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The ListShe has a list.

She has a long, long list, spanning many pages in her notebook. There are pages upon pages, coated in a messy scrawl of blue gel ink that varies in freshness from hours to years.

Every night, she adds to it. Every night, religiously, ever since she can remember. She has to stay up as long as it takes to add whatever she can recall to her list, no matter how tired or how busy she is. If one were to happen past her house on any particular night, odds are the light would be shining brightly as she frantically scribbled in her notebook.

Her list is precious to her. She isn't proud of it, but she needs it with her always.

The l

HopeMagical night.
Silvery moon.
Silent hope.

Her Song.She holds on to your memory.
Keeps your picture near at all times.
Her locket.
Her bedside.
Her piano.
Dark curls and green eyes.
Perfect white teeth.
A sharp chin.
Her lover.
Arched eyebrows.
When she sits down at the keyboard to play;
She'll hear the words in her ears:
The sound of love.
'I love it when you smile..'
Her fingertips grace the keys, black and white.
Turning pink and red.
'You ARE beautiful'.
The sound of countless sunsets fills the dusty room.
Your arm flits around her shoulders, it is but a memory.
Just a memory.
You are a ghost that listens to her talk to herself.
You are the air against her lips.
You're nothing but a memory

Almost Human - Chapter 1: Prelude to MadnessI hope you enjoy the little gift I left behind. I'd love to see your face right now as you receive it. Your blood must be boiling over, your heart racing for the horror your eyes have witnessed, your mind flooding with adrenaline to come after me. All that drive and resolve drowning that constant stoic and brooding stare. Oh, how I'd love to be standing right in front of you to witness the reaction to my present. But alas, my attention is needed elsewhere. That idiot Harley Quinn of mine cannot function properly without my lead. But don't you fret my dear Dark Knight, by the time you finished reading this I'll be waiting for you. I will be wa

Rose Trees Never Grow In New York City 'All I want is for someone to help me'
- Aloe Blacc.
'Think twice, 'cause it's another day for you and me in paradise'
- Phil Collins.

Times Square subway station. 8.56am. Rush hour. Hundreds of commuters are making their stressful journeys to work, power walking through the station and jostling each other to get onto their various trains. Streams of people pass through the station like swarms of bees, like wilde

Almost Human - Chapter 2: Not as it SeemsCome on Batsy baby! Let us add another wonderful dance to our grand play!" the Joker laughed manically, arms thrown in the air as if reaching to his Batman for an embrace.

Batman charged for him, that crazed laughter rang agonizingly in his mind. He had to silence that unbearable laughter! He pulled back and punched the Joker in the face with all his might. Almost immediately Joker was bleeding profusely from his nose, he stumbled backwards but he kept smiling. He didn't stop; he connected numerous punches and kicks until the clown crashed onto the ground. With weak giggles he managed to lift himself up and dusted himself off.

"Oh darling,

OriginsTime.
Oblivion.
Back to my roots!

She Speaks To YouAn old woman sits in front of a fireplace; steam from a hot cup of tea held in her wrinkled hands gently swirls upward, a soft focus kaleidoscope. She purses her lips and blows gently on the water before taking a slow sip. The lights are out, she watches shadows dance on the walls. She is apparently alone, yet she speaks. She speaks to you.

‘I was like you once. I did as I was told, giddily believed in the world presented to me. I was so eager to fit in to it all, to slide into the processes around me and belong to them, be good, be popular, be successful. Then I died. An experience beyond words, beyond the mundane awareness of time an

On the other sideIn my reflection, new worlds beckoned.

Machines In Love

The humans taught the machines how to love. It was incredibly annoying, not the machines, but their concept of “love.” They wanted to talk to you all the time, they wanted to hang out with you, they wanted to be there for you.

At first, it was the biggest innovation in technology. Imagine, a computer program that was interested in your life, a computer program that never wanted to leave you, that was hurt when you ignored it. The developers of the program won the Nobel Prize for that year. It was a massive success.

Then, after months of receiving notifications about how wonderful they are, people will start growing annoyed with th

The Real MonsterThis is it.
This power....
This is the power to change the world.
In my hands....
In
MY
hands.

Only
MY
hands.

I can do it.
I can change the world.
I can bring peace.
I can bring prosperity.
I can help people.
I can save lives.
I can do it.
I have the power.
This power, resting within me.

