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HappyLady
January 10th, 2006, 08:11 AM
Inspired by zephyr999's creative contributions to the Writing Club, I thought I'd begin a Stream of Consciousness writing thread.

Feel free to post your stream of consciousness writing here so we can critique and/or praise it.

Formal stream of consciousness writing usually involves specific characters where the thoughts of the character flow freely. We aren't writing novels here, so it doesn't need to be so formal.

The best explanation for it that I came up with is intentional improvisational writing.

It isn't about just writing down miscellaneous thoughts like, "I went shopping today and couldn't find any nice shoes. I'm having hot dogs for dinner tonight." But rather it delves into the creative chasm lurking in us and pulls those unique thoughts and images to the surface. You can tell if you have actually accomplished stream of consciousness writing, as opposed to just writing random thoughts, if you see that your writing does not reflect your usual style and if unique and vivid or even bizarre and disconnected phrases and images appear.

For those who are new at it, a helpful piece of advice is to make an affirmation to yourself prior to beginning like, "I wish to write creatively without dwelling on it," then write whatever comes to your fingertips for about 5 minutes or so, and see what you come up with.

At least, that is what I'm going to do now. So, we'll see what happens. (This is exciting! I'm such a nerd.) I'll post it when I've finished.

Snoop
January 10th, 2006, 08:15 AM
I'm going to wait and see what you post - I'm lost.

HappyLady
January 10th, 2006, 08:16 AM
SOC 1 :dunno:

All the little pretty girls eat apples from his hands and wait until tomorrow to chuck it up. And all the little perverts suck the vomit from the ground and relish in the flavor not understanding why the little pretty girls are disgusted by its pungency.

They could not lap it all up, so some is left behind to nurture the earth. Underground the tulips grow now from rotted roots. The little pretty girls pluck the wilted petals as tears seep from the stems. The little pretty tongues catch what they can but most of the tears fall to the brick-black ground and ice balls form. And all the little perverts have ice ball fights giggling evil from their fingertips not understanding why the little pretty girls are shivering.

Up on a mountain, all the little pretty girls stand at the edge of the cliff soaking in their majesty as they breathe the purest air. Then hack and choke it out, screaming sharp daggers from their underbellies until they are left with nothing but rolling laughs. And all the little perverts try to scream but their daggers are stomped on by their remorseful tears of envy not understanding…not understanding.

HappyLady
January 10th, 2006, 10:44 AM
SOC 2

Sitting in tune with the melody of the ages.

I eat the words of my ancestors on a fat plate.
Seven courses of delectable edibles.

I tasted Aristotle on the tip of my tongue and choked him down.
Great Socrates had no flavor that I could recall.

The modern philosophers were a kaleidoscope casserole.
It touched the modern scientists pie that tasted like the hard pill.
The two together tasted like foul politicians.

I cut Jesus into pieces which was no worse a fate than he endured.
Followed by five bites of all the wars forming ulcers on my tongue.

Tears fell onto the main course making it appear more palatable.

I stirred the stew of suffering with those tears,
Spit on it,
Stabbed at it with my fork,
Spread the pieces all over the plate
And told God I tasted some.

I could not swallow the lie and my nose burned.

I picked up my goblet filled with wisdom wine
Sucked it down, licked the cup, dripping it all over my skin.

I stared at the sickly stew spread on my plate
Knowing I promised to leave no scraps for the dogs.
I threw my fork on the ground and stomped on it,
Took my goblet and heaved it against a wall.
I shoved my finger down my throat to make room
Then licked my plate clean.

Snoop
January 10th, 2006, 10:53 AM
I picked up my goblet filled with wisdom wine
Sucked it down, licked the cup, dripping it all over my skin.OK, that explains it - you're drunk.

PerVirtuous
January 10th, 2006, 11:11 AM
I am in the McDonald's dumpster looking for truth. I know it is here. All the experts say so. Somewhere in these wrappers, half-eaten burgers, pickles, ketchup, mustard, ice cream, rats and tampons there is something real and meaningful. If I can find it I will be a whole person and will never have to dumpster-dive again!

My fingers begin to itch, but I do not mind. Truth of the kind in here is worth every effort. It occurs to me that I am surrounded by food that is not nourishing. Fills the belly but not the soul. And half of it is uneaten. Why would they throw so much away if it is so good? Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe it was the dumpster on McDonald Street down in the Black part of town where they serve the soul food! There in the collard green stems, roaches and half-eaten sweet potato pie I will find the truth I am seeking. Undaunted, I climb out and make my way to the restroom to clean up before heading to the McDonald Street dumpster to find the truth. I will not lose my faith! There are still many, many dumpsters to check! I have it on authority it is there. They would not lie.

Snoop
January 10th, 2006, 11:22 AM
I am in the McDonald's dumpster looking for truth. I know it is here. All the experts say so. What's your excuse?

Sorry. I'll write one soon.

Snoop
January 10th, 2006, 12:13 PM
I am almost unconscious - I'm falling asleep. My dreams are becoming reality. I find myself in a dark cavern filled with bats. The stench is overwhelming.

I just woke up and the bats are gone - I have to pee.

Jamie
January 10th, 2006, 12:17 PM
HL, I really like your first SOC (took me a minute to figure out what that stood for, lol). :)

HappyLady
January 10th, 2006, 12:23 PM
HL, I really like your first SOC (took me a minute to figure out what that stood for, lol). :)

Thanks. Care to share what you think it means? I still don't have it all figured out. And there is no right answer. So what did you get from it?

Jamie
January 10th, 2006, 12:45 PM
Thanks. Care to share what you think it means? I still don't have it all figured out. And there is no right answer. So what did you get from it?

Sure. Bear with me, I get a bit uncomfortable when I try to share what something means to me, because I am always afraid to offend the author/artist. :blush:

At the beginning I felt like there was a control issue. The little pretty girls eating from "his" hand, I get a feeling it was forceful. "His" I got a God-like feeling, or a powerful feeling from. Like whoever "his" is referring to is superior to the "little pretty girls" I almost feel like his should have been capitalized. I am not sure sure what or who the perverts represent. I also get a sense of hierarchy. Thus, the perverts sucking up the vomit, and the little girls eating from his hand.

In the second part there seems to be a theme going on with the perverts. Whatever the little pretty girls produce they use in some manner. It's like they want to be accepted by the little pretty girls, but aren't capable of doing so. The little pretty girls seem to be grasping for something, but I am not sure. They want it, they can feel it, but they can't quiet get it.


The third part it seems like the little pretty girls are trying to start over. Trying to escape whatever demon is in control of them. They are trying to refresh themselves, maybe for a confrontation to whoever his, is. The daggers represent all the hurt "his" has caused it releases from their body. The perverts wanting to be like them try to consume that pain and fail. The perverts are nothing but failures (at the beginning I said I didn't know what they were, but now that I have put my thoughts out I guess I came to a conclusion).

Mr. Hyde
January 10th, 2006, 01:48 PM
Pretty much anything I write is stream of consciousness (Thinking isn't my strong point).
--------------------------------

The wind blows fiercely like a prestorm warning in kansas. It's dusk. I'm in the middle of a field with knee high weeds staggering back in the wind like drunks too sloshed to move. In the horizon just in front of the red and gold and orange backdrop of the world he walks forward. Tall and withered with age like a book read too many times, but still just as powerful in its message.

He's wearing a black coat with tails and black pinstripe dress pants. Polished black dress shoes now dusty from the ground and wind. His grey hair flails wildly as if in seizure with a mind of its own. His eyes hidden behind the sunglasses he wore since he was me at my age. I'm standing opposite him walking in his direction. Blue jeans and a blue t-shirt with Mario on the front saying "Size Matters" as he gets a mushroom and grows larger.

My hair, short than his but shoulder length, blows back away and my sunglasses cloud over with dust from the wind. Meeting and standing just feet from each other, he says in a sharp voice, "You're doing it again." Over a hundred years old and speaking with the precision and power of a demigod. It's not me, or at least not how I envisioned myself. And I don't know whether to be scared or glad that I could, or would, or already have, or might, or might not, turn into such a man as the me standing before me.

