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The Writing Thread


8onus

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i figured this belonged here. it is an art form as well.

 

interested to see what people got, i will post some stuff later.

so dig up that rusty ol' hard drive and start posting!

 

Oh yeah PS:If you have your whole fucking auto biography or some great novel...POST A DAMN LINK. many of us would love to read it, but not love to have to hit "page down" for 2 days to see the next post.

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  • 4 weeks later...
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Art

 

Womans soothing breast

 

Bright colorful rose

 

Sweet waterfront flowers

 

Exubrant painted rainbows

 

 

 

Sunday morning dew

 

Peaceful nude pose

 

Calm mountain snow

 

Lighthearted majestic photos

 

 

 

Family friends laughter

 

Tranquil romancing lovers

 

Sexy innocent sunrise

 

heavenly somber actors

 

Art

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  • 2 weeks later...

The pointed tip which my hand controls slowly comes into contact with the perpendicular plane I have made into my canvas. Due to the laws of physics and the government of art the graphite is transfered from pencil to paper, the idea transfered from mind to body. I can almost feel these sparks within my head igniting the blaze which causes my hand to trace the invisible outline of the masterpiece I envision. These neurons travel at breakneck speed from mind to hand, hand to mind, back and forth and forth and back for minutes upon seconds, pushing and filling and creating this, my drawing...My eyes squint, beads of sweat drip down my forehead as I continue this lengthy process. I begin to calm as I reach a state of near perfection, almost as perfect as this which has been transferred onto my paper, and my eyes open wide to take back in what I just put out. Some lines straight while others curved, some darker yet also thinner, every single one meets at an individual point of exactness. Twice as fast as the drawing crept from my pencil onto paper a smile creeps upon my face as a sense of accomplishment creeps over my emotions as I once again pick up my utensil of choice. I choose a spot to place my name given to me, right next to the name I've given myself, marking the completion of this, my drawing.

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do u remember when last week i said it was gunna happen.

but you didnt believe me so i just left you clappin.

you enjoyed it so much ,but you still couldnt keep me

i had to go because deep down inside i knew you just wanted to defeat me.

you put on some kind of act because you knew you couldnt push me

and once i was gone ,only then did you truly know that you would miss me

i told you a few lies ,but in the end i set you straight. because the way that you would talk just made you look like a fake.

and when judgement came you didnt show your face ,

so the only reasonable explanation was that you must of been a snake.

only in my eyes did i ever see it truly,because the thing i behold in my eye is creation and evolution in the form of pure beauty.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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  • 5 years later...

Take it back

Take it all back now

We want this more than anything

But even more to break it apart.

The taste of your lips still linger in my mouth

The graze of your touch keeps me wanting more

I take a look back and I look into your eyes

They burn so invidiously.

Your affectionate words form clouds of condensation

As they pour into my heart, filling it with love.

Complication may affect the forthcoming situations

Will the fear of flying stop this pain from coming?

Will the discussion of consequence allow your mind to have second thoughts?

Will the arms of comfort catch you from falling this time?

We must break through the seams of the unknown and discover

We may reveal feelings under roofs of concealed places.

The movements of secularity ease my soul of what lays within its peripheries.

Only God knows what will happen this time.

Should I ignore the signs and follow the lies,

Or is the other way around the truth that beholds the smile.

A part of me yearns for hope; the other finally releases the bond that’s already been broken.

Is there such thing as mending a broken heart with a deeper wound?

Will forgiveness wipe clean the mess we can’t take back?

These arguments we face claim how we feel

The negotiation comes through and we settle on originality.

Your last breathe contains thoughts of the time that passes us

We’re one step closer that brings us two steps back

You’re catching on to the envious disease that comes naturally to us.

You won’t let go of mistakes I have grown from

Stop letting the eager temptation arouse your mind, interacting with the fake tempo.

We are together, and have formed one; the ship we sail will bring new horizons.

If we can just forget about each quality we lack, we’ll be able to focus on our beauty

The space between our fingers have already enclosed, so close we won’t let go.

Your smile is contagious, remarkable to say.

Late nights relaxed in front seats, embracing the mixture of highs and lows from your car.

Your hand against my face causes warm sensations.

Exposing ourselves, like we’ve never been so comfortable.

I want just one day to pass, without any arguments.

This fantasy is just a dream..

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In a small gally deep in the hull of a vessel the dethroned king waited patiently for the crew to yell. The latter mentioned had made all the mistakes in life but yet none so dire as to sink a ship. The best was last so they say and the first shall follow that last drop. All the others don't matter in times of the heart when the blood is boiled off and cream has come apart.

 

50 times more the clock will chime when the clock has turned it's hands for you that very last time. All the other words are done and the air is thin but alas left alone for him. The mountains climb from nothing at all which is why the vast length of space is all the more separated, but not to be forgotten. You could sit there all day and decided that one is greater than the other but the other can never be greater than the one you have left.

 

Blah blah blah

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lafayette--

 

 

 

 

 

asunder.

 

 

 

 

 

envelope, smog washes across shaping faces

in flat charcoal smears ive seen ashes

raven and ruin

along the terminal pass,

 

we stole

this late-day lament, carmine clot

coney island is handsome--

 

its burning wake.

 

 

 

4e6d0575.jpg

 

 

(cleft, they left noise

and after

blood on the asphalts.)