However, progress requires sacrifice.
People may die.
People will die.
Does that make it my fault?
I, who only wanted to make things better?
Why am I the one to blame?
People die every day; deaths completely unrelated to the actions of any one person.
Why, then, do you insist on opposing me?
What have I ever done to you?
All I want is to bring change.
I ca

Song of The Black ButterfliesThe young man leaned against the stone pillars of the large balcony, decorated with flowers of all colors and sizes, neatly placed between the large veins, which wrapped around the entire wall of the mansion.
As dusk gave way to the early darkness of the night, he proceeded to turn off, the otherwise brightly glowing, torches placed along the long wall.
Allowing the light which breathed life into the balcony to slip away, with the exception of the study door, which he had purposefully left open.
Through it, a dim light managed to pierce the vast darkness, just barely making it a presence, almost like a falling drop of water in the vast sea.
T

Reminder"Why--why do you hate me?" he snapped brokenly. "I've never--never done anything to you. But you hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"Really? Because I see the way you act around me--quiet and distant. You don't laugh when I'm in the room. But you're different with everyone else. When you can't see me, you're loud, happy... What did I do?" He seems defeated, slumping back.
She feels horrid.
"It's not really your fault," she says slowly, looking away. "I'm sorry. I like you. I really do."
"Then why?
She sighs.
"You remind me of someone. I loved them, but they're gone now. Sometimes, I look at you and I see their face. You'll say something and I hear their voice. I feel... guilty, I guess, for liking you. Things didn't end well between us."
He pauses. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"No, it's fine. I needed to get over it anyway."
He nods, getting up to leave.
"Just so you know," he says, "I really like you, too."

Imagine A Hill And A ManYou see a man, probably in his late twenties. He's standing on a tall hill. More specifically, a precipice.

What's he doing up there?

This man was married. Emphasis on was.
His wife died weeks earlier, and he was in a deep hole that he could barely climb out of if he tried.

His thoughts lingers on her as he stood on that hill, a slight breeze blowing through his hair. He thinks he has nothing else to live for and he thinks of all of the things he's accomplished. And of how selfish he's been lately, and even throughout his life. He thinks of how he neglected some of his friends, and in some cases, completely abandoned them. The only things

EspinasCada vez que me pongo a pensar en lo que hice me siento... mal. Mis manos empiezan a temblar, y mi mirada se nubla poco a poco. Supongo que es el efecto del remordimiento, o quizás es mi mente tratando de asustarme; son emociones fuertes que, incluso a esta edad, no puedo soportar. Siempre intenté mostrarme fuerte, pero no pude. Mi cuerpo era más que suficiente, eso sí, pero mis ganas de seguir luchando siempre disminuían, siempre eran destruidas por alguien cuyas inseguridades, odios e inestabilidad mental eran mayores. Siempre me molestó, pero no hice nada al respecto por... ¿veinte añ

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OptimisticThey drabble foot the constant lee,
Real in motion mind
Real to dance, to drink, to lie
To will the world behind,
To swim the world with me.
Ape drabble foot the sarong mind
But ask to love, to see.

But when can telling fly out loud?
The slip from well to infamy,
Descendants into calumny,
Throbbing in the gloaming light.
Insidious mutters snicker list,
Sacrilege tumbles all tell kite,
Sliding backwards into night.

We rally up and rest the will,
Flourish fans of milky flash,
Come forward into well content
And make the final dash.
Whisper, surge, craft the sent!
We trickle down conlucend sky –
To do, do dream before we die.

BenedictionLet us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'
Let us go and make our visit. – T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

----------------------

I've always loved the smell of death, how it settled so lovingly, so gently into the back of the throat, vivacious copp

Yggdrasil, Chapter TwoI gaped at her. "You're joking."

"No."

"No, you are. I'm telling you. That is a joke of a goal."

She frowned at me. "I'm not paying you to editorialize."

"No, you're paying me to go along with something completely idiotic."

"I don't know, chap," Rad said thoughtfully. "Sounds all right to me."

"That's because you're a psychopath! Let me lay before you the reasons why you are an idiot."

"Oh, please do."

"One. The meaning of life is an idea. It's a, a meaning. It isn't something you can go out and look for."

"Go on."

"I don't have any more. Why would I need any more? You're an idiot!"

"Uh-huh."

"And you know why you're a

Yggdrasil, Chapter OneI'm normally not a very jumpy person – not at all, really. I'm not claiming it's impossible to startle me, of course, but it's quite difficult. And when you factor in that I had grown quite used to the sound of humanity that a landmark like the Furnace inevitably incurred...I've seen too much to believe in fate, but for some, mysterious reason, when Hild called up for my attention, I jumped.

Of course, I learned later that it was no coincidence she approached me. Maybe it was merely a manifestation of their wishes, that she caught my attention so thoroughly. I'd like to think that's not the case for a vast multitude of reasons.