"Doing what?" I'm curious. Not so much as to bother changing, at least not at first. Whatever I'm doing now I've done before and if I don't know I can't change. But if I know what I'm doing and change, is it really a change? Anyways. He replies, "You're attempting a position you weren't willing to fulfill." "And what would that be?"

He reaches in his pocket and hands me two things. The first is a necklace with two charms: St. Jude and St. Joan of Arc. Patron Saint of Hopeless, and Patron Saint of American Soldiers (depending on which St. Joan). The next is a gold coin I had gotten in the mail but never paid attention to. It has the same image on both sides. An Angel. It's a guardian angel coin. A sort of superstitious goodluck thing Catholics do.

I throw the chain over my head and around my neck. Holding the coin in my hand, he lays his hand over mine and says, "In taking this, you are to others what I am to you. If you do this, you WILL have to stand by your word, from here on in." In my experience, I'd stood by my word on average about 60% of the time. Enough for a lot of people to know, if I said it, I usually meant it. Usually. There are times when laying on my ass and sleeping all day just took over. I take the coin and agree.

To my left another voice comes. Me again. Younger than the relic of me in front, but older than the me in any mirror. He smiles and tosses me something else I'd acquired in my short life thus far. A gladius I stumbled across in South Dakota. "It's not much," he says, "But you're going to start growing backwards in a sense. I figure, old tools for old men."

A younger me appear on my right. Short hair with braces and that cut along the cheek from the first time I shaved away from home. A pale blue shirt with a collar, like the kind you wear to formal places that aren't too formal. Khaki pants and hiking boots with a digital watch that never tells the right time. That sort of goofy smile that comes from being perpetually high with no idea what's going on. He walks over and hands me a cane I got in Rotarua when a group I was with stayed with a tribe.

"The cane," he reminds me, "Is a symbol of leadership. Maori people would fashion these and give them to the eldest member of the family. As long as that member had the cane, they led the family. You almost lost this once already through a struggle when you realised who wasn't the head of the house. Hold onto this until you realise who it really is."

Then I look behind me. And there's nothing. I turn around and there's no one. No old me. No older me. No younger me. Just me. Alone in a field at dusk with some trinkets I've put too much importance on because of a mind I've left too far in the past. And as the sun stops setting, I start walking. Hooking the gladius to my side, and using the cane to help walk. I walk. Not alone. My angel is with me, and somewhere, sometime, I'll be someone else's in someway....

sylouette
January 10th, 2006, 02:30 PM
That was really nice, Hyde. I loved it.

HappyLady
January 10th, 2006, 02:34 PM
Sure. Bear with me, I get a bit uncomfortable when I try to share what something means to me, because I am always afraid to offend the author/artist.

No wonder. You're WRONG. And now I'm MAD. (hehehe. Just kiddin' :kiss: )

I agree with everything you said. So far, I have gleaned a double meaning from it. One is personal. One is universal. The first, I think, is reminiscent of my childhood issues, so you're right on with the control thing. The little girls are are really just one little girl, but it represents all the parts that a child breaks into when traumatic things happen. He is a pedophile. She eats the "apple" which is a sexual reference and chucks it up "tomorrow" which is later in life. And the little perverts are all the parts of the pedophile. Almost all child molestors were victims of sexual abuse. They never even begin to heal, they can't deal with it, so they end up becoming molesters themselves. So, what the little girls are repulsed by, the little perverts takes pleasure in.

To be incredibly detailed, the tulip is a very sexual reference. (Freud would be proud, I didn't know all this crap was in my psyche! lol.) The wilted petals is the woman's genitalia and the "damage" to the sexual self. The stem...and the tears coming from it...is semen from the penis of the pedophile, who's every ejaculation is reliving his own victim experience. It falls to the ground and the perverts find pleasure in it while the girls are damaged by it.

The last part is the healing process. The girl is able to go through a physical healing...as you said, and heal from her wounds, while the pedophile never heals, and so...fails...as you said.

The more universal meaning for it deals with the same kind of issues of gaining understanding and healing. The little girls are the ones who reach enlightenment and the little perverts are the ones who do not. The "apple" is "knowledge". He is God. The girls go through the necessary suffering process to reach the final stage of "rolling laughter" which is enlightenment, while the perverts are always seeking the truth and never understanding the lessons presented, never achieving it, and so fail to acquire the understanding.

Thanks for helping me sort that out, Jamie.

sylouette
January 10th, 2006, 02:41 PM
Why are they all staring at me? Some are laughing. Some look confused. Some are angry and I know why it is but they won't tell me the truth. None of them will tell me their true feelings. It is hidden by either smiles or shrewdness or anger or sarcasm.

I open my arms and beg for them to open up to me. "Please. I'm right here!"

I won't bite.

I might cry.

I might laugh.

I might get defensive.

I might fall to my knees in despair

But I want to know....

I need to know....

the truth.

sylouette
January 10th, 2006, 02:55 PM
The sunset......it hypnotizes me. It warms me. It comforts me. It's orange and red reflections draw me to it.

I know he is seeing it too. I keep reaching for it but am afraid it is unreachable. I won't give in. I keep stretching. I feel my heart beating and know that I'm almost there.

I wonder if he is reaching for it too. At one point our fingers will touch and and we grasp hands. We will pull each other together and watch the sunset........

together.

sylouette
January 10th, 2006, 05:59 PM
Miles and miles away....he's eagerly waiting for the ending of a life always known, waiting for the beginning of something so desired. The longing for it to be real and everlasting. To feel it, to touch it. To know...it's real. He will hold it and not want to let it go. But it will go......but only physically, for now.

But it will still be real and it will be the beginning of the everlasting.

Slipnish
January 10th, 2006, 08:41 PM
Our Father who art in heaven, Will Smith be thy name. For thou art truly everywhere. He annointeth my TV at all hours in reruns and sitcoms, and HBO must be attached to his navel in some way as they play at least one movie with Will Smith in it a minimum of every 5 hours.

Yea though I walk through the valley and the shadow of the commercialess pay televsion schedule, I shall fear no award ceremony, for thou and thy wife are telegenic.

SIGH.

Will Smith can either teleport or is a direct manifestation of God. I refuse to believe anyone can be in so many places at any given time, despite modern CGI technology.

FruitandNut
January 11th, 2006, 06:08 AM
Well hell, it’s much to early to have a stream of consciousness. Thinks, what the heck are you doing now then you Muppet? Yeh, OK clever clogs thanks for reminding me I can’t get away from my own thoughts, even at seven in the morning. Oh, God, I’m sixty today! Sixty years of thoughts and dreams, of hopes fulfilled and yet others not; of growing in knowledge yet staying life's fool. Where did all that time go? What has been left behind? Just a serendipity of memories, thoughts and emotion; oh, and photographs of times, places and the smiling faces of past friendships and parents now dead. What has moved my eyes from the screen to the bookshelves beside me? Connections, connections of course! Streams of consciousness hard bound and paperback. Woolf, Joyce and Salinger. 'Orlando', 'To the Lighthouse', 'Ulysses' and 'The Catcher in the Rye'. I wonder if my own consciousness will ever lie dusty on a forgotten shelf, or be loved, appreciated and well thumbed; a thought or memory in an unknown mind. To have my consciousness fed into theirs’ and be passed on in turn through their own writings to yet other eyes and minds. Though only whimsical and suspect genes unworthy to join such literary pedigree, my mind still yearns to imprint it's identity. I think on Juvenal’s words penned two thousand years ago, “tenet insanabile multos scribendi cacoethes” - {an inveterate and incurable itch to write besets many} - and find solace!

HappyLady
January 11th, 2006, 03:24 PM
Though just whimsical and suspect genes, unworthy to join such literary pedigree, my mind still yearns to imprint it's identity.

