A dreadfully depressing tale, admittedly, but here we go.
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Long ago there was a man with a heart as pure as gold. Every day, he would go into the marketplace to sell his wares-- watches, clocks, and all manner of delightful mechanical gadgets. One day, a lovely young woman from the aristocratic corner of the city stopped by to peruse his shop. The man was instantly smitten with her. She picked out an ornate watch and brought it to the counter. When she pulled out her purse, however, the man refused. He handed her the watch and wrapped her hands around it. She looked into his eyes and smiled, and he had never felt more content that at that moment.
A few days later, the woman stopped by his shop again. The man decided that this was his chance-- he would confess his feelings to her. When he did so, she smiled. She smiled not as one who had just found the love of her life, but as one who had seen a dog do a cute trick. It was devoid of sincerity. The man thought long and hard about this. That night, he carved out his own heart which was, quite literally, made of gold. He placed it in a beautiful box and set it aside. In his heart's place (because one finds it awfully hard to function properly without a heart) he built the most elaborate watch anyone had ever seen. He sewed himself up and went to sleep, his heart on the table next to him.
When the woman showed up the next day, the man presented her with the box. She was delighted, and her eyes glowed when she saw the beautiful heart that was inside. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, but something was wrong. He could not feel a thing. He realized that suddenly he was empty inside. He needed to get his heart back. That night he visited the young woman's home. He told her that something was wrong, and explained the entire situation to her. She looked ashamed and when he asked what was wrong, she informed him that she had sold the heart earlier that day, not realizing it's full value. The man did not know what to say. She told him that the merchant she sold it to had left and returned to his home in some far-off land.
The man could not cry. He could not be angry at the woman, nor disappointed or anything else. He simply looked her deep in the eyes as the watch in his chest gave one last, futile tick.
That was extremely morbid.
But at the same time, it was certainly a tale that could spark some thinking. I like it. Where did you find it?
I wrote it.
For real? Wow.
I think it was amazing. With writing skills like that, you could certainly make alot of dough. I'm impressed.
It's really not as easy today as it used to be to make money from writing. Not as many literary/anthology magazines as there once was... Hell, I"m not sure if I'll ever be able to get some of my work published.
I've heard that. I recently read a book by an author about getting published; she said it was near impossible nowadays.
Excellent work, Tacheon. An interesting read, indeed.
Whoa! That was great!!! :D
It was a nice story, more of a sketch than a fully fleshed-out tale. A sketch is more of a plot outline, rather than going in depth with the action and scene...
Anyway, how about writing something longer?
Would you want to read some of my work that I hope to get published one day?
I don't know if that offer was to Tacheon only, but I'd love if you didnt mind posting it here.
Your work is interetsing too.
JQ, you must post some of your... less trippy works.
Granted, some of them are pretty high up on the trippy scale.
Well, here's one that's much more... concise.
The Ideal 5-15-2008
Idealogy is a word that is often shouted
Over the rise of political motifs between people
To unite or divide
To make due process of forces recognized
Philosophies, theories, revolutions abound
To learn or reject a dualistic existence
Whose name do we shout in the hope of revolution?
Idealogies are substances given to a cause
A revolution in thought, a restoration in meaning
To a future that dispels
The causes and reforms
Attempt in our ground
Between the causes of desires
And pursuits of no meaning
Each person desires their world to their law
Each person revels in hypnopaedic mantra
Each person desires an infinite design
Each person attempts to see the world through their own eyes
Each person revels in a cosmic sensation
Each person is meaningless to reason or somber thought
Each person spins opinions to form deluded fact
Reveling in our histories
In the name of a fallen crown
In the name of a voice
In the name of ideal
In the name of revolutionary tide
And you speak now of broken limits
And you speak now of contempt
And you speak now of disaster
And you speak now of corruption
But where are the prosperities of yesteryear?
Nice... has a political bite to it that gets the reader thinking. I like it.
Wow, that really struck me for some reason.
That;s what i mean. It has a sting to it that really catches attention. My English teacher would love it!
Here's one thats quite trippy. What can I say? I'm not exactly sane you know
Universal Constants 3-14-2008
the essence of the mind
The essence of behind
This whole world is full of spheres
Intricate and surrounding
Expand far beyond the limits of absurdity
It surrounds and encompasses
To the point of gravity
Match by pairs points connecting
Proportionate and distinguishing
Each to the feature of distance
Revolving in a plane, separated in dimension
Time scope and scale
The universe's walls expanding beyond all boundaries
Shaping between horizons
the curve of an ellipse
creating the geometry of the heavens
gravity skips its own constant
the world explodes in halo fountains
the term to the I
the meaning of the mind
the connections of the spheres
revolving the disc through flat constants
the planets of existence sprout several layers
gravity underlying its own subtleties
and this world becomes vivid
with the clarity of revolution
everything hides beyond the horizon
flat to this world in terms of our sight
until this world creates boundaries
mimicking the intricacies
of an evolved plateau
where do we spin? Where do we grow?
