First, thanks in order to those responsible for allowing such a forum for frustrated cheechako's which exist.
Second, writing is no hobby or vice. It is not about riches or notoriety. It is about what must be said. We all have it inside us, we all have something which must be said. There is no 'right' or 'wrong'. No 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to writing, only that it shows we tried to get the madness out of our head.
By self-wrought pain.
Verbs, vowels, adjectives, nouns, all words to describe words of two-legged creatures, man.
Women, man, not far from the beast, howl.
Beating the drum, blood running, hunters moon, Owwwhoo, Owwwhoo, Owwhoo!
Silent caves now, pictures painted to capture the word, leading to hyroglifics, then to what we have now.
Profanity or words of wisdom, captured both fleeting to show what we want when we really don't know how.
"I love you," meaning, I love you or hate you, let me smother you with words.
"I hate you," meaning, I love you or hate you, let me smother you with words.
Never, ever, let any human word get you down.
Write as you wish, say as you will, inflict pain or passion, after all, it is only words.
There is only one power higher than words, the power of listening, of seeing, causing laughter or tears.
I leave you now with what I only know how, words, more words, simmering, seeping, creeping from inside.
Bursting from my mind to my fingers, typing to escape those other dark things inside my mind.
Have a good night, keep your dreams pleasant and full of light, or else you too will be typing, releasing whats inside.
- Lester Curtis
- Long Fiction Editor
- Posts: 2736
- Joined: January 11, 2010, 12:03:56 AM
- Location: by the time you read this, I'll be somewhere else
I've been typing . . . guess that makes two of us . . .Have a good night, keep your dreams pleasant and full of light, or else you too will be typing, releasing whats inside.
Rapid gushes of words, interspersed with slow crawl.
many days with only a few good words on the page
-- weeks at a time that I don't open the
word-processor at all . . .
and then the emotion flares again
with my characters' tumult; they live, and I die a little in the pain of their lives --
they die, and I live in pain recording their demise . . .
Lester: The human side of me enjoyed what you wrote. The wonder of computers make it easier to express prose. Try the pencil or pen as we were taught in school, at least with those you can see your tears of laughter or tears of frustration spatter the paper as you crumple it up and cast it from the table.
Odor permeate the barrier of foul.
Skin cold and clammy, covered with hair.
Look at their grin, dripping with water.
Where did they come from?
Where will they go?
Why don't I know the answer?
Wait! There is movement, I have engaged its stare.
Is that a smile?
What does that mean?
Is it scratching?
What is it doing with its teeth?
So many questions, I can't be the only one that sees'.
Stretching out its appendages, spreading them wide.
Is it yawning or talking, what does it say?
Reality is real, as is the mirror, thank goodness for morning.
It is only me staring, and what I see makes me scared.
By a reincarnated Jude
Rusty track between.
Boards nailed the floor, showing the tails the evidence their heads now hold.
Cattle slaughtered, hauled in the past, now turned into Big Mac's.
Modern day world bound to before, to what happened when evil rumbled the tracks.
Oh what a history, this little car had sitting on the rails.
Mooing, cackling, wet, dry, and silent, or can you hear sounds of the trial?
Jack boots cracking, orders snapping, SS trooper barking, his dog he is master yet his master, "Sieg Heil!"
Woman, man, child..."You there, get moving, you Jew, you scum. Get up this ramp now, or I'll shoot you with this gun."
There were no cattle lowing, no sounds but falling tears. Up the ramps the feet trodden, did you hear?
Ridden in silence, the masses feared.
Riding the boxcar down a one-way track.
Roiling with emotion, these people will have dreamed their last.
You know what happened, you can read about history.
You sit there smiling, devouring a Big Mac.
You think about tomorrow, it is pleasant, it makes one forget the past.
Leader of the new new SS wolf-pack.
You would think this old rusty boxcar would have lived its last.
But there is a new order coming, with a view of the past, a new evil hungry for flesh tasting sweet.