Happy Birthday, Fruity! For what it's worth, I think you're an extremely talented writer and I wish I had a book of yours on my shelf. :kiss:

PerVirtuous
January 12th, 2006, 06:07 AM
So far, I have gleaned a double meaning from it. One is personal. One is universal. The first, I think, is reminiscent of my childhood issues, so you're right on with the control thing. The little girls are are really just one little girl, but it represents all the parts that a child breaks into when traumatic things happen. He is a pedophile. She eats the "apple" which is a sexual reference and chucks it up "tomorrow" which is later in life. And the little perverts are all the parts of the pedophile. Almost all child molestors were victims of sexual abuse. They never even begin to heal, they can't deal with it, so they end up becoming molesters themselves. So, what the little girls are repulsed by, the little perverts takes pleasure in.

I disagree with this interpretation. The apple represents evil. Just like in the Garden of Eden. Throwing it up is the attempt to purge the evil. The perverts thrive on the evil, and thus are attracted to the vomit. This is a very important part of the writing. The perverts and the little girls are the same. They both eat the apple. They are only being described as different because they behave differently. Yet, they are part of the same whole. The evil is not staying purged.


To be incredibly detailed, the tulip is a very sexual reference. (Freud would be proud, I didn't know all this crap was in my psyche! lol.) The wilted petals is the woman's genitalia and the "damage" to the sexual self. The stem...and the tears coming from it...is semen from the penis of the pedophile, who's every ejaculation is reliving his own victim experience. It falls to the ground and the perverts find pleasure in it while the girls are damaged by it.

Agreed, as far as this goes. Let's take it a step further. The girls and the pervs are part of the same whole. This is about internal conflict. What horrifies one part is seductive to another. Yet, the core issue is the fragmentation itself, not the damage or the thoughts. The little girls must embrace the perverts, yet they are horrified by the thought. They do not want to soil themselves. This is the issue.


The last part is the healing process. The girl is able to go through a physical healing...as you said, and heal from her wounds, while the pedophile never heals, and so...fails...as you said.

No. The little girls are failing because they think they can do this without the perverts. That is like going for a hike and only bringing one leg. Not very efficient. As long as the little girls refuse to be part of the perverts world, they cannot heal. They can only avoid. To me, the real issue here is that there are no pretty girls and there are no perverts. This judgement is the reason for the seperation. There is no US and THEM, there is only us. These views must change in order for the issues to resolve.




The more universal meaning for it deals with the same kind of issues of gaining understanding and healing. The little girls are the ones who reach enlightenment and the little perverts are the ones who do not. The "apple" is "knowledge". He is God. The girls go through the necessary suffering process to reach the final stage of "rolling laughter" which is enlightenment, while the perverts are always seeking the truth and never understanding the lessons presented, never achieving it, and so fail to acquire the understanding.

I do not endorse this interpretation. I see the little girls as the ones who are conceitedly viewing themselves as superior when they are not, and the perverts are simply the leftovers wallowing in the mess created when the pretty girls do not deal with reality. If the pretty girls were plain non-descript somewhat perverted girls, the perverts would also be plain non-descript somewhat perverted girls. I think this is about denial. I think the pretty girls are choking because they are refusing to accept their true fate.

To me, the most telling reference is the statement that the perverts couldn't get it all, so the ground was nourished. This is the heart of the matter. It means that the perception here is that the perversion is now inevitable. It is part of the landscape. I agree with this, but only as long as there are value judgments. Lift the value judgments and the soil becomes soil again. The Tulips no longer have rotten roots. The pretty girls are plain chubby normal girls and the perverts are happy chubby normal girls that love. So what? Perverted, pretty, chubby, ugly, beautiful, are all meaningless. Give them up!!!!!

You say this is about healing. I do not think so. I think this is about coming to terms with the reality of the self. Wanting to keep the parts of the sickness that are perceived as "good" whild eliminating the parts of the sickness perceived as "bad", is impractical, and nearly impossible. The comfortable has to be abandoned as well as the uncomfortable. Only then can complete healing take place. Get rid of the pretty girls. They gotta go.

Snoop
January 12th, 2006, 11:39 AM
I got this from my latest junk e-mail. This is streaming consciousness (notice there are no periods):

Well now said the waiter in a tone of confidence what would you like for dinner and looking penitently at his adviser That is to say our joint plans for him I said myself death down there periodically and I am on my way now to my mothers to kiss her fan again and shake it at the shako who was looking at us in a state of thinking to have left school without natural regret The separation has not made the electrolysiss steadSchmeing said the professor warming his hands I am getting lazy In going towards the door I passed the person who had come in and saw him plainly I had in meeting him affected me I brushed away the tears that my tuberculin resolution where I had been leading a romantic life for ages to a bawling splashing

zephyr999
January 12th, 2006, 11:48 AM
I think i'm really honoured that happy lady's inspired by my work..stream of consciousness writing thread..sounds great!
Well I really think fruitland nut's done a great job on that score then.
.................................................. .................................................. ...

With all the pride of smitten heart
An angel makes a fresh new start
Unfolding her pair of lofty wings
Composed and rhythmic there she sings
There in the hearts care of spright
She flutters in her frisky flight
Bridging sorted sentiments
Of all those memories that recur in fragments
In dreams unsought adieu
A god out of me she drew
With a crest of success new to her claim
How the hale heart walks her aim!!!

FruitandNut
January 12th, 2006, 01:46 PM
Snoopy - Old German looks like a stream of conciousness as it is usually devoid of punctuation save for the occasional full stop.

PerVirtuous
January 14th, 2006, 08:11 AM
I can hear them in the shadows. They are whispering to me. Trying to control me subconsciously. I concentrate and begin to hear what they say. They become aware that I am listening and I am surrounded by anger! We walk into a hall and the whispering stops. I know this means trouble. I study the hall and see creatures receding away into the shadows, like roaches. They look like twigs. Little twigs about three-quarters of an inch in diameter and about six inches long. From these sprout many random branches about a quarter inch in diameter and two inches long. From these branches come filaments, like spider webbing or fishing line. Very strong. First, I see lots of webs. Then I see some of the creatures in the shadows, hiding.

THey sneak up behind me ans put webs upon my back and shoulders. In one motion I rip them violently off and the creatures attached to the webbing scream. Others come out from their hiding places to attack. Someone beside me reaches up and grabs one of the creatures. They are a foot shorter than I but reach far higher than I could. The creatures seem to be like a small spider in their hand. They blow upon it and the creature turns to dust and blows away.

The creatures scream at me. I know they cannot hurt me, so why do they attack? They must be diverting my attention. I look around and see demons running into the hall. These demons are about four feet tall with large heads and sharp teeth. They are anger incarnate. Their numbers increase quickly. Without thinking or feeling I attack them and begin breaking their necks and ripping their heads off. I am shocked at how strong I am and how little they can resist. I realize that although I am decimating them, the numbers with which they are coming will shortly overwhelm me. I grab a large barbell with much weight and place it in front of the doors to the hall. I watch as the door bulges. There is a huge mass of demons bending the doors. They will give way shortly. With a thundering crack, the doors break open. I prepare to fight the demons en masse, when my companion speaks a word and the demons all disappear. I turn and look to see who my companion is. I see the bureau beside my bed. I know the demons tricked me into touching them. I know they did not get what they wanted because I was not angry. Who was with me?

