Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

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Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Today is a good day. Today on the calendar of man the numbers are 1 and 3. Friday the thirteenth. A day some consider lucky and others, unlucky.

Luck.

Luck is an illusion. A token of a straw grasping a hungry lip.

People do not believe in God and those that do, have to have something called, faith. Faith can be very similar to luck. Both are an illusion until the lips are sucking the nectar through the straw with complete happiness.

Why have faith? Why not know more than faith as if not than, how so the ease then, to listen and talk with every form of life on any planet?

Trees sing.
Stink bugs tell horrible jokes.
The very clouds themselves play prank to the seriousness of imagination.

There is a God. Most definitely. A very, very, veeeeery humorous God indeed...
***

A Test

Written by: take a guess

The following is being written about a very old soul. A soul existing the moment God decided to be...

So many are touched by that soul. Or is it the soul touched by many?

it takes form and shape as the will dictates. All manners of life throughout those many Universes.

For this story, the old soul is an old man. An old soul in the body of an old man for a very special reason.
*
He could not help it
nor could it help him.

Numbers riding in tandem with so many vibrations
Eggs of a chicken spotted when there was no rooster to be found.
it really is easy once you understand.

A wonderful life. One of many. One of so many times and moments it almost felt like time.

He was no alone. Never alone as the Universe is a close and never ending blur of vibration.

He tasted and felt. Touched and dabbled.
Experiencing the snapshot in linear expansion.

Learning of hate and love. Learning there is a difference.
As for love, he knows love on a level not even she is aware of
though
truth-be-told
she was an old woman with an old soul.

Two knowing so much.
Being what they are that even through spans of millions of years apart.
Being forms of life so vast varied there can be no count.
they are...
always together.


*

"Can I have a cookie?"

Yes parasite. Open the oven door and crawl in. I promise to let you out if you get locked in.

"Thanks Bud." (munch munch, thud) Hey! Let me out!"
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

leather.

saddles tooled with the marks of a craftsman truly knowing his craft.

the bags on the warhorse were still sturdy; clasped tightly to the sweat and blood covered hair

inside the bags were the gold coins stolen just moments ago from the King's castle.

the rider fallen

the horse to follow soon

the leather of the bags to find peace as the gold coins settle in the sea.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Yeah. Fer sure. Druids are an interesting lot... So few among so many and fun to play with!

Lord Taranis cannot hold a candle to what the Eagles can do though.

It is nice to see old traditions brought back to the candles and aspirations for a society in need of something greater than self.

Have you ever been around a druid, or if proper is preferred, Druid? You would be surprised. You may even be a bit frightened.

Culture can be a strange and sometimes confusing identity. Take for example the discovery of good ol King Tut. After his hoopla of being brought to life there was an instant jewelry explosion of ancient Egyptian styles of attire.

'Walk like an Egyptian,' a song made popular. 'King Tut,' Steve Martin had fun with that musical ditty.

Druids are the same and not ALL Druids or druids are the same...confused? Good.

A story then, about the good ol day in King Authors Court as written by Merlin, a mischief making imp...
***

The Sword

Written by: Merlin (after getting tipsy and playing strip poker with an owl)

First version/draft: "Where dids't Skragen tou ito sn dicon? For this rhyme? And make merry!"

Fine her hair there upon her childhood pillow
Her dreams the flavor of fruited lavender with mur for her vine to grow
A visit those many nights before the creation of the Ladies sword.

Stone of heart was his, his need for steel and wine

Still there, so ever still now

to dream of so many worlds

climbing with a smile the sharp steel until holding free, the hilt.


(the owl interjects, after all, it won the poker match and was greatly enjoying Merlin flop around in a man suit and sweating like a fish)

Notes for the book: Words flowed at first like dry twigs falling heights of a broken tree
_______________________Twisting and turning among fairy and moth_______________
__________________________Flowers growing to bud___________________
____________________________a Wizard's staff is born_________

Final version: (edited by that fucking card cheating owl. i want my socks back)
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

identity.
named in numbers of a crowd.
conformity.
safety.
understanding.

such the groups and names: BLM, Republican, Democrat, Atheist, Christian, Muslim, Human...