There will be no happy meal, no biggy fries with that, just the silence of people sitting in the new boxcar,
rumbling down the old track.
By a bird hitting the window
Devour, inhale, swallow it down.
Saliva, anticipation, teeth grind it around.
Tongue pushing, muscles twitching, esophagus pulsing, my, what a feast!
From the beginning of life, we eat, we grow, we become deceased.
Our bodies were useful for us and now for those who feed.
No longer can we hunger as we lay dead beneath the white sheet.
Crowd gathered in memory, speaking with tears, some telling lies, some thinking of eating.
As the ceremony ended, their feet moved them to feed.
Salads and pasta, bread and meat, all in your memory, they satisfied a need.
You are not forgotten as your casket is lowered into the soil whence you came.
Time is now your only remaining friend.
Thin is the shell of your new dwelling as is your corrupted skin.
Time passed, corrosion started, that is when they came in.
Little worms swimming towards putrid, or if you prefer, what used to be your reason.
They found your history pleasant, they relished to the point to where there were now many of them.
Deep beneath the surface of soil, a new motion rumbled, interrupting the peace of this dark world.
Burrowing strong, this new creature sped, to find the juicy worms feasting upon the recently dead.
It's coming, it cannot be stopped, this world of feasting, this world of death.
While far off from the scene, a new sound is heard.
The cry of the baby born howling, preparing to feed.
The cry of the baby born needing, preparing for the worm, preparing for death.
By I forgot what time I'm in
May, June... 1611, 1711, 1811, 1911, 2011, where does it start, where does it end.
Crashed to this planet, my language forgotten, my species did end.
Crashed to this planet, is this where I'll end?
Learning your language, learning your customs, learning to pretend.
Watching you develop from stone carving to nuclear explosion, or to say it your way, wow.
My species were different, they forged technical science to conquer the stars.
Learned a lesson though: Pride, we were proud, we never thought we would ever fall. Yet to this planet we ended, this
is where we ended it all.
Sole survivor, I survived, redundant in writing? Your language not mine.
Tools of my ancestors destroyed, along with the storage of science. I only have my memories to guide what I am.
Tools I have fashioned, aged to perfection, as I travel in time.
Soon, very soon, I will have enough power, enough knowledge to break the barrier of what you consider ancient time.
Soon, very soon, I will be able to go farther back where I came from.
It is only a moment for me, for you it is called time.
Soon, very soon, I will be there to warn them, warn them of pride.
Warn those I call family, those I call mine.
By sheer virtue
Salient sounds searching, words used to send them.
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...Houston, we have liftoff."
Ten: Never a prime number yet they must be written, they must be written so as it keeps life in check.
Rockets to space, boxer to mat, is it a beginning or end?
"1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...You there, pay attention to class and add them."
Ten: Mammal's have ten toes, fingers or claws, why? Because they need them.
Seven deadly sins, add three virtues, take away one tingle, one apprehension, falling behind yet I have 'two' send them.
Knowing this poem is lame, there are hidden reasons why it needs to be written, eventually you'll truly see why.
Take heart as your pulse beats in rhythm, must better than this eleventh poem,, this eleventh hour, this eleventh year.
Take heart as you finish this poem. It is ended.
By a dry world
Sloppy grin watching.
Tonic dribbling, gin splashing, gushing, thinking of rye.
Ah,salute the world, raise the glass high.
Sloppy grin solving the worlds problems, solving his need, unable to cry.
"More, more," chant the crowds cheering. "You can do it Joe, give it a try."
It started as a child which is where he still resides, the child he retains inside his mind.
Sloppy grin frozen, no longer the child. Why?
Because his heart became frozen, his fingers open, his glass fell with his stride.
Broken glass, broken dreams, melting ice greeted the dead mans eyes.
We talk about him, but what about her, sitting there grinning, drinking her wine.
Sitting there watching him die.
She too, is broken, slaking her thirst waiting her turn to die.