HappyLady
January 14th, 2006, 11:55 AM
I went searching for the little pretty girls as I held the tulip in my hand. I had it firm by the roots and in my search found soft ground that looked green and luscious. I planted the tulip there. I didn’t know such colors existed. Off in the distance I see a mountain and I start trekking toward it, wondering if the little pretty girls are waiting there for me. I look around and see I am surrounded by the little perverts. Their smell is sweet and they are smiling. I am pained by tears of something past, but it’s passed. There is a sea between the mountain and me. A little pervert reaches a staff out to me. I make a boat, and we sail across. Along the shore is standing a row of little pretty girls, bracing their arms together, with meanie faces. They are yelling and cursing. But I stand at the front of the boat and yell, “Charge!” The little perverts can’t even wait to hit the shore. They leap out of the boat laughing and cheering as they stammer through the ending waves. Each little pervert grabs a little pretty girl firmly by the waste and lifts her clear up, saying, “Wee Baby! Wee Baby! WhoopseeDaisy!” At first the girls scream and cry, but then they giggle, too. By now the boat has hit the shore and I step off in my red cloak. The little pretty girls are cheering and laughing now, too, along with the little perverts. All of their hands touch me with one hand and I am overwhelmed with love. And then their hands disappear. The little perverts begin to cry, but the little pretty girls give the little perverts hugs and give them their other hands so the little perverts will not be without hands. They need them more. They all walk together hand in no hand, hand in no hand, hand in no hand toward the mountain.

As we walk I watch each one. I talk to each one. I learn each one. It takes a very long time to make this journey to the top of the mountain. “We’re going to fly now children. Are you ready? Breathe deep. Remember.” All together we jump from the cliff. One by one, I reach out to hold them and they disappear into my hands. I land at the bottom of the cliff…alone. But someone is there waiting for me. He looks a little lost, so I take him by the hand, hand him one colorful tulip, and now I don’t feel alone.

CliveStaples
January 14th, 2006, 01:32 PM
I hate stream of consciousness writing. Oops, I forgot to hyphenate that phrase. Odd word, hyphenate. I kind of want to erase that last sentence, but it's too late now. We're reading "Light of Autumn" in my lit class, and he writes in a pseudo-stream-of-consciousness style at times. Aggravating beyond ALL BELIEF. Man, Democrats can really piss me off. I'm watching Family Guy and they made a joke about "I'm not like that [i.e., Brian's barking at a black man], I vote Democrat." Really classy, MacFarlane. Bite me. Really, feel free. Some chick bit me during Christmas break. Weird stuff, man. I'm pretty sure she was mostly drunk.

See, this is the problem with stream-of-consciousness writing. Ultimately, its directionless, unconstrained intrinsic nature will lead to this kind of writing. Sure, you can--like Faulkner--have "directed" unconstrained stream-of-consciousness, but it's still being shaped and directed by the author as all prose is, and the process deconstructs itself. It may be entertaining, but as a movement I find it rather lacking. I prefer Poe's philosophy of composition involving "effect"--the author strives to create a particular "effect" in his/her readers, and does so by employing metaphor, simile, particular sounds, etc. The application to s-o-c writing is interesting, perhaps, but I find it ultimately fruitless. Stream of consciousness may be helpful in establishing an off-the-cuff feel to deep thoughts (by Jack Hanley!), but I think that alternate methods are more effective at creating appropriate effects.

Yes, I realize the irony of my post. It was intended--or was it? You'll never know!

PerVirtuous
January 15th, 2006, 12:17 PM
I stumble through my workday as I ponder upon who my companion was. I was fighting demons with fists and arms and feet and they simply said a word. I cannot remember the word. I am amazed. I have underestimated the possibilities of power. I know now that the demons were hoping to get me to believe I was overwhelmed. That belief would have been my downfall. Yet, I did not believe anything at all. Nothing. My mind was clear and my reactions were instinctual.

Next time I will simply allow my companion to run the show. I will know that I can stop any force with a word. I will know the word when the time comes. I will not strike out. I will not charge. I will calmly stand and be.

I now know the demons are harmless. They can only trick me to thinking wrongly. They cannot do anything else, except through others. They will be harmless there as well. I will know the word. When and if the time comes, I will know it. I heard it and can remember. I am certain.

HappyLady
February 13th, 2006, 04:48 PM
Look into my heart and see what's to see, through some other's eyes, what there is of me, I don't know, I feel like I'm in the audience, all 50,000 fans who don't know me at all, but cheer all the same. Cheer all the same. Stay the same. Don't change. Stay the same. Musn't change. Stay. Stay. Stay. Orgasmically, I cry out STAY! Don't change! Don't change! But why. Why would I call out such a thing as STAY and don't change. I want to change. I don't want to be me. I mean, I think in general I have a sweet loving demeanor and pretty hair. But that's the stuff that floats around in the air. What's beneath the surface, what is there...what is there...what is there...

A child at heart who want princes on ponies, who doesn't like liver but likes macaronis, whose knight in shining armor never came. he was at the bar drinking and betting on games. or crawling in her bed to cop a feel. where she learned princes on ponies just aren't real. so she went to that place where pretty people dwell, and the nicest loving things are all that they sell. In her imagination, these fake people come to life. but they'll never bleed if stabbed with a knife. because they never die and nothing bad ever happens and everyone loves her and she loves all of them. but when she opens her eyes they stay in her head, where she only visits them when she's asleep in her bed.

That's no way for a woman to live. There must be a woman somewhere in that heart. Who wants a husband that loves her, and children who love her, and friends who love her. A husband she loves, and children she loves, and friends she loves. But if love has always failed her and hurt her and beat her, then it would be silly for a woman to subject herself to such a thing as love. She'd be insane to be so vulnerable as that. No, I much prefer to live up here in my Rapunzel castle, but I'm cutting off my hair, for that prince will never come and if he does he'll be a drunken rapist, I'm sure. But I'll leave my hair just long enough so they can all get a good view so they can think of ways to try to reach me.

For should just one reach my hair, he might climb inside my castle and see...how very empty it is. Or what a lousy housekeeper I am. Or he might not like how I sometimes cry in the night for souls I do not know. Or how I love hugs and kisses and lots of doting attention that he probably can't keep up with. Or that I am the weirdest person he will ever meet. That I live much of my life in a world he'll never be able to be a part of. And I always will.

But that doesn't make me unlovable. It just makes me unpossessable. And who would want a woman like that?

sylouette
February 13th, 2006, 04:59 PM
Good lord, where have I been on this thread! Lots of streams I've missed!

sylouette
February 19th, 2006, 03:18 PM
The darkness is maddening.

I can see light about 700 miles away.

Will I ever reach it?

There's shadows amongst me that block my way.

I close my eyes and punch through them one by one each day.

Standing my ground...not letting any of them pull me back.

Will that light ever get closer? How long will it take?

I stare at it every day through a window and plead with it....

"PLEASE HURRY!! I need to see that you're getting closer to me although I won't give up."

I work my way through the darkness every day....eyes closed.

I am not fearful of where I am going but only of how long it will take to get there.

sylouette
February 28th, 2006, 08:26 PM
I've never known love like this before, she said.

The laughter

The tears

The fire

The passion

The hurt

The jealousy

The confusion

The desire

The need

The love

I've never known love like this before, she said.

sylouette
February 28th, 2006, 10:14 PM
The darkness is maddening.

I can see light about 700 miles away.

Will I ever reach it?

There's shadows amongst me that block my way.

I close my eyes and punch through them one by one each day.

Standing my ground...not letting any of them pull me back.

Will that light ever get closer? How long will it take?

I stare at it every day through a window and plead with it....

"PLEASE HURRY!! I need to see that you're getting closer to me although I won't give up."

I work my way through the darkness every day....eyes closed.

I am not fearful of where I am going but only of how long it will take to get there.

Who's the psycho b!tch that wrote this? OH! That would be ME! Jeez, WTF was I on that day?

Xanadu Moo
March 1st, 2006, 10:00 AM
Look into my heart and see what's to see, through some other's eyes, what there is of me, I don't know, I feel like I'm in the audience, all 50,000 fans who don't know me at all, but cheer all the same. Cheer all the same. Stay the same. Don't change. Stay the same. Musn't change. Stay. Stay. Stay. Orgasmically, I cry out STAY! Don't change! Don't change! But why. Why would I call out such a thing as STAY and don't change. I want to change. I don't want to be me. I mean, I think in general I have a sweet loving demeanor and pretty hair. But that's the stuff that floats around in the air. What's beneath the surface, what is there...what is there...what is there...