What happens when living forever and never bonded or bound; free to ever roam?

Bliss!

Complete and utter happiness.

Let this story explain:

He was one who took pleasures without regret.
Raised in a family full of religions.
Society said, "Do this."

Call it disdain, or rebellion
He was one who took pleasures without regret.
As a young lad he disobeyed with a gleam in his eyes.

Growing he learned new ways to steal and lie.

Older still he was now an expert in being free to do whatever pleasure.

And then, in great agony and pain,
he died...

Turn now your mind to he who was one who took pleasures with regret.
Raised in a family full of religions.
Society said, "Do this."

There was no disdain or rebellion
He was one who took pleasures with regret.
As a young lad he disobeyed with tears in his eyes.

Growing he learned new ways to steal and lie.

Older still he was now an expert in being enslaved to do whatever pleasure.

And then, in great joy and happiness,
he lived,
forever...

(and why?)

When one has the ability, skill, and power to destroy an entire planet
With the riches beyond imagination to back him/her/it
Having the chances beyond counting to squeeze life to the maximum
and yet choosing self denial,
and why?
Why choose to know the difference between right and wrong
Good and evil
and choose to suffer?

For some, a simple answer.
If one believes in reincarnation then what better to say you live forever with the ability to change or repeat?
If one believes nothing but themselves then death is the true answer.
If one knew forever the correct differences between good and evil, then living free is to know first hand
the differences
an in this, appreciate all the more
just what it is...
like
to forever live.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

"Oh shit..." the parasite sighed as it had seen robin consume a cloud. And not a little cloud mind you, no sirree, a whole fucking cloud.

Hi parasite.

"You did it again you idiot. When will you learn?"

It does get easier parasite. Getting to the point of almost being too easy.
*

Standing in flames of fire used to burn.
Pain extending even after the freeze.
Wondering when I will ever learn.

That was then and this is than.

For you see, the fire is cool to the touch if you want it to be.
Or, you can use fire to burn everything it can reach.

Standing in flames of fire used to burn.
Pain does not exist, especially after freeze.
Happy and giddy and free.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Jungles bring to the mind the pictures of greenery and sounds of exotic birds. There is ample heat and humidity and if one thinks hard enough, a hint of howling monkey far in the distance to match stance with those millions of insects buzzing about.

There are, of course, jungles of a different sort. The cities gone off the rails of goodwill and common sense. This is the kind of jungle mankind has become steward of, the complex and bizarre.

On the river flowing through the jungle of your choice, there flowed the ghosts and shadows. So many drifting past any point of view.

And there was sound. The sound of survival matching the mood of the Sun. Harsh shrieks. Moans. So many sounds combined to make a sound of music.

At night the jungle took on the garb of the changing of the guard.
Day of sound and greenery replaced with glow and mystery.

Yes, the jungle lulls the mind to sleep in emotions of view while in the distance sings the siren.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

the walk

written by: footprints

There is a time between time. A special place to walk between reality and dreams.

In Kashmir the women are sold by animals as brides.

In a world the babies are killed with smiles and regret.

On battlefields between innocence and experience the victims of untold number abound.

Workers try to fool their masters while the masters try to squeeze their workers like oranges; juice of a situation to ferment into a drunken intoxication.

Why mention the obvious when time slides like a river?

Where is the love from a father or mother?

i can walk among the living and the dead. a ghost. silent. able to help those who try. unable to save those whose choice is to die.

There is prayer
There is anger
There is joy
There is denial
There is a time between time. A special place to walk between reality and dreams.

God has plans for this and so many worlds
Truly God is the perfect Mother and the perfect Father
in this time
and the time between time.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

What if this was written a thousand years ago and yet here you are reading it a thousand years earlier?

A common statement by so many editors: "I'm sorry but your story is confusing and not understandable. At this time your submission does not fit the business model of our corporate control and disaster..."

Okey dokey then, then let me speak of Jeremy and his first day of ice fishing. He was excited.