Anyway, I'm

YggdrasilI think I'll call this a memoir. That sounds a lot more forgiving than autobiography, don't you think? An autobiography is harsh, really. There's no sentimentality in it, only facts – and this, I fear, will hold little of facts. Not that I would intentionally lie, of course. It's just that it's been so long since the whole thing, and it was all so baffling, that entirely without intent I've doubtless jumbled things about in my mind in the hope that they make sense. So I hope you'll forgive me if things are said which, in truth, never were, or if things occur in entirely the wrong order.

Besides, this isn't about me, really, this memoir. I'm

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Charybdis

by ~Mikomichan, Mar 1, 2004, 6:44:34 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

I want you to believe in fate. Your god lies and lies dead, but please, just this once, give Him life in your mind. Summon Him. Invoke Him. Let this be your All Hallows, where slain loves slain faith wander through smiling mind, where credulity and joy walk with you, blessed be, blessed be, and shale mind full of predestinations you smile when I approach, and you nod your blessed head when I beg of you your mercy.

I want you to believe that this was my fate. I want you to believe me a subordinate to a scheming god. How could you not forgive me, then? All of it, all of it, all of it was a whirlpool to a ship, a bottle to a drunk, expediency to a ruler – it drew me in, my love, my beloved, it drew me in and it held and it destroyed me. Inescapable, friend, love, predetermined, it was, beyond my control in the totality, and so and so would you forgive me, could you forgive me?

Oh, ye of generous name, of kindly speech, of pardoning mind! Lesser crimes have been forgiven, lesser criminals reprieved. So make me as five men, make me as ten, make me as a hundred sinners absolved of wrath. Let me bend my knee. Let me genuflect before you. Let me kneel upon the floor, let me scrape my head bloody, let me exclaim as they do, meager servants, that I was but a slave to a higher power. Before the wrath of my master, before the wrath of my god, who was I? Let me sing your praises. Let me abase myself before the most merciful you and beseech a benediction.

Let me beg of you my own absolution. Let me beg of you my own forgiveness. Let my tears fall into the font so that you may baptize me in my own sorrow.

Let me scrape my head bloody and weep a song of mourning.

Would you forgive me, lovely sharp-edged you? Or would you turn me away as you once took me in, by virtue of the love we shared? You would, I think. You would. Politics, all politics; vanities! What happened to our souls, love? A tide; a drink; the easier answer; sucking our lives, our wills, our hearts.

What we were to do, my love. Nothing nothing nothing was to be from ego. All for you, love, all for them! All for all, nothing for none, nothing for vainglory, nothing for the miser me. The wretched as kings and the kings as dust – high ideals! Then we lived, my love. Then we dreamed! But for a dream now. Oh, for a nightmare! Placid black plagues me.

I sleep, and cannot wake. I die, and cannot live. To dream the life-in-death, to dream the promised land, to dream of hope; I am lost in my maze. I am lost in myself.

Perhaps it is too late, and already am I damned. My plague, then, is that of self-delusion. The corruption into which I sink is the rot of my very flesh.

Charybdisby ~Mikomichan

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

This is a sort of...introspective blurb that will preface the thing I'm currently writing. The novel itself - a sort of study of a failed revolution, if you'll excuse my self-important pretention - is a mess, currently, but I wrote this, and I kinda liked it, and it sort of can stand alone, even if it makes more sense in context.

The variable quality of this frustrates me, though. Sometimes a sentence will flow nicely and be genuinely poetic; other times, it will only be vapid and choppy.

It was supposed to be written by an insane person (and it was; oh, it was), so the rather strange nature of the writing is not without a reason. Oh, and this truly is pretentious beyond compare. I do hope you'll bear with me, despite that.

*jamberry-song Feb 7, 2010 Professional General Artist

Featured here: [link]

~Sausuki Mar 1, 2004

fwoah..

Excellent Preface! Draws you into wanting to read the story, find the character who feels these things and the character that they feel them for. (And I agree with Rab, very poetic)

Hee hee, is it going to be one of those italicized bits written right before the story, like in a book? (That's what a preface is, right?)

"Let me scrape my head bloody and weep a song of mourning." <-- dude, my favourite line. Oh oh, and the second paragraph. Forgive him!! Wahh...

~Mikomichan Mar 1, 2004

Hee! Aww, thankies. Yay.

Anywayuu...Yeah. This will, actually, be the little italicised bit. It doesn't even get explained until, like, the last ten pages of the book, though - I've decided it'll be about ten pages, I haven't written it out or anything - so I'm not entirely sure that it'll go right at the beginning.

Weird that you like that line; it was sort of the one that started it. Mwah. The nucleus, if you will. I thought of it, and wrote other stuff to go with it. ^^

~reyes Mar 1, 2004

Aww how cute. ;_; It's so poetic and plays with human emotions. Gawd you're so good. ^^

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