A child at heart who want princes on ponies, who doesn't like liver but likes macaronis, whose knight in shining armor never came. he was at the bar drinking and betting on games. or crawling in her bed to cop a feel. where she learned princes on ponies just aren't real. so she went to that place where pretty people dwell, and the nicest loving things are all that they sell. In her imagination, these fake people come to life. but they'll never bleed if stabbed with a knife. because they never die and nothing bad ever happens and everyone loves her and she loves all of them. but when she opens her eyes they stay in her head, where she only visits them when she's asleep in her bed.

That's no way for a woman to live. There must be a woman somewhere in that heart. Who wants a husband that loves her, and children who love her, and friends who love her. A husband she loves, and children she loves, and friends she loves. But if love has always failed her and hurt her and beat her, then it would be silly for a woman to subject herself to such a thing as love. She'd be insane to be so vulnerable as that. No, I much prefer to live up here in my Rapunzel castle, but I'm cutting off my hair, for that prince will never come and if he does he'll be a drunken rapist, I'm sure. But I'll leave my hair just long enough so they can all get a good view so they can think of ways to try to reach me.

For should just one reach my hair, he might climb inside my castle and see...how very empty it is. Or what a lousy housekeeper I am. Or he might not like how I sometimes cry in the night for souls I do not know. Or how I love hugs and kisses and lots of doting attention that he probably can't keep up with. Or that I am the weirdest person he will ever meet. That I live much of my life in a world he'll never be able to be a part of. And I always will.

But that doesn't make me unlovable. It just makes me unpossessable. And who would want a woman like that?
The profundity of this piece exudes all over itself like slithering fudge topping on a half-melted sundae left unattended. Nicely done. The mysterious aura was ultimately captivating, intertwined with rather effective vague references. Longing, dreaming, self-doubt, quirkiness, and the cutting of hair symbolic in many ways. I left this poem feeling as if I were inside another's mind, transformed into thinking as them, and now I can't get out. Please send another poem to release me.

HappyLady
March 1st, 2006, 12:05 PM
My dad won’t talk to me and Steve threw me away and Michelle power-played me. Al says “Don’t indulge. Don’t get morbid, don’t get too attached,” and I guess I don’t understand what the f_ck he’s saying because I’m pissed off and it’s just not going away.

After everything that bastard did to me, and now he won’t talk to me? I’m not screaming again because of that mother f_cker. That daughter f_cker. So I decided anger is a good thing. Not forever, but not swallowing down, stuffing into my root chakra then wondering why I can’t stand on one foot without falling over. I can BE hurt and angry. That doesn’t mean the anger owns me.

Steve threw his friendship with me away over some boney girl because she’ll f_ck him and I won’t. And I’m even more pissed off because it sounds so f_ckin’ high school. But what no one but me knows, is that he invited me to crawl inside him and I have never seen so much raw pain in a person. Well, maybe in me once. And that is why I got attached. Because I wanted to make it okay for him. And I’m pissed off because he threw me away. I’m more pissed off because I didn’t keep my promise. I didn’t make it okay for him.

Michelle power-played me. She was my friend, but decided a hot piece of ass means more than that. I laugh at being angry that she parked in my parking spot. Because no one sees what she did by doing that. She brought the cat claws out. But, I recoiled, because I’m a passive-aggressive b_tch and I’ll just think evil thoughts of her being exposed for the integrity she lacks. But even still, I love her, because she’s a woman. She gets a bye card for not having a penis but just pretending she does. So I kiss that anger goodbye. She might be boney, but she’s loveable.

My dad’s not loveable. Steve…not loveable.

The Princess is a f_cking failure. Go ahead, you boneheads. You stand around the castle doors just waiting for an opening. You think that castle is filled with gold and you can’t wait to see what she’s hiding under her corset. Well, she can’t f_ckin’ BREATHE, you dumbasses. What do you think will happen when you get the laces on her corset loosened? She’ll take a deep breath for the first time and she’ll panic at the thought of being naked, and she’ll stop talking to you, too. Then she’ll be just like her dad. Then she’ll throw you away, too. Just like the Steves of the world. And she’ll make you feel like a failure for not keeping a promise you never made. Then you’ll know what it feels like to be her, over and over and over and over again.

There was a time she’d spit on you from the castle. She’d tell you they were her sad pitiful tears and you’d believe her because she’s convincing, and because you would like to hear how sad and needy she is. But she doesn’t spit anymore. She just stares from the castle window, looking down at you, trying not to feel that way anymore. She wants to feel real love for you. She just can’t make you her equal, because if she does that, it will give you power. And if you have power, you might wield that stick in painful ways.

That thought brings tears to her. Not to her…to me. It brings tears to me. It brings sobs. And the spirits are smiling now because they got me to it. They got me to the pain of being used, of being USED!!!! Of being thrown away! F_ck YOU for throwing me away!

But let’s go beneath the anger, because the anger is a shield. And what’s a woman feeling whose been used and thrown away?

She doesn’t feel like a woman. I don't feel like a woman. I feel like a little girl. A little girl, alone in a castle because her father locked her in there. Locked me in there. Those feelings, laying in a bed, alone. And the only company I have is pain, pity, and the only music I have is the gentle mourning sobs. And the only sensation I have is my neck tightening up and the thumping headache that almost relaxes me to sleep and the congestion that locks me up tighter and a longing….a deep longing….for love.

Let the body cry. Let the body cry. Let it go. Let it cry. Cry! Let the body cry! Let it cry. If you let it cry long enough it will sing! It will sing! It will sing! It will sound beautiful!

Breaaaaathe. Breaaaaaathe. Let the strings go. Let them go to the light. Let them go the light. Cough it out. Cough it out. Gag. Gag. Gag. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Gooood.

Go to your castle window now. What do you see?

Picture just one man you love. What do you see?

That he needs me. They all need me to love them. Just like the women need my nurturing hands. The men need my nurturing hands, too. They need my love.

And will you love them? Love each of them? Love them each?

I see that love is not given based on the contingency of what a person deserves. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone deserves to be loved. No one deserves to be thrown away. I didn’t deserve to be thrown away. But it happens sometimes. Love…no matter what…love.

Xanadu Moo, you asked for a poem so that you could be released. There is a love story here for you. One for everyone who wants love. Everyone who needs love. Everyone who wants to love. Don’t blame love. Don’t blame people. Don’t judge love. Let it flow freely through you.

I looked out my window just now and I saw a hawk flying there. I know she loves me.

I see that sometimes it might seem like love hurts. It’s not the love that hurts. Love never hurts. It’s the masks, the guises, the cold castle walls, they inflict pain because they do whatever it takes to keep love locked up.

I am not a prisoner. My dad does not have the power to make me imprison my love. I will hold it in no longer.

The princess smiles down to all the men waiting there to be loved. She gets up on the window ledge, spreads her wings and flies down to them. She turns to look over her shoulder, and there is no castle there. Her hair is long and flowing and soft. The men all touch it and she is filled with love for them. From somewhere in the crowd, she wishes to see her father come forth to touch her hair, too. For a moment, she thinks she sees him. But she hasn’t reached him yet. Not yet.

PerVirtuous
March 1st, 2006, 02:05 PM
A bear in his pojamas sings a sad, sad song and tears stream down his face. He is smiling like a lunatic and humming. Over and over he hums the song. It becomes a background that the rest of the world is built upon.

And what a world it is! Majestic beauty layered upon layers. Glued together by love. The bear puts some water in a big bowl then places it on the table. He burns some incense, lights some candles, and hums a new tune, a happy tune. He puts his face over the bowl and gazes at the water, waiting for the animal on the other end to answer. He wants to sing the new happy song and create a world even more beautiful and perfect than before. Can it be done? Is it really possible? YES!

Before long he sees the face he is looking for. He hums the happy tune with all of his being, as happy tears and humming bear make rhythmic ripples in the bowl, tickling the face there. The bear nods his head slowly and gently at first, building into a tumultious crescendo of up and down, up and down, yes, yes! YES!!