"Put item here and scan. No. No, not like that, like this..." she said

"No. No, cash. Card only..." she said

A test of control by winning failure causing Jeremy to say, "You're a fucking dinosaur."
*

Oh yes, holes in the ice. Slush ice. Sunny sky when it was not supposed to be (i wonder why, he he hah hah, another fucking greaT day. There were perch, there were trout, there were BBQ chips, and people with a 'certain' smile. Oh my!

Then there were mushrooms and onion rings, chicken strips and calamari, there was laughter and conversation. There were those who talked with fishermen from Alaska, yes indeed, a fun way to unwind

Funny thing about having a good day.
it makes me want to hide
to flee
to continue in pursuit with intense light to chase the darkness.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

"How many cell phones does a pollock need to survive?"

What? So you're getting a giggle out of another phone? Parasite, I think you're getting senile. Pollocks don't need phones. They just need to figure out what a phone is.

"And you think I'm getting senile? You're an idiot."
*

Writers. What an interesting group. So many pouring uncountable hours into crafting pages of words to tell a story.

Recipes are good stories but are a bit dry and predictable. They are written for readers of the present and those in the future.

Non-fiction is non fiction. Some stories that are real are interesting reads and others such as, "Life with Nancy Pelosi," written by Henry Kissinger, would be torture. Non fiction is written for readers of the present and the future.

A common theme is developing as most writers writer for the present and the future. There are those writers of course who write only for the present, such as political biographies. No one wants to read about politicians of today in the future.

Some writers such as Nostrodomus wrote for the future readers and not the present.

What fun. Writers writing for whatever time period they choose.

Now, here we go down the bunny hole. A story written for the PAST readers. Readers who are today, long dead and rotted into dust. The following story is written for a very special person who is no longer alive. This story is from the future and not today. It is written in a style needed for one to learn something very important in way they understand so as to 'discover' something very important.
****

Hey YOU!

Written by: You wouldn't believe it, never did.

( it was dropped on purpose. did you notice the date?)

You thought it would be fun to read through the stores manuscripts. A place dusty and full of leather bound editions of captured writers thoughts.
When you had the visitor, the visitor lied. They are not to be trusted. Ever.

Now, listen up.

Let's talk about water. Hydrogen and oxygen atoms combined.

(still don't believe... so a break. Remember the creek where the red fox leapt and caught a bird. Do you remember? A grouse or a domestic chicken?)

So now you do. And this is important.

H2O Water. Remember the copy machine where a person duplicates their butt?

Duplication + vibrations = Power

Energy to expand and contract what is frozen.

Remember the crosscut saw, so many teeth pulling so many fibers. With heat. With sweat. And look yonder, the lightning beating the light on so many sunsets.

Oh, and when you start to hear the sounds of a running bull, beware the shadows.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

and then, when the medication started to wear off (it really works. when the nurse watches to see if you swallow the pills you can roll them under your tongue. later you can dispose of the pills by putting them in Bob's jello) of course, the enema is medicated as the medical professionals know all my tricks.

my name is Bob. seems like a lot of people in the nut house are named Bob. I like to sit here and say my name backwards and forwards. Bob. Bob. Bob. boB. boB. boB.

"Hey Bob!"

Yes giant purple blob of oozing pus and appendages. my name is, Bob.

"You're more retarded than robin. which reminds me, where is that prick?"

robin? I don't know of any robin. My name is Bob and I am happily fucking nutso crazy here at Miss Crackens Home for the Mentally Unstable Isotopes.

"Are you going to explode soon?"

Oh my, yes. Yes indeed. Bob go boom boom.

Bob! boB! Hey! It's enema time and then Jello! Jello! Whee!'

The scene at Miss Crackens Home for the Mentally Unstable Isotopes prepared for the fallout and the time of cockroaches eating jello. All the while the parasite began its search for intelligent life in the sewage settling ponds.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

The Mug Shot

Written by: After action report

Look at them, standing in front of a lens waiting for a digital snapshot to represent the faces of reactions

He stole the life of a woman for passion

She sold drugs and body on the street

That young lad, that young lady, their faces now pale after being red in action

A snapshot, a picture, telling of height and color.

~

and then, what happens?