Thirst of the world, fermented, demented, or pure, why?
Worldly thoughts are not just of the world, no, there is more than meets the eye.
Death too is thirsty, sloppy grin on its face, death too is thirsty, and so too, am I.
By turn and twist.
Rank files of knights in shiny armor rusting drops of blood spattered, showing impending defeat.
Rank smells follow columns, peasants shuffling, picking up pieces of war, finding scraps of bread to eat.
Ranking high in stature, high above in the castle, the wizard smiled in glee.
King of citizenry, weeping, watching his army shuffle in despair, attacked by demons of the sky, of the earth, of the sea.
His daughter, the princess, where was she?
His son's, Thomas, Barthollomin, Sager, and Micheal, did they die in vain?
Weaving his magic, showing wide his grin, the sorcerer conjured.
Kings broken promise, made years ago at her birth, promise of marriage to her.
Years swept by the broom of time, he was ready.
Torn love between the princess and her lover, now floating dead in the sea.
Torn world now for you to read.
Torn, tear, turmoil, falling tears.
Torn now, the world is falling, torn pieces spreading into you and me.
Smile now turned to narrow lipped glance, the sorcerer held his hands above her heaving chest.
Tendrils of her soul raised from her body, into his body, his head, his chest.
It is over now, this little party, his contract made good.
It is over for her body laying in dust upon the sorcerer's table in a dust covered world of death.
Wizard, sorcerer, mortal man, or spirit of the beast, it does not matter, as a contract is a contract between those who bind it.
Look closely now, before you sign it.
Look closely now, before you bleed.
By our little Secret
You have read of my ancestors, of their pride, of their fate.
Long before your ancestors had brothers or sisters, before monkeys left the tree.
We crashed and set you free.
Setting your species to fumble down the path, looking to see, just as your primordial ancestors swam in the sea.
Longing for truth you can savor about the mystery of life, of your fate.
Primitive man, you act haughty, you act in haste, spreading your seed.
Grasping with your knowledge like monkeys picking at fleas.
But this writing is not about you or me, it is time for fate.
You have waited for centuries, it now is time for you to see.
My enemies mine, no movie made, my enemies mine came to this planet, pursuing.
Long before your ancestors had brothers or sisters, before monkeys left the tree, it was just them and my ancestors, and eventually me.
With weapons of magic, weapons of mind, weapons beyond comprehension, our two armies combined.
Long is the battle to determine your fate.
Pride killed our kind, all except me.
You do not believe me? You doubt what you read?
Why would you hesitate to believe time is the master? Look North for your answer, yes, you will see.
Master of time, the time for victory is near. It is written in a book so many of you hold dear.
Plans thwarted, attacks repelled, sentence over-runs abound, they want you to cast aspersions, to cast doubt, to never be free.
Sl' tou nnnn mi (011010100 ) tou cin noootch ( ) lentchishl.
There is the proof now, you cannot understand yet, but you will. Take faith in the knowledge they know it is me.
Others are here, Others are coming, Others will made visible in the night sky for you to see.
When they come, stay away, don't swallow their smile else you be deceived.
Soon, very soon, the barrier will be broken, my warning to my kind will be known, we will set your kind free.
It happened before, when your planet was destroyed.
It happened before, when I failed.
It happened before, when I finally found the way.
It will happen this time, only this time, you have been warned.
Very, very, very, very soon, you will see.
By if a tree fall's in the woods, can you hear it?
Empty space allotted to express meaning.
Once a grand hall.
Twirling, swirling ladies in their fine gowns, men at their side well dressed.
Bubbly poured into tinkling glass.
Hor d'oeuver devoured with much loud munching.
On the stage of life, there is motion.
There is life.
A state, country, world.
There is life.
Applaud now, while you can, it shows you're alive.
Soon, the Sun will shatter, the moon will fail, Earth will dissolve.
In that moment silence will follow.
The final curtain will fall.