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Old July 10th, 2011 (07:43 PM). Edited August 29th, 2011 by Full Metal.
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Full Metal Full Metal is offline
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Gallery.

Intro.
Well, a lot of you might or might not know it, but I blog. Not a lot of ... whiny(?) stuff. IDK. IMO, the things I write are intriguing, some are slightly apathetic, however. You've been warned. CC only please. No flaming. (:



Down The Well.
Down in the well is a might river roaring
Down in the well is a glistening drink
Down in the well is refreshment
Down in the well is life.

I’m parched and thirsty, looking for a drink. I see the well that I’ve drawn water from, for so long. While I lower the pail, I ponder: what would happen to me if this well was gone? Would I die of thirst? Would I become so weak that I was unable to move, or stand on my own two feet? Would I need a crutch, or be able to use a wheelchair? If this well was gone, would I give up on life and just let the bigger river carry me where it flows?

I finally hear the reverberating splash of my bucket finding the water, and I wait for it to fill while I continue to ponder. Where would this river take me? Would I find myself washed up with everybody else? Would I wash up as a big shot revolutionist? Who would I meat along the way? Am I already flowing in the river, and just don’t know it?

I start to bring up the water when I thought occurs to me. Maybe I should just let the river take me. Abandon this well and get swept away by life’s rushing river. But what fun would that be? Why should I just float around? I want to fly to where I want to go, and if somebody wants to tag along, I won’t object.

My water finally peered at the top of the well, and I drink it all. Right then and there, as if drinking it was actually going to help me get where I wanted to go. There’s nothing special about that water in particular, but I think this is a good start to get me where I’m wanting to go. As the water flows down my gullet, and misplaced streams run down my body, I feel invigorated. Full of fighting spirit, as if I could conquer the world if I so chose. I smile and grin, because I know I’m going where I want to go, or I’m going to die trying.



HardCore Industry.All my days I’m told what it is that is golden. I’m told that I have potential to be great, just as girls are told that they too could be as beautiful and fake as those mannequins in magazines. I don’t get it. If everybody’s special then why am I told to be normal? If I have potential to be great, then why does everybody hold me back? If I’m a great person, why do people leave me so often? I’m always told to do as my elders tell me to do, even if it’s wrong or completely stupid. Is that to say that if I’m told to jump off a cliff, that I should do it just because the person who told me to do so has managed to not die longer than I have? Talk about lack of logic. Any moron can man manage to not die, save for freakish accidents, disease, murder, etc. I’m not stupid, and I’m not diseased, so please don’t treat me as such just because I haven’t not died as long as you have. Just because my ideas are different than the normal doesn’t mean they’re incorrect. The only thing worth fearing is fear; Normal always opens up when your mind closes to everything else. I’m tired of people not liking me because they think I’m weird. If that’s the best reason you can come up with to not like me, then I reserve the right to say your opinion means nothing to me, and probably won’t for a while. Don’t strip me of what makes me unique. Don’t treat me like I’m manufactured unless you’re willing to eat the cost of a recall.



Canvas.
A bug must have crawled inside of me. Sometimes I notice blood running down my arm when I reach over my head. But I never see the wound. Is that possible? It must be, because it’s happening in front of me. This bleeding, it stings. It’s a different sting. It hurts, but it’s different. This pain can’t be described in words. I wish I had a canvas. I have lots of paint I guess. But I was never good with paint. This pain can only be drawn in the darkest of charcoal pencils, etched in the blackest ink. Drawn in rustic parchment, as dry as my eyes. It’s massive, yet tiny. It’s runny, and deep. This pain is trapped, like an animal in a cage. I can see it, crying, moaning. The blankness in it’s eye consumes me with a gaze, like it’s eating at my soul, byte by byte. It’s okay though. I have plenty of soul to share. Right? And once my soul is gone, then my pain will go away, right? Will my pain go away? Look me in the eye, and tell me it will be okay. Lie to me now, and make it true later. I don’t want my soul to be gone. I don’t want to be eaten alive. I don’t want to eat myself.