~

Jail and bond followed by court and their reaction

Guilty! Go to jail.
Innocent! Go home.

Lawyers too, they face the world and camera, getting paid to retain sanity, or at least pretend.

Face the world people and take responsibility for your actions.

Unless, you're really good at hiding and deceit...

Then try your hand at staying away from the camera.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

It stands to reason that if one writes than they also read. The better or else the writing turns into akx minla ldfl (gobbly gook)

As one looks back into history when stories were written before modern technology it is interesting to see the reaction of readers reading about outhouses, chamber pots, whale oil fuel lanterns, sheared beaver hats, horse drawn buggies.

Some find such stories to be many words; boring, exciting, educational, inspirational. The same is true reading 'modern day' stories filled with hookers, space ships, aliens, and whatever a reader wants to read that is written recently.

Speaking of recently, came across the headline today: Report: Scientists can now control lightning with lasers
News


Nerds reading science journals love such stories. Scientists enjoy such stories. Fiction writers are inspired by such stories. Fantasy writers get creative with such stories. And some people like myself laugh our asses off.

Science controlling lightning. What's next, humans are a loving and intelligent species? Ha!

Science for humanity is condensed down to 'need' and 'comfort'. Humans need science to survive so that they can continue to live in comfort. That's it. Better machines to make better buttons. Better refineries to refine fuels so people can travel, heat, manufacture, create.

Lightning is much more than people can imagine. Much more.

To make a comparison of controlling lightning would be the same as to control me. I might obey through torture, or bribery, or food offerings or a laser shot into my ass, but i could never be controlled by anything other than God, a definitely NOT by scientists or any creature living or dead.

You see, my best friend is the Wind, my brother Lightning, my sister Water, and my family is and always has been and will be, the Stars...

Of course, inspirational how mankind tries to control everything around them, everything but themselves as individuals.
****
Would you mind?
Of course not, gladly will i give.

Are you angry?
Of course not, we are family.

Can i help you?
Yes.

Can you help me?
Yes.

Peace.

Indeed.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Inspired after talking to a bird and laughing at a sun dog while working.
*

There to sit in a chair.
A comfortable and sturdy seat,
until...

Four legs started to hold without wobble, started to wobble.

Four legs became rubbery to the sensations; butterflies.
The legs of the chair turned into orange and purple winged wonders flittering away in all direction
There sat me.

Surrounded by o much of so many scenes.

There was a man in jail crying, for domestic abuse
Listening to a song from Berlin
Tasting the rivers source high above in the mountains.

To hear a bird laughing.
Reality
No chair with four legs
Just a ladder holding sore feet

Above a sun dog started to giggle
as did me.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

ssshhh...

they are in flight for tonight
a meeting and greeting of old friends
the owls soar.

listening to the rabbits taking cover
for shadows are in the making
and in morn the scorn shown will be healed

with sunlight the nests are covered
in wait for the hatching'
there is no body to match royalty as a feather drifts to the ground.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Vibrations plenty upon the Web
Tied to ambitions and hunger
Floating free in search of anchored stability.

Agent Barton deserved to be served wrapped in silk
Wiggling like a rabbit in the Owls claws
and so they felt a bit of a sting.

Murmurs from deep, as if gossiping about the social circuit connected to electricity
Ohms. Amps. Cycles.
Lava knows of such things...

Above the air so sweetly chases a wall of water all around
And there...
And here...

Of course Orf, Pluto, and LaDonna released their needs
Running to practice for another need

Pizza and cheese
Crabs in a can
Olives

Yes, today there were plenty of vibrations with and upon the web.
Thanks God, for the eyes to see and be so much
Today was a good day.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

aHa! Thor, you're a pain in smiling.
***
Who trains who when you own a CORGI

"Numb nuts, no one owns a corgi. Corgi's own you. Now, go get me a beer."

You don't drink beer parasite.

"Did Thor tell you that?"

No. Thor told me to let him outside to play Russian roulette with some coyotes.