Taking to the lights, depth of conditions
Layering this world with pockets of inspirations
Until the divine spin begins to flow
Beyond the sources of recognition
Until the halos shatter
Into the folds of dimensions
Tainting the skies with the form of a nebulae
Architecture revolves in one's mind
As a fragment, a conception
Of our own reality
The foundation passing
Changing signs, changing points
Raising to the arches
This imminent clarity
To the worlds, to the universe
To the endless variety
Of our subconscious derivatives
Connecting our own positions
With the motives of space, time, essence
Thought travels across
Visions to architecture
Spreading around the confusion of sound
Walking forth and quick
To the hatches of detail
The detail of geometry
Set, time, essence, setting
Beyond the forms of our conceptions
With massive cathedrals
Emphasizing to this world
The curtain of fate
The beauty of time
The intricate details
The connection of methods
Of knowledge, of variety
Where does it go, say, fall?
The fabric of the universe spread around
Torn in the fates of dimension
The nothing has spread
To the energy of matter
Flux is the white light
Strange, intricate, colliding existence
Lukuss to overcast lights
Small, beautiful, detailed
Surrounding the boundary of 'I'
The conception and meaning
the metal, liquid crystal
melting with the flowers of a dying land
reaching to the surfaces of our perception
the idea of a recognition between what is and isn't
human to the flesh
pale to the skin
and letting this world be
held by a pillar of existence
overcast and 'real'
real and colorful
perpetuating the violence
the ideals of our society
the evolution of our species
the creation of our universe
hiding and contrasting
between the underground
and the world of above
when the world connecting this
exists beyond mortal conception
the name of a flower
a lithium rose
until evolution reaches the point
where we become mutual in the exchange
flesh for a flower
petals for the heavens
for our violence, our atrocities
equal for our beauty, our realities
until this world fades and flows
blurring to the distance
of an ancient existence
what I see, blind
sky blue to our forms of cloudless essence
I find it so strange when things become so clear
The layers of the atmospheres becoming reversed
Torn to the point
That we retreat to the earth
Of overcast lights
Because we missed the clouds
This world is a sphere
This system, a disc
This galaxy, a spiral
This universe, all three
And how it passes from the raining of the heavens
Surround and abound
Beyond all our conceptions
No matter how we term
The system of everything
With dimensions that we list, measure, record
The inspiration of the mind
Things unseen from this world
The constant forms in the depths of silence
The perception of reality
Diminished, warped, tripped
Looking through a lens, bending the light
Refracting and clarifying
The points of the unseen
With the shattering of what we term the ego.
Not so much trippy as esoteric and deviant.
I like it. :3
The last stanza is by far the coolest stanza of poetry I have ever read.
And It sort of makes me feel... like I'm floating. Dizzy, suspended in mid-air.
This is the one poem where I REALLY changed... from depressing and filled with morbid thought to something filled with inspiration. It reflects more of a change inside me, a new growth, a new maturity... Also it's five pages long double spaced.
Universal Motives 10-17-2007
Everything I've ever known and seen have been faced
With questions of reality
With what we have to, to belong to many shapes
The thought processes of a child just as I've been, taking loyalty and further
into the vastness of everything
genuine in the form, flesh and thought
we take these words one by one
take them in a circular motion
and all are gone through
the strangeness of obscurity
this figurative of imagination
what have I discovered?
What have I known?