Friendly Faces.
Everywhere I go, my friendly faces follow me. Always ready to greet me with a smile. My friendly faces know what is best for me. My friendly faces can help me in my time of need. I only wish my friendly faces went to church and knew the Lord. My friendly faces always offer me great advice. I used to listen to that advice all the time, but then I noticed something. They didn’t care if their advice hurt anyone else, and it usually did. I think we all have friendly faces. I think our friendly faces our liars. Encoding lies into our truth. Disguising the disaster to seem so grand and beautiful, and oh, the disaster needs no disguise: it’s wretchedness could hold awe for a time with no end. My friendly faces don’t come around any more. I just whisper a prayer, and they sulk away as if I’ve greatly insulted them. Despite my suspicions of them, I just can’t bring myself to stay angry with my friendly faces, to tell them never to return. I know they might be hurt, and sad, and maybe they might die or cease to exist, and is that what I really want?

“Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.” – William Butler Yeats.

“Temptation is like a knife, that may either cut the meat or the throat of a man; it may be his food or his poison, his exercise or his destruction” – John Owen.



Yin And Yang.
I suppose there’s light and dark in everything. Even something as vile as greed and selfishness creates good around it. And from that good, the bad can thrive. And that fuels the existence. Push and pull, Light and Dark, Night And Day. Love and Hate. All of these can not exist without its counterpart. As the saying goes, the shadow proves the sunshine. Just as you can not know hate without knowing love, you can not know love without knowing hate. And if neither exists, then nothing worth anything exists. Lately I’ve been going through a rough time battling myself: my own worst enemy. If a man knew nothing of the Devil, or God, and actually thought about things, he would know that he was his demise. Just as he is also his rising. Man is good, but it is bad. The bad prevents the good from erasing meaning from life in it’s excel towards greatness. The bad is always there to keep life worth living. But then, is bad really “bad” ? Perhaps even “bad” is “good”. But then, what is “good”? Perhaps there is no such thing as “bad” and “good”. The real distinction to make is “real” or “not real”. If something is entirely real then other things can come from it. If something is not real, then nothing can come from it. You could say that if nothing is “real”, or if everything was “not real” then everything was “real” because “real” suddenly became “not real”. Nothing is certain in the existence, and the existence is not certain. However, humans strive to be “good” in their own mind, and all of them “real”. But the truth is, we humans don’t get to decide what is real, fake, good, or bad. That is up to the good Lord, our Father in Heaven, and that is why we should trust in him with all our hearts, rather than leaning on our own understanding, because in the end, our understanding equivelates to nothing.



In The End.
In the end we’re alone. In the end, we are all we have. In the end existence in and of itself is an illusion. In the end, nothing matters, because it is the end. But I like to talk about the existence, rather than the beginning, or the end.

The existence was great. It was free. The existence was happy and joyous. The existence was united and all stood together. The existence was there. The existence was consistent. The existence was a time-bomb waiting for the end.

In the end the existence is exposed for all it was. It was a lie, it was an illusion. In the end we would be happy, but we’re too busy dying from the existence. In the end we want a new beginning in hopes that the new existence would be free of corruption. In the new existence, the happiness and joy and unity would stay, it would be strong. I guess it’s hard to know how the next end will go, because in the next existence, we would be genuinely happy, and no lies would exist. I guess that must be what heaven’s like. Existence is pain to me, what is it to you?



Dancing Embers.
A fire ignites.
Breathing it’s air, it’s life.
Fueling a kindle,
For dancing embers.

Two duelists exchange greetings.
Then they duel…
Pushing, and pulling,
Like dancing embers.

Two friends meet
Unite against the world
And then love it
Like dancing embers.

Two countries fight
Each for their term of right
And blood is spilt
Like dancing embers

Two lovers gaze at one another
Move in with intent
Unaware of their power
Like dancing embers.



Ice.
I am frozen solid and frosty white on the inside. An infinite white mass. Pure nothing. True nothingness. Some see in black and white. Others in shades of gray. But me? I see in shades and hues. No obscuration, only creation. I believe it and it becomes so. I am ice. Cold and logical. I am ice, heartless and adrift. I am ice melting away for you — tear by chilling tear. Then refreezing from the inside. Trusting my heart like it won’t lie. Because in the end, the only thing consistent is logic.



Mirror.
My reflection staring back at me
Dirty and dusty
Cracked, depressed and twisted
Damaged beyond repair.
Old heavy and broken
Injured by the war outside
With a wound, deeper than the skin
This soul is my mirror.