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  • 1 month later...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

-Theo.colt

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It was a little more

than we had bargained for.

We made overtures,

expected at least

to be loved just a little.

we were deceived;

creatures such as this

absorb love

and give none in return.

Trespassers on its bulk

we discovered it had eyes

in glassy ponds, upward-staring;

motes of swan and

beams of marble.

our roadways were its

arteries of steel and veins of concrete

Its bloodstream swarms with parasites

Its myriad Hydra heads

are never satisfied.

A hungry city.

Man made this thing

and gave it voracious undying life;

we can non of us escape

collective responsibility.

Meet it on its own terms:

we have created this monster

that we might confront it, and

grow strong thereby.

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e153f231.jpg

 

somenites, thick with petrol

and heavy

weighing down the still

of urban fields

where we breathe in the silence

of desolate roads

 

phantoms in the alleys

bemoaning songs

of love and love lost,

they are the sages of searing rhythm

and aged blues that seethe

the hollow of this hunger.

 

we scaled the fences of

leftover industrial edifice,

and you painted

preaching an aerosol gospel

spoken color to the post-apocalypse

along the interstate &

the roads of sprawling metropolis.

 

the smell of tires burnt

and dawn electric

and soft as recycled air

between two

we found the taste of rum

blazing in our throats and a grim tale

inscribed amongst the ruin

abandoned cars and overgrown lots.

 

this is the place, you said they say,

haunted and enchanted

city of last chances,

halfheartened glances

and fractured streets,

home to the trashcan prophets

shopping carts and

an old man's shoe.

 

streetbirthed and nineteen,

the first boy i ever loved,

i felt the spirit of this mecca

this place for the forgotten and broken,

move into you

and the pilgrims found a home

inside the dilated pupil

of your blinded hope.

 

somewhere along

i turned back

i lost a friend

and i wish then i'd've stitched

my eyes shut

to be alone amongst

the pages & you

letting the words crawl

under my skin

through the poverty of my insides

so we could have lived outside

a while longer...

 

within a drag of smoke and blue

somerainyafternoon,

and i remember when

i used to know somebody

who fell into this unrealcity

his heart on a charred wing,

falling so close he flew.

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It sounded exactly how I had imagined it would. A thick, terrible white noise. That’s how it ended, with a deafening roar.

I awoke from my sleep 10,000 feet in the sky somewhere over South Carolina, at least according to the erroneous map appropriately located on the back of each seat, with sole reason for existence being to hypnotize and distract from the obvious danger of traveling five hundred plus miles per hour some ten thousand feet above terra firma. Nobility can be derived from such an existence but that’s beside the point. Tendency has it to be distracted by mundane details or eccentric train of thought. I attempt to stay focused on the central pieces of my life, but such is life. My life at least. Towards the beginning of our decent the flight captain announced over the PA system that he had received reports of pretty rough turbulence from earlier flights. No big deal.

The sleepy plane ride began to grow steadily more uncomfortable as the lumbering aircraft moved deeper into the unsettled atmosphere. Still no big deal.

Ten minutes after the comfort of the flight had been compromised by turbulence the other passengers grew more apprehensive. A mother heeded her natural instinct to comfort her uneasy child. “It’s just a little bumpy, no big deal.” There was no way she could have known. The last conscious memory the child has of his mother was that of an untruthful assurance. But hey, what are mothers for?

The bumps progressively grew in to bangs, sudden loss of altitude triggered weightless cries. Soon enough the predictable release of the emergency masks dropped from the overhead compartment, serving a terrible suggestion that this was all real. Beeps and warning sirens cried out from every direction, only aiding the terrible sensation of rapidly loosing altitude. The frame of the aircraft began to whine as if all of its vigor was rapidly absconding. These horrendous audible truths seem to fuse together into a culmination of staggering cacophony.

Then, just like that it was over. Hmmm, makes sense I suppose, in my musing I became so enthralled with the goings-on that I completely and unintentionally forfeited a goodbye to the most important person in my life seated directly to my right.

:D

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e5362427.jpg

 

sound--

 

rust, root, raw & i've been

waiting for rain, drift,

sea linen,

chameleons, tangling brim.

 

still the rain acquires sand, lines,

dunes,

shoals, &you

 

wordless, just, stranger tunes bevel

of nearly so many, gull cry, tin roof

triplet shatterings weak, strong, weak

 

mossy twigs arabesque across the lake hush, horizon

melt fuschia, cascades

 

so things fine

can slow.

 

*

 

lime--

let me place coquina, brined memory

for shape just

curls.

 

said--

worded lip, a four a.m has distance

to burn.

 

salt--

tiny wound of fray, para-phrasing

,ash some fade.

 

april--

soft feathers to find winter's frost gone

 

glaze--

smokes, home,

forgotten air, letters, ellipsis carry.

 

518ea89d.jpg

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What !? Writers that write? Most def in the minority now. :cool:

 

 

 

 

Toy kids have it comin'-

 

Frontin'-

 

-with their hoe-muffin-stuffin'-fake-nothins' of paper crisp thin air,

 

I have no care, to go up there, and put my name up, just to get famous,

 

Runnin' the pavement, Fuck the System, Yes! I blame them,

 

From the get-go, when they landed, You know I know, My native people-

 

Branded savage, treated evil, never equal, I can't stand it,

 

Tis why I choose to color their planet.

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