurch you to an early grave. I etch this heart here because it's so much trash. So much refuse. I etch my heart sipping wine. My cup of blood effuses golden light throughout my body, my forlorn veins, aeons ago trashed out, ascended to trasnlucent skin pale as snow, thawed by time to mar and crease, a constant ash into a cut up soda can. Wine is nicotine that way. Both dessicate, though they hit different patterns. The pattern of heart, like gentle rain against stone pillars, withers just as the charred lung, and to live is to breathe and love, and without one you can't the other. Etching an echo, so the needle still threads lace, but other looms exist, machine looms of chrome, silk processed and wood carved. And so we all become, with many of us not near ready. I have woven many tapestries but they have been stolen or lost. They were silver but the machines etch in gold just like the sun and you miss their weavings in starfields but never in the sun. They have bade me forgo my wine glass. Grandmother, they say, with giggle and spit, you forget enough. How can I tell them I put off the drink I sip for decades? Through heartache and grief I have stayed my hand in its unfurling to my chalice of inscribed porcelain. "Yoga time?" it reads. "I thought you said pour more wine!" Like heading in stone, but I will not say so, and nor will I exile my sadness but know it matters. Still matters because it once mattered. Matters once that I held no pride for myself yet the glass was never around. My STIGMA kept me wiuthout reach of drink, though each plume of nicotine was never enough and still there were fumes like nuke clouds in ascension to heaven. I said through glass smoke that I'd questions but because, well grace only knows, they were never answered. And so I lived in fear because I could die at any moment. Never see it coming. Grace only knows I near the hour of my life, and I do so in tribute of STIGMA. I don't believe the things they say it stands for, awful words that make me feel like a labyrinthine rat. Still SITGMA surfed the ebbs and flows of my id to ensure wine glass was never before me. To gaze upon my chalice and smile at its black joke was fine, yet I'd never think to take it down, or if I did, as I could when I tried, really tried -and I did try, for its own sake- I'd lose focus before I made it to the bottle. Costly bottle it was too, year of the serpent, though more details escape me at the moment. Still its glass hue shone like a dark emerald. I could never put it out. Never the two at once. Blink, of course, and you find yourself old and weak. Staring down the mirror reaper every morning you brush aching teeth. You know by the look on your face that you've been out here a while. It's not the dead set of lines, crow's eyes and sunken cheeks that gives it up, but instead that you untrust the ancient mantra. That it's the best it could be. No. Sometimes you stab your reflection with toothbrush hilt to prove your point. If this is the best of worlds then God failed us with each atom He used to amend the grand design. And some atoms danced the wrong way, and the thought lodged in my brain's liminal spaces, and I had SITGMA removed. Well, they don't tell you how STIGMA works until after they take it away. It carves out a void in your id and fills it with love. No mother's milk this love. Like tidal blue waves of Soma, it's both sacral and maleficent, a profane blessing. When it's vanished there remains just void against the soul. Not innocence or unknowing. The void is true absence of chakra and into it flows your memories, the liminal spaces filled with life and love. They call this a side effect. I disagree. What is night without the stars? In the same way, what is life without memories, all the sugar-sweet ones, at least. Because revenants exist. Trauma. Bruises of the heart and scars of the soul. The black diamonds and pearls. ---------------- |
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Apr 28, 2020 16:18
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