"Whatever."
***

Word Association:

Viagra.............Nuclear codes
Politician.........Circus
Trust..............Mistrust
Logging..........Fucking fantastic
Apple.............Screw the doctor
Potato chips.....Yum!
God...............God
Satan.............Politicians religion
Agent Barton....Fools

and now inspired to write something.
*

It took awhile, it always does
To understand the reasons as why it is important to write

Living on a balance scale between what some call sanity with the other side presenting insane
but what happens when one mixes up the weights?

A little bit of crazy switched with absolute logic and reality
Or better yet
get rid of the balance scale and cross the void naked walking on other peoples dreams.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Balloon
B
a
l l o o n.\

Sorry spider, I tried.
And a frozen lady bug.

(the sun though, was dry)

comfortable.

it is wonderful to watch a balloon soar, carrying a view
going higher
and higher
drifting away.
Lipinski
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

What do readers see when they read about the entity called, death? Is it a skeletal creature with a scythe and wearing a black robe?

That is the inspiration, the cliches and ideas behind what is and what a reader thinks it is.

Imagine a man thinking they are a woman. What does the picture paint in a readers mind when reading about such?

Why do most people dress with underwear, socks, and shoes?

Do readers all wear shirts?

Comfort zones of familiarity.

Sex in writing brings out strong emotions in readers as readers can relate and picture what is written.

Getting back to death though, imagine death as a large cream filled doughnut and smiling while it harvests your life. The victim of death smiling as they inundated with gooey sweetness and the calming tune the doughnut whistles. their last memory is to wonder if they will have to brush their teeth where they end up going.

As for the man thinking they are woman, the written pictures may seem the same unless one is foolish enough to think the story is about humans. I think the story is about a cheetah dreaming of humans it encountered while raised by a gay couple in San Francisco. The cheetahs reality that the human choices and lifestyle will have no effect on it the next morning as it devours a monkey it will kill.

Clothing in stories paint an illusion the characters have identities. Physical characteristics. A bikini perhaps. Pink and hiding a luscious body. Or is it?

The clothing is nothing more than a biological enhancement. Much like a chameleon changing colors; humans are born to change attire by merely thinking about it. The bikini can become overalls in a matter of seconds. Old, dirty, grease covered overalls.

Funny thing about shirts. Shirts are shirts and everyone wears them. A rabbit would wear one if they had arms.

Sound familiar?

Then how about the sex. He sat in a chair and without reading what was in the story. "His throbbing bullshit manhood took her... (blah blah blah)

Translated and often times overlooked: He sat in a chair as did she. Two or is it one? Maybe it is a million, or billion, or trillion?

How does one think of a trillion encounters with sex when they have trouble with death being a large cream filled doughnut and smiling?

Something about sensual and orgasms. Heat, comfort and touch.

Smiles.

Funny thing about death being a smiling doughnut. Death also wears a shirt. A Hawaiian shirt with bright colored flowers. And flip flops. Death also wears flip flops while tip toeing amongst an orgy.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

absolute zero
Last edited by Lipinski on January 21, 2023, 10:43:37 PM, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

zero
Last edited by Lipinski on January 21, 2023, 10:42:23 PM, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

What a shit day.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

"Shhheeeeit man! I is gonna pay da man back. Tell him this nigga's word is word."

'Bang!'

This is the story that would never be published if written by a white guy. Especially a white guy with dreadlocks.

Offended

Written by: They call it, human

Everything gets offended. By 'thing' the meaning is that virgin steel is offended by the effects of water; rust. Everything finds offense.

"I got no money. No money to feed my kids. Got no money for heat," said by an angry woman getting a parking ticket.

"Ya'll are pieces of shit. That man owes me money. He stole money right out of my mother fucking purse." A young woman yells at the two policemen responding to a domestic assault.

'You people been picking on people of my color for years. Get your ass out our neighborhood." Said by humans in general.

so it is as today was an interesting day. so much drama and intrigue, and faces from a window whose slider is in need of grease.

Offended? Ha! 'he did this, she did that'. Oh...Why me! I'm offended. I'm (insert any color)

Now think. If in black and white above did your mind think the characters talked were black? White?