Burn.
Scarlet flames
Voicing our opinions of conflict
As they dance and shout
The embodiment of lies and anger

Words of scorn
bitter and cold
immense with regret
Whispered betrayal.

Scarlet flames
Dance in a rhythmic flow
Entrancing those around us
Embers of hope.



White Crayon.
I am a white crayon. Pointless and useless. Even when I try to have a purpose, all I do is splotch up the damned picture even worse than it already was. At first glance, I look like a perfectly fine crayon. Until you look at things closer. Then you see that it was pointless to make a white crayon. The very concept of it is stupid. Why wasn’t a better crayon with a point created? It would be much better off. You could draw a better picture that way, and I wouldn’t have to be pained knowing that I can only do harm.



Choice.
I was thinking the other day. When something occurs all the time, we take it for granted. This goes for good and bad things. Yet some people are happy no matter what. That tells me something. Happiness isn’t a condition.You shouldn’t say ‘I’m happy’, because you’re not. Your life sucks just as much as it did yesterday, and rocks just as much as it will tomorrow. Being happy isn’t relative to other people. No matter how sad your neighbor is, you’re happiness isn’t effected by it [Unless you get some sort of sick satisfaction from their misery]. Your happiness isn’t static either. You could be content one minute and upset the next. Being happy is a choice. You choose to be happy, and you decide how happy you are. I have debated with myself for a long time. Is life relative? Is it static? Is it ruined and doomed for hell? I’ve decided that life isn’t relative or static. It is action based. Cause and Effect. People are simple, but we make them complex in our minds because we want to hide our simplistic ape-complex behind a curtain. We don’t make sense though (lol, I know it sounds contradicting, but read on!), because we have a desire to be understood. If that’s true, why do we complicate ourselves? People have a lot going for them, but man, we sure are stupid.



Broken Record.
Something inside of me wants out. I don’t know what it is. But whatever it is, it’s tearing me apart from the inside out. I want to scream at the top of my lungs because I have no voice. I want to paint the sky because paper is too small. My mind is shutting down again. My thoughts are getting scrambled. I’m a broken record playing endlessly in a broken record-player. I’m fuzzy, and the noise I make is intolerable. Only I know the original beautiful song that once was and is no more. I’m a record. I can’t exactly restore myself. So what do I do? Do I keep playing this wretched song that chills me to the core, and wait for someone who understands my intolerable screeching? When they come, would they like what they hear? Would they want to listen just because they can understand? Would they repair my scratches and dents etched so deeply in me? Then, would my sound be pure as it once was? Would I make them happy? Would it be worth their while? How much longer do I have before I shatter completely and split into millions of tiny pieces, like a vase falling off a table? What if no-one comes? Would anyone end the misery around me and shut off the noise?

I am trapped in a room. No, I’m not trapped. The way out is clear as day. The walls are closing in all around me. But I can’t move. My feet are heavier than bricks. I would destroy the walls when they got close enough, but the problem is, I don’t know if I would hurt anyone else on the outside.

I am lonely. I’m trapped at this school. With no friends. No real friends. The nearest true friends I have are miles away. I need help. I need someone who will listen without judging. They need to be a real friend. Not just pretend. And then, I need to be able to be their friend too. And until then, I will continue trying to move my feet, and play my song loud enough to be heard. In hope that I can escape, hoping that someone will hear my cries and understand them. Tolerate them. Even love them.

Why do you live? Is it because you’re alive? Because you simply don’t want to die? What is your drive and reason to put a smile on your face? Where is your confidence that it’s real and it’s not just a dream inside your head? Where do you draw the line between dreams and reality?

I am a broken record, trapped in a room labeled `Reality`, with walls closing in. I’m all alone, and I need to be heard before I get crushed into tiny pieces like a vase falling from a table.



Hate on Valentines.
Hate on Valentines Day. Why? Think about it. We only have one day out of 365 in a year devoted to loving and being loved. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? One day to hate, be brutally honest and insensitive, and then the rest of the year to love and be loved. Why even bother with the one day of hate? Live life like it’s valentines, and the world is your significant other.



