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Nobody here write narrative, or plays for theatre?

(Just curiosity)

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Thu Dec 06, 2007 1:32 pm
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Yeah, I do. Wrote some short stories and a couple of novels which both got stuck after some 100 pages.
They're in Italian of course.

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Thu Dec 06, 2007 6:55 pm
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Yes, I write some prose as well. In recent times, I actually dropped poetry entirely except for the lyrics for my songs (no conscious decision, it just happened) and concentrated on my prose projects. There are some short stories and also some slightly longer texts (don't know what to call them, maybe novellas or something), but they're all in German exclusively up to now. The longest of my finished writings spans over about 50 A4-pages (standard size in MS Word).

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Fri Dec 14, 2007 10:31 am
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with me?
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i can see your star shining
high above, out of reach
are you with me?
i could need someone tonight
somehow i remember...
i remember...
the last time i saw you

i came in and thought i'd see
your warm smile and tender eyes
waiting with a crossword and chocolate
for me
instead there were people, holding you up
you had no energy, you seemed paler
and somewhat more wrincled
half dead

my young spirit understood
the end was near
too near

no one now would have time for me
no one could take your place
no one can
i'm lost without you

i'm cold and alone tonight
i miss your warm and gentle touch
your fingers running through my hair
the feeling of safety when you said it'd be alright

i could need to hear that now
those words gave me comfort
now there's only silence
you're dead, and i'm not

five years have passed
five rough years alone
and i still remember
that one alst day

i was shocked, i ran out
the atmosphere was too heavy
i cried the rest of the day

i kept asking them
just one last visit, one last touch
but no

tears are still falling in nights like these
i never got to say good bye
and now i never will
why couldn't they let me?

i still go to the same old places
that we used to see together
you're never there, even though i search
it's never the same
alone

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Wed Dec 19, 2007 10:56 pm
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Just wrote this before leaving for the bus. I didn't have any concept or idea beforehand, I just opened MS Word and wrote.



still standing still
(11.01.2007)

beg not for the liar’s throne,
my friend, beg not for home,
beg not for the lights that shone –
you’re begging on your own.

beg not, cry not for the stars,
the lights the stars once had,
for all the lights the stars once had
today are long since dead.

face not what you’re aiming at,
remember not your aims,
for dreams they were, once vivid dreams,
now images of shame.

face not, no, be not aware
of what you’re running to,
for run you may but stand you will,
stand still like frozen dew.

so why not stand still right away
and save all of your strength,
and ponder calmly, to at length
be witness of the day,
that very day when running’s due:
into stillness, far away.


(c) d.

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Fri Jan 11, 2008 12:13 pm
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i wrote tons of lyrics, a novel (which included a cd with soundtrack) and then stopped for a couple of years.
now i'm writing a kind of blog on my pc when i have time, inspiration and so on...just lines where i blubber about nothing or begin stories that will never be finished.

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Fri Jan 11, 2008 12:18 pm
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Another piece of zero-concept poetry I've just written as an image of truth. Damn, why am I starting to write poetry again after more than two years? :S It's probably the boredom.



swept

erase now from my mind
what I’ve been thinking
what have I been thinking?
swirling through my mind
uneasy and unkind
how can I ever be
at ease again with this
this horrifying fever?

erased now from my mind
all reason and all clearness
‘twas so clear until I found
I’m flooding it with mud
and in this muddy flood
I’m losing grip of all
and nothing of it all I can
erase now from my mind

did you ever mind?
have you ever thought about
what you might make me think
uneasy and unkind?
do you know the reasons
you give me all the time
to flood it all with mud:
be sure it’s not your crime

be sure as well, my dear
be sure now to forget
these clouded words I said
erase them from your mind
for understand you won’t
these words they come from you
and if you question who’s this you
step towards the mirror

step ahead and break it in two.
(and leave me one of the pieces)


(c) d.