See how easy it is to be called, racist.
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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Inspired by reading an opinion regarding Science fiction. Much like rock music is no longer popular among the newest generation of humans, so too Levi Jean jackets for men, bellbottoms, birthcontrol glasses (those ugly cat eye glasses with sparkles that some teen girls used to wear) And so maybe Science fiction has become obsolete as what was once unimaginable is now the norm.

So being inspired by weird shit (literally) Some 'new' science fiction for the future and maybe a movie or two.
***

Mars Ain't What it Used to Be.

Written by: A three legged dragon

it was a war. a war far beyond the scope or imagination of any mortal human. the war was unlike any battle of exploding bombs or biological germs.

there were no casualties from the war in the way war used to be. No bullets, bombs, navy, army, airforce. there was no country waging war against other countries. No, it was a very different war.

those religious nuts were right. there was a very large heavenly battle where those in charge of humans did battle against each other.

in the past there were stories of changing personalities. one story was written and labeled, Dr. Jkyll and mr. hyde. And so it was for Earth.

The rapture so many talked about, occurred though in a different manner entirely. I mean by this that everything on Earth was enraptured. One second every human was extremely evil only to be extremely good the next.

Second after second. Imagine a minute. Sixty seconds. Thirty seconds evil, thirty seconds purity.

Humanity soon starved to death trying to figure out what was happening. They died peacefully and hateful, all at the same time.

A few humans knew this was going to occur because in an archive there was a story written by a three legged dragon. A story titled, Mars Ain't What it Used to Be. The story was written over five hundred years ago. Back in the days where there were still real women and men, not the oatmeal people of the future.

Funny thing though for those few humans, where to go before the Apocalypse occurred. So they fired up a few rockets and headed to live in seclusion on Mars where soon, the planet was terraformed and then the survivors all died of excess oxygen levels.

the irony though, is that while they escaped the heavenly battle and everyone dying peacefully and angry, they missed Jesus coming back.

They missed Jesus coming down from the sky in a great fiery glow and heavenly clouds. They missed the judgement of the dead as there was no one alive to judge, and Mars did not count.

Soon the planet Earth was full of a lot of smiling people who milled about by the billions with halo's above their heads, all full and content thinking of fluffy bunnies and cheesecake.

The end.

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Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Q
No. Nope. No regrets. Read somewhere how dying people have regrets.

Regret is a foolish word in my opinion. Regret represents so much: Failure, mistake, pain, crazy...

Humans are great at regretting the most foolish things.

"I forgot to wear a condom!"

"I wish I did not walk barefoot in the cow pasture. Yuck."

"I can't remember, guess I should have written the number down."

"This country sure killed a lot of native folk."

Regret. Mistakes. Pain. Whatever represents the true side of humanity is represented with regret.

I and i have no regrets. None. Never will. There is much knowledge gathered from experience and in experience comes ability.
*

A Dragon With Amnesia

Written by : "Oh look, over there, a butterfly!"

Those of yesterday to brag of battle with fiery beasts
Lance and shield against skin and scale
Dragons lair such treasure...

In description; sure, yes... horns, fangs, wings, horror.
And yet?
There exists a dragon who tip-toes

Forgets completely who and what he is
He knew he was not human, or a fly, or a fish
Loved pizza and beer
television
and strip poker.

Has absolutely no regrets
None of none of nothing; never
Maybe it was because he could not rememberl
Lipinski
Master Critic
Posts: 3381
Joined: June 05, 2011, 02:05:03 AM

Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Wars and rumors of war...
a saying poetic
like saying flowers growing in a battlefield are beautiful,
a life taken
or
a life given.

Children all, that's what humans are
Learning to walk and talk with a Universe
Unable to with others eyes; mouth full of lies
A body willing, so willing to rot and crumble to dust.

Dancing and laughter seem so far away
this reality of wars and rumors of war
China
United States
Russia
You
Me.

But what if?
What if all the wars in the world could occur at the same time?
This would be good.
To finish the piss poor job of death
Again to allow flowers to grow in the last battlefield
it would again
be beautiful.
Lipinski
Master Critic
Posts: 3381
Joined: June 05, 2011, 02:05:03 AM

Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

"Don't do it dude..."

Why not parasite? Tell me one good reason why.