Icy Hope.
This cold. I breathe it in, and with it I inhale a sharp stab of pain. This cold courses through my veins and chills my heart. Then it poisons me, and clouds my thought as my conscious slips away so does the humanity I once clung to so desperately. But then I see the sun, and feel it’s warmth. Feel it’s warmth. Feel it return me to the arms of the happiness I once knew so well. I’m coming home.



Dream A Better Dream.
So let’s dream a better dream. A dream with no worries, no pain, and no suffering. Then, let’s plan the dream, and introduce to reality. Not too fast, slowly, naturally, and let the concept fully sink in. Then when this new found joy is spread, let’s live our lives to the fullest, and then fulfill all our other dreams, but this time, let’s do it together.

Wouldn’t that be amazing? To see a world filled with no regret, and a lifetime of joy peace and happiness ahead of us. To love everyone like a brother and sister, to be one and united. Yea, that would be nice. Unfortunately, that will never happen by our doing. People are too self-centered to do anything that miraculous, and it’s saddening. No matter what, even then we would have the seed of doubt in some one elses’ motives, maybe even our own.

But, this dream of mine, it’s sweet. It’s like going to heaven, and eating food in the sense that when you come back to Earth the food here just won’t satisfy you. I’ve had such a taste of this food. I intend to cook my own. I might not be a master chef, but my measly morsels will feed the hungry, and I will have done something with my life. And hey, maybe if I’m lucky other people will follow my example. It might not put a dent in world hunger, but those few with full bellys will make it all worth it. Can you imagine the satisfaction of feeding a hungry person?

Take my advice: there is nothing more satisfying than a tasty meal after a long day of work. So get out your pens, get well rested, dream a better dream, and write up some tasty recipes.



Perception Is Reality.
I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestioned ability of a man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.

~Henry David Thoreau

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.

–Einstein

The real distinction is between those who adapt their purposes to reality and those who seek to mold reality in the light of their purposes.

–Henry Kissinger



Truly. This is how to keep living. So your light in the world is gone? Pretend it’s still there.
Sure you miss on a lot of the things you had with your light, like warmth, guidance, and the sorts. If you don’t see a light, simply imagine one there. In time, you will become curious enough to touch the light, and then realize how real it actually is. Funny, how reality works. The only person you have to trick to change it is you. If you just lost your job, see it as an opportunity instead of an obstacle. Eventually, that’s what it will become. Because, with this mindset, you will treat it like an opportunity to go get a new job: a better one with new people, and a nicer boss with a better pay. However, we are humans; there is only so much control over reality we can exert. At the end of the day, every day until you have a new job, you still haven’t made any money, and you can’t go to the store because that last bit of money is for emergencies only. So where does that leave us? Well, my best guess is that you should make the best out of what you have, and create your own strength to move on.



To Do or Not to Do.
Several variations of this phrase have been around for a while. A popular one from George of the Jungle: “To swing, or not to swing”. The principal is that you need to decide whether or not you should do something. Instead of actions, think about words: they affect people a lot more than we realize or appreciate. So think to yourself “To say, or not to say”, because it’s not always what you say that counts, but what you don’t say.

“You never know what you got, till it’s gone”

This phrase is so true. Let’s say you love somebody. If you say it to them, you have a chance with them. But if you don’t, then who knows, you could be assisting in making both of your lives slightly more miserable [ for lack of better words]. Not doing something is an action, just as much as doing something. And in not confessing, you potentially lost something you didn’t even know you had. At the same time, if you say something offensive to somebody important to you, then you just lost what you had taken for granted.

Lesson learned: Think before speaking.



Suicide.
So think about it. There are always going to be people who love you. It’s hard to avoid. People depend on you, also hard to avoid. Is taking that away from everybody selfish? Is it selfish of them to expect you to stay?

This just goes to show how messed up of a world we live in. In all honesty, it’s a [barely] functional mess of chaos, hate, and anger. Being human, we also have love, courage, hope, and faith, which gives us a point of living, and holds this place together. We see selfishness as something bad, but have you ever taken a while to actually think about it? If we weren’t selfish enough to create money, people would be taken advantage of, tricked, and lies would indefinitely meld with the truth.