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Thu Jan 17, 2008 10:27 am
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Hide And Seek with Hats

Code:
                 ______
                |      |
            ____|______|____
               /        \
              /  O    O  \
 -----o00o----------------------o00o-----
                                       


Thu Jan 17, 2008 11:09 am
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biker/ savage/ drug addict is the best poem on here.

i wrote these when i got bored in school. one is a short story, the other is a poem. they are both, well... here:

JOHN LOURIDGE

It was 9:23 AM on a very regular Tuesday. John sighed. He needed artistic inspiration, but the plain white walls of his Trigonometry teacher’s classroom were barren of everything but dullness. He needed to get his sketches done, and he had only (thus far) scribbled a little line on the bottom left side of his flimsy recycled paper. Seeing no inspiration in the small white box containing him and 15 other bored individuals, John put his head on his desk and took a nap.
Unable to sleep, John began cursing at his teacher. “Why the fuck is it so hot in here? I should fucking kill the lot of you! Assholes.” John did not know what had overcome him, but he could not control it. “I am just fucking tired and I want to take a fucking nap!” Suddenly his teacher, who only moments before was the kind-faced Mrs. Jordache, turned into an exceptionally frightening black monolith. The room began to fill with grey gas that was neither smoke nor fog. As if from a distant loudspeaker, John heard a strange phrase (not of any recognizable language) being repeated very quickly, in a high tone.
“Ding, ding, ding” said the school bell, waking John. He awoke to the view of his fellow students scrambling to get out the door and to their next 50 minute block of anxiety and stress. John followed suit. The dream he had certainly acted as a form of inspiration, however, he wondered if it was a good idea to transmute a thing so bizarre onto paper. Of course it was a good idea, but John really did not understand art, especially not enough to take proper advantage of an undoubtedly original moment of inspiration. So, instead of using his talent for the advancement of the unexplainable, John sketched a picture of a girl in his third period class that he had a crush on. While drawing, John realized that the beauty of a woman is as unexplainable as the dream he had. While drawing, John also realized that he had been caught by a gorgeous, blushing girl standing just over his shoulder.
Known for being very suave, John jumped up, hitting his crush in the chin with his head. He then tripped over his own chair while frantically trying to hide what had obviously already been seen by the now dazed girl. “Sorry” he said. His voice cracked. John then took advantage of the dark inspiration he had earlier. Humiliated, he ran out of the room, and headed for his home. Upon arrival, John ran to his room and hung himself with a leather belt. One the ground in front of him was the portrait of the beautiful maiden, who he hadn’t necessarily messed things up with. Talk about testosterone!

UNTITLED POEM

throughout nature
conifers are glazed by dew

an old man awakens
looking into the blue

waters, sky
like the passing of days
soon all must part ways
and die

such a though in his head
he gathers his his staff, meat, and bread
to look upon

mountains

"such majesty has to last forever!
regardless of time, divine, or weather"

setting out into wood, sundered in thought
he climbs up a hill
to the perfect spot

temporality dawns on his mind
as he sees an oak withered by time

"so what if all things fade away!"
he shouted happily for he knew
not today

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funn! O)))


Thu Jan 17, 2008 9:28 pm
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Yeah Biker/ Savage/ Drug Addict is a masterpiece! Kudos to Shoelty!


Sat Jan 19, 2008 9:25 pm
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Here's a new songtext I just wrote. I already have some riffs in mind. I've been planning to write this for quite a while now, guess I'm feeling sufficiently fucked at the moment to finally do so. :S



survival of the blindest
(22.01.2008)

you long for love
you dream of wealth
you yearn for paradise
and carnal chains
are craving for
a touch to melt the ice

I’m going further

you mourned the loss
of innocence
the blood of untouched youth
and through your mourning
you perceived
a painful glimpse of truth

I’m going further

hope is never far, you know
as long as you’re afraid
afraid of legends about those
whose insight came too late
hope is always close, you know
as long as there’s a trace
of something that could cause a tear
to strip your gentle face

and now I’m here to break the rhyme
of dream and of longing
of fear, hope and yearning
and while you trust the balms of time
your eyes will stumble over mine
and find I’m going further

away from love away from wealth
away from paradise
I’m going further
further away
away


(c) d.