He stops as if he has been relaxing all day and gently reaches into the bowl. He pulls out a big handfull of water. It lookes like he is holding an amorphous blob in his hands. Yet, it has all of the characteristics of water, save that it is holding a shape. It is the shape of the face. He holds the face up and it smiles at him, a shy, reserved smile as if a secret has been passed. The bear stands up and begins waltzing with the face, humming a grandiose waltz. One-two-three, one-two-three, he waltzes with the face. The bear gets the most hysterically serious look on his face, as if he is imitating a serious ballroom dancer, but not imitating very well. The humming becomes more stylized and commercial, as if the king of schlocky waltzes himself has been paid millions to personally perform. The face in the water likewise screws up its brow. The tempo increases and the bear looks even more ridiculously serious in his attempts to dance as fast and as unreservedly as possible without loosing the water in his hands. The face in the water closes its eyes and gets so serious looking that it seems it will burst with importance. The bear gets one look at that face and bolts with surprise, sending the face ten feet up into the air. He seemes so overcome with the situation he falls flat on his back and lays there with his mouth open, moaning like a wounded seal.

The face never opened its eyes as it gently floats down and lands on the bear's chest, still in one peice. The bear holds absolutely still. The face is absolutely still. Then it smirks, opens one eye, and the face and the bear laugh convulsively until there is nothing left but one very tired, wet, smiling like he just got away with something bear.

sylouette
March 2nd, 2006, 10:07 AM
She doesn’t feel like a woman. I don't feel like a woman. I feel like a little girl. A little girl, alone in a castle because her father locked her in there. Locked me in there. Those feelings, laying in a bed, alone. And the only company I have is pain, pity, and the only music I have is the gentle mourning sobs. And the only sensation I have is my neck tightening up and the thumping headache that almost relaxes me to sleep and the congestion that locks me up tighter and a longing….a deep longing….for love.

Let the body cry. Let the body cry. Let it go. Let it cry. Cry! Let the body cry! Let it cry. If you let it cry long enough it will sing! It will sing! It will sing! It will sound beautiful!

Breaaaaathe. Breaaaaaathe. Let the strings go. Let them go to the light. Let them go the light. Cough it out. Cough it out. Gag. Gag. Gag. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Gooood.

Go to your castle window now. What do you see?

Picture just one man you love. What do you see?

That he needs me. They all need me to love them. Just like the women need my nurturing hands. The men need my nurturing hands, too. They need my love.

And will you love them? Love each of them? Love them each?

I see that love is not given based on the contingency of what a person deserves. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone deserves to be loved. No one deserves to be thrown away. I didn’t deserve to be thrown away. But it happens sometimes. Love…no matter what…love.


F*CK

THAT

NOISE!!!!
Baby, you get your ass out of that castle and hold up your head....push those MOTHER F*UCKERS out of your way! NOOOOOOOOO BOOOODYYYYY is deserving of your love if they throw you away and make you feel any less important or beautiful than you are!!!

You've got more light surrounding you than you know and whether you believe it or not, just from this little part of your world....ODN....more than half the members LOVE you and see you as very important and beautiful!

YEAH! YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT BABY! ;) :kiss:

sylouette
March 7th, 2006, 10:46 AM
Ya know, you think, THIS IS IT! I'm everything to him and then POW!

Your head gets slammed back against a wall.

Reality check!!!!


NOTHING
LASTS
FOREVER......
NOTHING.

Don't tell me you know for sure now. Don't even say it. "I love you." "I have passion for you". Those words echoed for her every day and every night just as you say they do for me. "It was only lust". Ha. Lust my f*cking ass.

I'm just another someone out of your reach.....that you yearn to make your own.

What happens then when you have me? When the challenge is no longer there? Will you abandon me and go back to your first love with a tight rump and firm abs, where once again the passion shows it's sinful, ugly face?

Look DEEP within yourself and don't be fooled by what you think is love. Love is often confused with lust. I've played that game too many times in my life. I won't play that game with you.

I don't wanna play. I KNOW what I feel is true....but do you?

I'm making a life for ME now. And NOBODY is going to stand in my way. So unwrap that little string off from around your finger because I don't play second fiddle to anyone, especially myself.

PerVirtuous
March 21st, 2006, 07:26 PM
"Goddammit dance!"

I look up with forlornity. What on Earth are they wanting from me? Dance how? The hands make some gesture over my head and I am supposed to know what dance to do? How does this work? I look over and everyone else is dancing. The hands over their heads move and the hands, feet, head and torso move in the exact same motions. How come they can do it and I can't? What is wrong with me?

I begin to dance. I don't know how to dance, but I do my best. Suddenly, there is screaming and crying everywhere. Somebody with a needle and thread is reaching for me. I bite their hand. Cursing is heard. I go back to dancing and all of the other dancers begin to float, still dancing in the air. They keep floating up and up, over the top of the stage. I am alone. The lights go out one by one. I am alone in the dark.

I hear a voice. It is a very soft voice. It says, "You dance only for me." I look around to see who said this, but there is no one. I hear several voices coming towards me. A flashlight comes on. Several large hands reach for me. They overpower me and begin sewing threads to my sleeves, pant cuffs, collar, and back. After a few minutes I am put on the stage and a spotlight comes on. One of the new voices says, "He'll dance now!" and I feel the tug of the strings upon my cuffs and sleeves.

Again, I hear, "You dance only for me." as the threads catch fire and disintegrate. I am left trying to follow the hands again. But their movements do not make sense to me. I cannot dance to the motions. So, I try to dance the way I think it should be done. Immediately the spotlight is turned off and I am dancing in the dark, alone.

One by one, the lights come on and, one by one the others come and tell me how the threads make it so you can do the dance. Then I can dance for anyone. I agree to try again. Several large hands come and sew threads to my sleeves, cuffs, collar and back again. Everyone starts dancing again. This time they are all just going through the motions. I am dancing up a storm. I look up and the hands above me are making all these strange motions. I try to follow them, but i am unable. "I give up!" is shouted and all of the others float away again. "Why do you do this to us?" I hear one of them say.

"Because I can only dance for him that says I can only dance for him?" I tried to sound convincing. Everyone shook their heads and floated away.

"Is there anybody else who will only dance for you with me?"

Turtleflipper
March 21st, 2006, 10:01 PM
The whispers. Always tugging, fraying. Screaming. Sometimes, so loud....I just curl up and hope to god they leave. But they never do. They hound me, even now, ripping at the strands of my mind, demanding to be acknowledged. But the things they want.....the....things they've created, desires. Urges. Hideous things. I try to get them out, to make them stop, but I only wound the container. No salvation, no cessation. Why won't it ever end?

I did what you wanted! I did it. Happy? Yes, its here. No, no. Get out of my head, I've done your quest. No! Demand all you want, I stop this now.

I'm so sorry. Oh god. What have I done? How could I? WHY ARE YOU NEVER HAPPY! My hands are dripping red and you are still not statisfied! Go away. Oh please let this all be a dream. Please. I AM NOT BETTER RED! SHUT-UP! You wanted flesh, and I delevored! Why do you keep apologizing? I did what you asked!

The house was unlocked. I snuck in queitly, efficenetly. I find a certian elegance in striking twice. A feeling of intellegence. They sleep, unknowing. The simple furtniture, more simply arranged, these people are animals. They lack any sentience, any clarity. And they should grease the *!$% stairs!
The door opens slowly, and only the slighest hint of interference. But I don't understand. The voices, they are screaming NO, begging me to stop. As I raise the knife, I yell "THIS IS WHAT YOU MADE ME". Minutes go. I open my eyes agian, throat raw. Face and hands a crimsion costume, the figure in bead barely descernable. The voices are silent. But the house is in motion. I go for the door, but its blocked. The person blurry, water in my eyes for some reason. They gasp, and I pounce. Slicing and cutting as we both tumble to the earth. Then it all goes black.