So anyways, back to the subject at hand. The reasons people tie there own noose, is because they need an escape. Escape from guilt, pressure, pain, loneliness, or something else. Well, the first problem: This doesn’t resolve the problem. In fact, it creates more. This is an escape for the weak and spineless. Be strong, stand up and fight your fight. Start pushing the world back, and get a clear head. Another problem. Let’s say you’re a father. You have a wife and kids. If you cut your life-line short, think about what you’re taking away from them

But lets’ look at things from their perspective. They just lost half of their income, and a fatherly figure. They’re going to be in trouble without those. They hate that they lost that. AND on top of that, they loved you! Is it selfish of them to want you alive [and possibly suffering]? What about your wife? Should she feel guilty about dating someone else? Would your kids follow your rediculous rules, or would they move on and realize you’re not coming back.

So, take all this into consideration. Notice how much selfishness can save lives? Also notice how it can ruin them. Notice how love is the saving grace? You can never take any information for granted. No matter what. You have to define your own morals.



Nowhere to go but forward.
We’re all like children: we chase after our dreams, and when they’re in reach…deny them. I can’t say I understand why, could be because we give in to peer pressure, or we feel the weight of the world pressing down on our shoulders. Either way, in general, we childishly, and awkwardly give up that part of us. It takes a special person to take their dreams, and claim them as their own.



Curing Cancer.
Clenching my fists as the needle draws near. Knowing what it will do to me is bad, but knowing what it won’t do to me is worse. I grit my teeth as it pierces my skin and fills me with its bone chilling, poisonous cure. One day this needle will be nothing to me. One day it will hold nothing for me, and one day it will mean nothing to me. I just wish that day would come sooner, because I know that it gets harder with each beat of my heart. The monitors ear splitting screech reminds me of how alive I am. Pulsating with life, breathing it in, and out. The temptation to die is great, but the will to live is stronger, much stronger. To compare the two is like comparing a headlight in the night to the sun in the day; Both are strong, but living is so much stronger. Just as succumbing to insanity and sacrificing my ambitions to abolish my fears is the easy way out, the strength to thrive and courage to carry on combats my burdens as they try to push my down.



Calm Before The Storm.
Can you hear it?
The waves are rocking,
sweeping the shore
with light feathers.

Can you feel it,
breathing through your toes
as it whispers softly to your ears a warning.
Can you feel it?

Sometimes I know when the inevitable is coming. It always pursues the calm. The inevitable isn’t terrifying, atleast, not anymore. It’s painful, but just a little sting when compared to it’s former self. This beast is undying but forever weakening, and I have to conquer it time and time again. Hoping one day it will be too weak to fight one day. But until that day comes, all I can do is enjoy my paradise in it’s ghastly silence.


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Old July 11th, 2011 (06:20 PM).
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bobandbill bobandbill is offline
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I'll note that poetry ought to go into the poetry subsection we have here, and for graphical works you'd want the Art Gallery section. I'll let you move them where they belong in your own time - just so you know and all.

I took a glance at Canvas, which I found interesting if a bit too grim for my personal tastes, but that's just me. I feel it might be better presented if it was broken up into separate paragraphs personally as the thought processes in it did come off as a bit too jumbled for my liking, unless that was the aim? I also noticed you used 'it's' rather often and it seemed to appear a touch too often in the drabble...lastly:
Quote:
The blankness in it’s eye consumes me with a gaze, like it’s eating at my soul, byte by byte.
its rather than it's (it is) in this case, and unless it was meant to be a reference to technology, bite by bite perhaps?
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Old July 11th, 2011 (06:51 PM).
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Full Metal Full Metal is offline
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Ah, sorry about that.
I'm usually really good, but I couldn't remember if there was supposed to be an apostrophe before the 's' for plural words or not. I guess not though. And I just copied and pasted from another board { P.H.O. } -- they just have a "Creative Outlet" section. So I kinda combined them. I guess I'll remove the pictures then. But the poetry can stay, right?
And...most of my stuff is grim. X)
*edit*
And yeah.
I'm from the RH section mostly.
My mind's wrapped around tech.
I forget 'bite' was also spelled b-i-t-e. XD
Um...maybe I should take a break from technology? o.O
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Old July 11th, 2011 (09:44 PM).
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Astinus Astinus is online now
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Quote originally posted by Full Metal:
But the poetry can stay, right?
The Poetry actually goes into the Poetry subforum.
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Old August 29th, 2011 (03:08 PM).
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Full Metal Full Metal is offline
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Huuuuge update, lovelies. (:
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