"Don't let it out or you will be sorry."

I don't give a shit. This is what a writer should care about...writing. Write whatever fucking thought comes to mind.

"Your mind is, uh, a bit different? Maybe tone it down a bit?"

Nope. i don't give a shit what people think. Good. Bad. Indifferent.

"Hah, good for you dude. Good for you..."

*

Baking Cookies

Chocolate chip with coconut flakes and new secret weapon...
Almond paste.

350? Hah! 400!
Not eight minutes and definitely not twenty.
Nine, now that's a nice number.
Nine,

Not much discussion about the number nine.

And though her mind may ( damn girl...)

Hah!

So who is dancing in the desert now!
Lipinski
Master Critic
Posts: 3381
Joined: June 05, 2011, 02:05:03 AM

Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

and another thing!

"Go eat some squid and go to bed moron."


What?
Okay, bit first...

i am

alive.
Lipinski
Master Critic
Posts: 3381
Joined: June 05, 2011, 02:05:03 AM

Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

One corgi is enough to take over the world
Five corgi's can take over a Universe.

"Seek help."

Have you ever been attacked by corgi kisses parasite?

"No."

Then it is you that need help. And take a bath. You smell like sour vanilla pudding.
Lipinski
Master Critic
Posts: 3381
Joined: June 05, 2011, 02:05:03 AM

Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

Okee doky then.

What kind of stuff to write today. Obviously there is too much to write about and one could spend eternity writing and not even come close to writing about it all. Today though I am inspired by personal experiences.

Many writers use personal experiences to write a story regarding what they know. Many writers research and write a story as if they now know something. And some writers just make up shit and write about that, much like the politicians act as if they know something about leadership. Ha!

Today the inspiration is about the greatest job on Earth, that being, logging.

For any reader not knowing what a logging is, it is simply the most wonderful job of cutting down/harvesting trees.

A Logger

Written by: Robin B. Lipinski

Done a lot of jobs in this body. Farming. Raising chickens, cows, sheep and pigs. United States Marine Corps fixing hydraulics/pneumatics on the A6 Intruder and then guarding U.S. embassies in Sweden and India.

Ran marathon and thousands of miles. Participated in an Iron Man contest in Frankfurt Germany. Built a lodge in Alaska coming in at 11,230.00 square feet complete with an elevator and twelve foot copper clad waterfall.

Ran a charter fishing lodge/cabin rental/RV park. Lost millions of dollars. Invested poorly in the stock market (Kmart, Enron, Lehman Bros)

Built an art gallery of 2500 square feet where Margareta could play with clay. Had a 42' bear carving of a bear 18' tall bear chasing a 7' logger up a pine tree with her 6' cub carved and installed on top.

Commercial fished for salmon off the Oregon coast. Joined the U.S. Coast guard and became a coxswain on the 44' MLB, 30' Surf rescue boat.

Three sawmills.

Did a lot that most people cannot even come close to understanding. The one job though, the best job was logging.

Logging is a job filled with words and feelings most won't understand . So, here is a day in logging.
*

Got up because the house was cold and the fire needed to be rekindled. The home was small by modern standards but was comfy and built over 100 years ago to be a school house in Patrick Creek. The government built it right. Larch logs with a double hardwood floor. Still had the original outhouses. One for boys and one for girls. Out back was the smaller cabin the teacher stayed in.

Getting out of bed it did not take long to let the dogs outside to bark, pee, and shit. They would then spend the day chasing cars along the fence line as that is what Shetland sheep dogs do. After getting some kindling the fire was soon roaring again while the wife made breakfast.

Starting up the log truck was like winning the lottery. It was cold outside and sometimes the tired engine rebelled. With a quick check of the tires, lights, chains, saw, fuel, and all the items needed for the day, it was off and down the road to the job.

The main road into the forest was five miles long. Sometimes the road needed the big Fiat 8B to clear the snow and sometimes the old Cat grader was all that was needed. Today it was cold and the fresh powdery snow was only six inches deep.