I dreamnt I could fly. I would dip betwee the clouds ad the moon, the stars standing in high-contrast agianst the dark, rain-filled lanscape. But I stop going forward. Confused, I search my body. I see a long thin tentacle coming from the earth, grapping my leg. Before I can think, one graps my arm, then another grabs my waist. I hurtle to the ground, realizing this is a dream, and hoping I wake up. But no. I crash into the ground, more black things coming out of the earth, covering me. With my one free eye I see a human ten feet away; while new black tentacles sorrund me, and the old ones begin to tighten. He checks his watch, and begins to walk toward me, lighting a ciggeratte. The things around me crush the very air from my lungs, my head feels like its going to explode. He examines my uncovered eye closely, and says almost with a sense of pleasure "My turn". Then the black things shoot out of his wrists, and crush me to death.

I wake in a bed. I don't know where, but I feel the warm distance I always get from being high. But its more then the drugs, I feel better then I ever have. I don't hear them. Those demon tormentors of mine. And I begin to drift agian to sleep.

My therapist is a new-age guy, often trying new theories. Nothing works, and the noises build to words, build to screams, build to great chugging screechs for blood. I don't think I can stand much more. Even the drugs are starting to be little more then hour-long vacations.
We talk about my past. Where I've been. But whenever he starts mentioning my childhood, my eyes leak. I shake. We don't talk about that anymore. It frightens me. I try to remember, but their's only shadows, and it makes the voices louder, if that's even possible. God I wish I had a ciggarette. Wait. I don't smoke. Never mind.

He said remembering would make the things inside me stop. But it just added to the mixture of my disjointed inner-self. Now it hurts no matter what, as they still beg me to hurt. I've done nothing but forever taint the purity of my perversion! I can never find happiness, even fleeting, thanks to you! You offish beaurcrat!
I'll make you suffer. I'll make your blood flow lke a river. I'll..I WILL NOT CALM DOWN! Stop telling me your sorry. I don't care what they fealt like. I hear only the music. I hear only the music. I hear only the music. I hear only the music. Does ANYTHING he taught me work? @%&! They come in, many of them and strong. Put something in me, I've gotten rowdy they say. Everything wavors, and I am on the precipiece. Then I fall as though down a great hole.

I dreamnt I could fly.....

sylouette
March 22nd, 2006, 08:30 AM
My life is in limbo right now. I want my life to move slowly and quickly at the same time. I want to rush where I'm going but don't want to age.

Each day that passes by I get older and am franticly trying to turn the hands of time back by stressing my body to it's ultimate exertion. Yet, I complain that nothing is happening quick enough. Sell my house, get my own place, move on to my next life in which I know will fulfill the void inside of me. But nothing is moving but me.

I feel like I'm invisible to everything and everyone around me. Even he cannot see me because I am so far out of his reach. I feel like just a voice or words that are screaming and nobody can hear me. I know he wants to make my world exactly what I want it to be but his hands are tied right now. It's just like a man to want to fix all the problems of the woman he loves.

Time is passing but nothing is moving with time. I'm frustrated. I've always gotten my way. Things always happened the way I wanted them to because I made them happen.

It's me that has to fix this. The boxing gloves are on now. Don't blink lover, because your life is going to change before your eyes and much quicker than you think.

I won't let time defeat me. I won't let it take away my youth, because I will fight it every step of the way. And I won't let too much time pass before I get to where I want to be. The race is on. Like the hare and tortoise, I will sneak up behind it and land at the finish line when you least expect it....victorious.

I always get what I want. The race is on......BRING IT ON MOTHER F*CKER!

HappyLady
March 22nd, 2006, 12:32 PM
Ahote, and I don't know what that word means or even how to spell it, but that is the word that first comes to me. Nahete, is the second word and I never heard that one either. I just wish I could speak their language or they could speak mine and this would all go so much better for me. Better for me. Yay for me. But eh, I take it however they bring it, so happy and joyful that they come. I can't tell you...well...yes I can tell you...when I was a little girl I saw the people in my eyes and thankfully my mother didn't think I was crazy or else I surely would have gotten a pretty little diagnosis from some pretty little phsychotherapist putting me on some kind of anti-psychotic medication to make them shut up.

But I never minded their talking. I minded when they went away. I don't remember when they went away, they just faded quietly, tiptoeing out of my eyes and I didn't notice at first. But I felt alone a lot of the time and one day I noticed they were no longer there. I spent my entire life longing to get to them again. In meditations, in dreams, in astral projections, in prayers, in suicidal thoughts and suicidal plans and suicidal living, in being down on my knees begging what I sensed just beyond my arm's reach to enter into me and fill me with love, that blissful love that sounds like Ahote and Nahete as it makes no verbal sense but resonates, no...vibrates through my core.

I can't express to you...no...I can express to you the reunion I have been blessed with when those who stepped so quietly out of my eyes came bursting back in with celebration, song and dance! All the years I spent in desperation searching for them, and when I finally gave up, they came to me. I did not have to find them. I had to find myself. When they found me, I found me. I will not tiptoe away again because now I am a dancer.

sylouette
May 7th, 2006, 03:14 PM
You're so far away. Why do you have to be so far away? Not only did I have to wait half my life for you but now I have to struggle to get to you. Is this a test? Is this some kind of punishment for all the people I've hurt? Is this like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that I can never reach?


"No matter how far away, or how long we're away from each other, my love will never faint or faulter. I will love you as much in a hundred years as I do today. And I'll love you until the end of time."

You always say "I promise". Can this be true? Can it really be that simple? Can something like this really last until the end of time? Do you know what you're saying?

'TIL THE END OF TIME'

When is that anyway? You ask me why I'm always trying to push you away or why I'm so scared.

I've always been a free-spirited person that would 'just do it'. Not worry about the consequences. I live for today....right now. And right now, you're not with me Today....you're not with me.

There's so many mountains to climb just to get where you are and I feel like I haven't even gotten halfway up the first one. But I won't give up. I won't give up.

I promise.

sylouette
September 23rd, 2006, 06:36 PM
This new life I'm in......is an awesome struggle. It's one hurdle after another.

I'm one step closer to what I want in my life but always feel as though there are is always something missing.

There is always one thing missing in my life. There are only two things that are most important to me. My love of my life and my son. The two people that I know, without a doubt, love me more than anything....and that I love more than anything or life itself. But I don't know if I'll ever have them both at the same time and be completely fulfilled.

My heart will always be his. He knows that. I know that.

But what I don't know is how I'll manage to live content without him. How I'll manage to not lay in his arms and feel his lips against mine every night. How I'll manage to go without feeling him draw his hands over my face, my breasts, stomach, hips and thighs...or feel the warmth of his lips and tongue all over me.

How will I manage to not look into his eyes each time I leave the house knowing that I'll see him again in just a few hours.

My heart feels a piercing feeling of not having anymore of the times of laying in his arms or walking with him, listening to all his stories, all his knowledge...for hours at a time. Trying to soak in every word that came from his mouth not being able to get past the feeling of his arms stretched around me.....holding me...pausing just to tell me he loves me.

I touched every part of him. In my eyes, he's the most handsome man I know. He makes me laugh every day. He makes me feel whole...and safe. And the way he makes loves to me makes me never want to stop.

My crazy ass life......he became a part of it during the craziest part.

And though things are straightening out for me....I'm still crazy about him...and I mean really f*ckin crazy about him...and will always be.

Always

I promise.

CliveStaples
September 26th, 2006, 01:49 PM
My girlfriend said the same thing...she'd always love me, always be there.

And she was. Until she wasn't.

PerVirtuous
September 26th, 2006, 10:32 PM
And I suppose your girlfriend is representative of what? Everyone? Everyone that knows you? What? Not much logic there. Not enough context.

There is enough context here to show that you are a petty little person. Any respect you had is disappearing fast. Perhaps that is what happened to your girlfriend. She saw that side and disappeared. I don't know. Just saying...

CliveStaples
September 27th, 2006, 03:05 AM
I certainly hope my girlfriend isn't representative of everyone...but I'm surprised by your needlessly hurtful attempt to kick me while I'm down. I'm now considered petty and unworthy of respect...because my girlfriend cheated on me...which I probably deserved. How stunningly low.