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Tue Jan 22, 2008 9:25 am
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Downturn

All my friends have come alive
To see me through the motions for another night
The day doesn't make a difference when every night ends the same
Kicking and screaming back from whence I came

I don't believe you
It doesn't matter that you tell the truth
You say all manner of things will be well
I want proof
Sometimes my mind gets busy
Sometimes I put my life on hold
Some days I wake up to these thoughts
Some day I won't wake up at all

You know me too well
To have regard for what I'm going to say
You use my words to put my mind at ease
Every day
Sometimes I get too frantic
Sometimes I have too far to fall
Some days I'm too lost in my thoughts
Some day I won't come back at all

I've got a problem
The solutions staring me in the face
I'll take the risk for one more chance to win
One more taste
Sometimes my mind starts drifting
Sometimes I cannot hear you call
Some days I forget who you sound like
Some day I won't hear you at all

I can't control this
I know you've tried to guide me to the light
As a reward I'll say the words you want
I'm alright
Sometimes I feel the walls are too high
Sometimes my chances are too small
Some days I could not give a damn
Some day I'll have given my all

One more example
Before you see I will not let you help
I have no desire for a healthy mind
I want out
Sometimes I dare to take risks
Sometimes I want to lose it all
Some days I fight my demons
Some day I won't fight back at all

How many times do I need to explain
I cannot see you all the same
How many times do I need to find
Another wall to hide behind

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Sat Jan 26, 2008 12:19 pm
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Impulsief zoute cracker aankoop

Zestig cent is geen geld
Voor een pakje zoute crackers
Op de verpakking wordt vermeld
Dat dit de enige echte zijn

Het alternatief
Gaat volledig mijn aandacht voorbij
Zichtbaarder kwantitief
Maakt me niet zo blij

Het is geen geld
Voor een pakje zoute crakers
En toch moeilijk te begroten
Wanneer ik plaats neem in de trein
Komt mij nog net binnengeschoten
Heeft die meeuw er ook zo van genoten?

(C. 2008)


Last edited by Cruel Shoes on Tue Jan 29, 2008 8:32 am, edited 1 time in total.



Tue Jan 29, 2008 8:26 am
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Nacht op de yard

Het is even wennen
Maar hoe durven ze te ontkennen?
Dat de nieuwe kleuren van de trein
Zijn aanblik doen verwennen

Is dat je nieuwe look?
De witte latex op je broek

(C. 2008)


Tue Jan 29, 2008 8:31 am
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perennialsorrow wrote:
biker/ savage/ drug addict is the best poem on here.

i wrote these when i got bored in school. one is a short story, the other is a poem. they are both, well... here:

JOHN LOURIDGE

It was 9:23 AM on a very regular Tuesday. John sighed. He needed artistic inspiration, but the plain white walls of his Trigonometry teacher’s classroom were barren of everything but dullness. He needed to get his sketches done, and he had only (thus far) scribbled a little line on the bottom left side of his flimsy recycled paper. Seeing no inspiration in the small white box containing him and 15 other bored individuals, John put his head on his desk and took a nap.
Unable to sleep, John began cursing at his teacher. “Why the fuck is it so hot in here? I should fucking kill the lot of you! Assholes.” John did not know what had overcome him, but he could not control it. “I am just fucking tired and I want to take a fucking nap!” Suddenly his teacher, who only moments before was the kind-faced Mrs. Jordache, turned into an exceptionally frightening black monolith. The room began to fill with grey gas that was neither smoke nor fog. As if from a distant loudspeaker, John heard a strange phrase (not of any recognizable language) being repeated very quickly, in a high tone.
“Ding, ding, ding” said the school bell, waking John. He awoke to the view of his fellow students scrambling to get out the door and to their next 50 minute block of anxiety and stress. John followed suit. The dream he had certainly acted as a form of inspiration, however, he wondered if it was a good idea to transmute a thing so bizarre onto paper. Of course it was a good idea, but John really did not understand art, especially not enough to take proper advantage of an undoubtedly original moment of inspiration. So, instead of using his talent for the advancement of the unexplainable, John sketched a picture of a girl in his third period class that he had a crush on. While drawing, John realized that the beauty of a woman is as unexplainable as the dream he had. While drawing, John also realized that he had been caught by a gorgeous, blushing girl standing just over his shoulder.
Known for being very suave, John jumped up, hitting his crush in the chin with his head. He then tripped over his own chair while frantically trying to hide what had obviously already been seen by the now dazed girl. “Sorry” he said. His voice cracked. John then took advantage of the dark inspiration he had earlier. Humiliated, he ran out of the room, and headed for his home. Upon arrival, John ran to his room and hung himself with a leather belt. One the ground in front of him was the portrait of the beautiful maiden, who he hadn’t necessarily messed things up with. Talk about testosterone!