A John Deere 648 skidder fired right up and it had a good heater but it only skidded the logs. Normally the JD 690 with a Waratah HTH20 would be used to cut and process the timber but today the snow was deep in the woods and it was a handfalling day.

Normally after falling a tree by hand it was also limbed by hand. A trusty and accurate Spencer 50' tape was used with a bent horseshoe nail along with a Stihl 044 chainsaw with 28" bar.

The processor could grab a tree and cut it. As the tree fell the machine would limb and cut the tree into three or four 16' logs and a pulp stick and then reach out for the next tree, all within 25 seconds. Handlogging though, was and is, different.

Wading through the five feet of snow is not fun. Corked boots were too cold to wear while the Sorrels gave up the safety of steel toes and traction, Kept the feet warm though.

Wearing chaps filled with knicks where the chainsaw teeth tried to tear off the legs... they provided some safety and actually helped keep the trousers dry.

On the head was hearing protection built into a hardhat with a safety screen. The screen was useless as you could barely see through it. It did help keep snow off the face though when clicked in the up position.

Reaching the tree, you had to dig down and kick out the snow to get a better angle and sawing the tree. Don't need no four foot stump.

As soon as the undercut was made and then the backcut, the tree would start to quiver causing hundreds of pounds of snow to come smashing down and make life miserable.

Tree after tree fell that day and since it was so cold no limbing was done as the skidder would grab the trees and while skidding back to the landing the skidder would go through an obstacle of select trees left to rub against and cause the branches to bust off. And branches or stubs sticking out would be cut at the landing, which was plowed free of snow.

Logging is a dangerous job. So many ways to get maimed or killed. This day was no different. Been in a few serious bump ups while logging and today was going to be one to remember.

It was a big fir. Douglas fir. A big pickle ripe for tipping off the stump. Did the usual, kicked out the snow, made the humbolt cut and soon I stood back after getting buried in a lot of snow and watched the old tree slowly gain momentum and crash into the snow sending a big white cloud to float in the breeze. All was good. Tired and almost ready to load up and get to the mill.

About thirty seconds after coming to rest on the ground, I was knocked to the ground. For good reason I lay on the ground as a forty foot dead lodgepole pine about ten inches in diameter at the base, hit my right shoulder causing the body to spin and fall. Six more inches to the left would have left me for coyote bait.

Getting up I decided to call it a day. After analyzing the accident it became obvious that since I was tired I did not look closely up the tree I was going to cut. If I would have I would have seen the branches of the fir and pine intertwined.

The big fir fell pulling the dead pine off its comfortable supported perch and 'wham!' totally my fault.

All the accidents I had were due to being tired. Even got ran over by my bulldozer but that is another story for another day.

Suffice to say, logging is a hard brutal job when doing it by hand. Modern machines make it easier but there is always handwork to be done.

Today with machines, anyone could be a logger. However, if one wants to log with a misery whip, axe, or even a chainsaw, that is totally different. Old style logging is for real men. Rough men who swear better than any sailor and know how to work. They are not afraid to die. They love their jobs. They love a good fight, and they say what they mean. Also, a real logger is by far a better environmentalist than any San Francisco latte drinking moron dreaming of spiking trees with ceramic spikes so as to evade the mills metal detector and hopefully destroy the equipment at the least or kill some mill workers at the most.

Yes, loggers are real men, even today. As for women being loggers? Few could pass the test and the ones that could are way smarter than men. It has always been this way in this world. Wars to be fought by men. Trees to be cut by men. Underground mining to be dug by men... All the while real women give birth to new generations, cut the firewood, tend the gardens, patch up the wounded, feed the hungry. A womans job is by far a job so hard I would not even come close to trying it, but logging? Damn... Best job in the world.
Lipinski
Master Critic
Posts: 3381
Joined: June 05, 2011, 02:05:03 AM

Re: Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

Post by Lipinski »

wiggly worms
working with wood
ripped wide open

wondering how can a worm live inside?
No? Not a worm but larva?
who would have thunk larva and worms get different names when both look the same.

sawmill blades slice logs like a knife blade through butter
revealing little holes where wiggly worms called larva, try to escape
and they do
though birds laugh when walking on the new cut boards picking up breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
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