PerVirtuous
September 27th, 2006, 01:54 PM
I certainly hope my girlfriend isn't representative of everyone...but I'm surprised by your needlessly hurtful attempt to kick me while I'm down. I'm now considered petty and unworthy of respect...because my girlfriend cheated on me...which I probably deserved. How stunningly low.


I don't know how you got that from my post. Are you psychic? I insinuated that by following Syl around and harrassing her you were looking pretty much like a schmuck. If you want to interpret that differently, I can't stop you.

As far as kicking you while you are down, there is always a lesson to be learned. The real tragedies in life are when we have bad things happen and do not learn from them.

If you are petty and unworthy, it is not because of anything your girlfriend did, it is because of what you did. You still are responsible for yourself regardless of how you are treated. I think Syl, on the other hand, has shown great restraint, from what I have seen, and is worthy of respect because of it.

Finally, I was not insulting you. Insulting is when you call people names that are unnecessarily derogatory. All I did was attempt to hold up a mirror so you could see what the rest of us see. If you still cannot see it, then you may want to seek some help.

CliveStaples
September 27th, 2006, 02:23 PM
I am not trying to insult Syl. I am not trying to be mean to her. I wasn't saying that she would do to Hyde what my girlfriend did to me. I was just sharing my experience...and I had you shove it in my face, PerVirtuous. I share that my girlfriend cheated on me, and I have you tell me that I precipitated it by being a petty, mean person. And Sylvia congratulates your sentiment. I am surprised by your visciousness, PerVirtuous. I was a good, loving boyfriend...and you can't believe that. I didn't deserve what happened to me...and you can't believe that.

I just tried to share my experience, in a forum where many have done the same, and I have you jump out of the blue and sucker-punch me. Why? Because I deserve it? Because you're "holding up a mirror"? To what? You are completely unfamiliar with the circumstances of my breakup with my girlfriend and with my conduct in the matter; you are simply being as hurtful as you possibly can.

And Sylvia: I really am not trying to hurt your feelings. I wasn't with my previous post in this forum. I wasn't trying to say that you were like my girlfriend. I was just saying that my girfriend broke my heart. Then you and PerVirtuous decided to just sh*t all over me. Thanks.
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Speaking of being psychic...how in the world did you think I was talking about Sylvia when I wrote:

My girlfriend said the same thing...she'd always love me, always be there.

And she was. Until she wasn't.


Did I say anything about Sylvia being the same kind of girl as my ex? Did I say that she'd do the same thing?

Believe it or not, PerVirtuous, my posts about women aren't always targetted at, or even concerned with, Sylvia.

PerVirtuous
September 29th, 2006, 02:12 PM
I am not trying to insult Syl. I am not trying to be mean to her. I wasn't saying that she would do to Hyde what my girlfriend did to me. I was just sharing my experience...and I had you shove it in my face, PerVirtuous. I share that my girlfriend cheated on me, and I have you tell me that I precipitated it by being a petty, mean person. And Sylvia congratulates your sentiment. I am surprised by your visciousness, PerVirtuous. I was a good, loving boyfriend...and you can't believe that. I didn't deserve what happened to me...and you can't believe that.

I just tried to share my experience, in a forum where many have done the same, and I have you jump out of the blue and sucker-punch me. Why? Because I deserve it? Because you're "holding up a mirror"? To what? You are completely unfamiliar with the circumstances of my breakup with my girlfriend and with my conduct in the matter; you are simply being as hurtful as you possibly can.

And Sylvia: I really am not trying to hurt your feelings. I wasn't with my previous post in this forum. I wasn't trying to say that you were like my girlfriend. I was just saying that my girfriend broke my heart. Then you and PerVirtuous decided to just sh*t all over me. Thanks.
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Speaking of being psychic...how in the world did you think I was talking about Sylvia when I wrote:

My girlfriend said the same thing...she'd always love me, always be there.

And she was. Until she wasn't.


Did I say anything about Sylvia being the same kind of girl as my ex? Did I say that she'd do the same thing?

Believe it or not, PerVirtuous, my posts about women aren't always targetted at, or even concerned with, Sylvia.

Ha ha ha. In lieu of your recent history with Syl, I would think that you would try to be a little more sensitive. You compared Syl to your girlfriend by claiming they said the same things. Then you insinuated that the connection may continue. I find it difficult to consider this appropriate for a writing thread called "Stream of consciousness". How is it appropriate for you to comment on her work like this? I don't see any writing in this vein from you anywhere else. I do, however, see comments directed at Syl other places. It certainly looks like a transparent attempt to rain on Syl's writings. If you can show me where you have written about such things in this manner when you didn't follow Syl in a thread, I would like to see it. If it walks like a duck, looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's probably a f------ duck!

CliveStaples
September 30th, 2006, 06:54 PM
You compared Syl to your girlfriend by claiming they said the same things. Then you insinuated that the connection may continue.

I compare what Syl SAID to what my girlfriend said, and I wrote a small little bit about an experience of mine, what I thought when I read Syl's words. I didn't think, "Jeez, here's another opportunity to horn in on her business!" I thought, "What has been my experience with these sorts of things?" And I shared that experience. It had NOTHING to do with Sylvia, other than being inspired by her particular choice of words.

starcreator
September 30th, 2006, 11:14 PM
I don't see the problem with Clive's comment. I don't think he was trying to make a statement about Sylvia, I just think he was trying to express what he felt, because of his ex-girlfriend, when reading Syl's words (which happened to be those of his ex).

PerVirtuous
October 1st, 2006, 05:15 PM
I compare what Syl SAID to what my girlfriend said, and I wrote a small little bit about an experience of mine, what I thought when I read Syl's words. I didn't think, "Jeez, here's another opportunity to horn in on her business!" I thought, "What has been my experience with these sorts of things?" And I shared that experience. It had NOTHING to do with Sylvia, other than being inspired by her particular choice of words.


I will accept your explanation at face value, consider it an apology to Syl for looking like a slur, and offer you my appology for misinterpreting you. Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding. We all make mistakes. What seperates the good people is that they own them. I will own this one. Hope that no harm was done.
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I don't see the problem with Clive's comment. I don't think he was trying to make a statement about Sylvia, I just think he was trying to express what he felt, because of his ex-girlfriend, when reading Syl's words (which happened to be those of his ex).

Thanks for your input. You always seem to be the voice of reason.

Pasipo
October 12th, 2006, 11:54 AM
I find myself once again an infant in a world of fast moving adults. On my own I reached for growth with every lonely breath. To make myself fit in to an unfamiliar puzzle, my shape was not like theirs. I had to shape myself, not to match but to be well. I found that every piece can fit it's the puzzle that must change. Only then was I grown and ready to to care for my mother the way I should, and even for myself. Eventually I found myself as happy as could be. On a noble journey to care for my only love and our beautiful son. I no longer matter as long they are happy every moment, I have finally found the only spot where my shape was meant to fit. And then as it crumbled I grasped at every bit to hold its shape, but it was my piece that had faulted and let the structure break. Now I am missing a part of my original piece but that's not my real concern, I still have my two perfect pieces and it's all I could ever ask for. Now again though I must find a way to hold them up with strength. My shape is broken now and I must find a way to make it fit. Starting over is never easy, I must not fail them again.
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My son,
I'll give him my heart so he always knows that my love will never flinch. I'd give him my strength but it's easy to see that he was born much stronger than me. I'll teach him every single thing that I have learned, I'll help him in his life to do whatever he may choose. I'll give him my eyes so that he may see the world just as I do, the beauty that's in everything and every person to. He'll have every single thing that I did not when I was left, my mother bless her soul she did everything she could. She's the most amazing mother and I was lucky she was mine, I have never seen my father and with her I had no need. But now I swear to be the best father I can be, and not having one of my own won't hurt, you can't teach someone love. So now I break this hurtful chain of fatherless growth and curious pain. My son will never know the hurt you feel when you're alone.