I've taken as my other friends have
Going about life as if everything were similar
From all these perspectives
Everything was kindled
from a sort of abstract thought
Most of us could know in our ability to comprehend
But the truth must be known
In the manner that those around me do
I've gone about this all throughout my life
Looking to the heavens
thinking tangent lines verging across the border
of time, thought, and odd motions
So I've been settled in this state for a long time now
Trying to take something further
As I've known it like the whiteness of a paper
Open with more answers than questions
Reverberating with the openness of infinity
And I've come to realize
That everything that I saw
Everything that I thought
Familiar and unfamiliar;
All have come from places apart
Just as we speak, just as we make notions toward the heavens
I've made these forms in my mind, hid them around
Where no one else will see
Speaking the tongues of all these worlds
The dream-time kneaded together
Until the knowledge of power
Gathers within us some sort of shape
Where we can reach distant point and travel
Like to motion of pulsing bodies
Without the influence of symbolism
I've taken it further
Making it go beyond what others see
Give your eyes to the infinity of space
Conjecture all of this and slowly mutter to yourself
If time is all there is as we prepare to fight further
Like a child that could once dream
Vibrate amongst the heavens
With lucid brevity
The originality of thought, the conception of motives
Descartes, Darwin, Lennon
They all knew that there was a world between
Like that of a child; further rationality
One must go faster
Compensating for one's flaws
So to reach forward, ahead of our thoughts
Just as I do when I think
I gather everything to the extremity of limits
Like a child, detached from all bonds of reality
Taking it further the dream world
To fear in derelict remains.
Clarity
Everyone comes to know a sense of clarity
The binding force
Between what we say
What we think
Like spaces interconnecting, leaving broken bonds
Of static motion, shattering imagery in a nebulae
All these thoughts
Going through my head when I was younger
Hoping, working in a different manner
But learning all just the same
What we gather with motion
We tend to see beyond all else
So do we question reality and make points so brief
Through the point that we make, touch, sense.
Through all the feelings of confusion
Not knowing or taking this life
From the normal perspective
I was made to give an image that could be remembered
Not as the pathetic attempts of a child
But given that a select few
Given the capability to
Grow beyond all the abnormalities
Of silence and motion, just as we've known great minds
I do not think simply, clearly, or concisely
Everything in a revolution
Grows and become layered with atmospheres
And that's the focus I've made all this time
If the possibilities
Were infinite
Then the definition of one
Me being autistic,
Diagnosis sans clarity
Like being frustrated with the way thoughts are made
Frustrated with the way everything ends up
Either from one end, or that of another
Question the ambiguity of motions, movements, expressions
Then holding none
With all this meaning
Of what's clear between life and death;
Like to the arrangements of polar bodies
They gather swiftly the convulsions of tainted memory
Untainted thoughts, bringing out our own bias and disseverance
The way I'd think, I'd think of color
Taking the form of every image with a painting
Eloquently made, gather to see
That the world I came from was calmer
Taking an echo across a wasteland
Naiveté compensating for lack of
Construction, clarity, order
And the truth of what we share in both tongues
The meaningless meanings
Rendering meanings meaningless
We draw from neither thought
Gathering abstractions with questionable motives
We all make the lands fall to ruins
Like to a question of existence
Taking one's hands in gestures about one's face
Gathering nervous recognition
What we do, what we don't,
What we used to
Contemplate all others with a question
Leading from one's eyes to the top of one's mind
Separation is often an anxiety most cannot face
Often they tremble in fear
Within the white distance beyond all lands explored
That we know and see our forms and shapes
Gather dimensions and they'll go beyond reality
On the edges of closed eyelids
Inspiring thought and motion
With life and suicide
Take this not as a threat
But take it with meaning
Implicit or explicitly expressed
That our existence is not an urge to follow through
With the rush of order, logic or linearity
Simply existing as waves
focus rapid succession
With other dimensions
Beyond the five senses we're familiar with
Like a gap between two spaces
Where strict form does not exist
From a rationalist's perspective
It may seem
That what we stumble upon in our evolution
Gathers in a process full of order and integral force
And trying to detract
With methods so abstract
But maybe it's such that
We've really reached the end
Where things can be directly examined
In our minds
We exist as both, between either shape or form or state
Observe directly or indirectly
I haven't read through it in a long time
But I've made thoughts about what it contains
The meaning of I
Takes a step further
Slower, take it slower
To figure out things with like mystery
The truth of the matter
In our existence is not straightforward
As we represent it to be
There is no argument, only function
To make clear these abstract thoughts
Existing in a tight space
Attempting to close off this from everything else
And this is the difference that we've made
The associations of the mind of a child
Unable to speak, hear
Taking the forms that one can see, touch, feel
Beyond all other motives making one tremble
In due form and process
The ability to rationalize from other perspectives
That most of us dare not divine.
The only truth is that the mind holds the key
To go beyond all dimensions and realities
Dreams, space, intertwining in a sort of false imagery
Like to an illusion
Dignify the interpretation with arguments
That leave imprints as one hand follows another
And the feeling trails continuously
Just remember that everything exists
In an altered state of being
Edit: Fine, let the topic die >:(