UNTITLED POEM

throughout nature
conifers are glazed by dew

an old man awakens
looking into the blue

waters, sky
like the passing of days
soon all must part ways
and die

such a though in his head
he gathers his his staff, meat, and bread
to look upon

mountains

"such majesty has to last forever!
regardless of time, divine, or weather"

setting out into wood, sundered in thought
he climbs up a hill
to the perfect spot

temporality dawns on his mind
as he sees an oak withered by time

"so what if all things fade away!"
he shouted happily for he knew
not today


That was a good read!


Tue Jan 29, 2008 8:49 am
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didn't expect the bathos to come so quickly, huh?

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funn! O)))


Thu Jan 31, 2008 11:13 pm
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have you read my poetry?
Maybe I need to make English ones.


Fri Feb 01, 2008 9:54 am
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Gah! Everyone's poems are so good and extremely creative.

Here are some of mine, i'm obsessed with death and always end up writing about death and being eaten by insects...gooooood.

The Carcass of Venus languishing on the sheets of necroromanticism

Dusk falls o'er my body, Sienna autmumn leaves languish in my embrace...
The wilting flora silent within my putrid fingers, singing from their scathed throats "veneno sibi mortem consicere"...
Such cadaverine masquerade as the fauna sink inside, working their dirty lips into my marred skin.
Adoring black putrefaction that writhes amidst the flies, shrieking as they bathe in sweet pools of cruor,
kissing my face, shrouded in dahlia pearls...
There within verdigris blossom, I evenesce, enamoured by terra firma...
Still, they whisper putrescine lullabyes though I already sleep among the insects,
and the angels...bound in wings and dirt of all putrid parisites.
Cling to me as I fade betwixt aneomic efflorescence, mephetic and cold...
Vieled in lace and festering dermis...
They yearn...dining in such fervour...their venus soaked in claret and mourning dew...
Pallid as they reach my decayed core, lust for more...for another taste...
Choking on their vomit, screaming such endless love for the goddess that (de)composed this wretched choir.
Purge from my womb, a manifestation of your sin, take my violation into your filthy hands...
Gorge upon what is left.
Emboss my heart with your crimson eyes, drenched in bloodlust...
Take me down with you...
Lay me in your bed.


This one was a set of lyrics I wrote from when I was in a Black Metal band. Obviously...I quit. XD!

Lust For the Kill

I am the bloody hand of God,
You are the lamb that strayed.
I, the hemetic sheppard,
The butcher in disguise.

Worship at my...
Sanguine Alter...
Lord of death...
To your world...

Massacered promised lands,
My angel of slaughtered flesh.
Sing bloodsoaked symphonies,
From torn celestial throats.

Pray to me...
Offer yourself...
A foul sacrifice...
My filthy lamb...

My only sin was my lust,
My unholy hunger for blood

Virgin mother cry me rivers,
Streaming with pulsing viens,
Spew me from your ravaged womb,
A carnal plague of murder.

Worship the dirt...
From which you bloomed...
A flower of flesh...
Rotting forever...

My only sin was my lust,
My unholy hunger for blood

Screams that resonate my soul,
An orchestra of death that plays for you.

Grim as it come reaping,
our unforgiving God.

Darkness sings...
A savage lullabye...
My sweet Angel...
Damned to die...

My only sin was my lust,
My unholy hunger for blood

You can even hear the song if you want. Oooohhh!

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Sat Feb 02, 2008 6:36 am
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I usually write on a blog.. so instead of posting it here if you want to read some very very unworthy poems and thoughts, follow the link on my signature :p


Fri Feb 29, 2008 4:12 pm
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Codswollop

No one wants to hear my story. Nobody, ever. So I will tell it now. Come, weary listener, and I will give you something to read. My tale is a simple, sad one, and it is probably at least partly loosely based on actual true events that might have happened to me, someone I know, or someone I think I might have read about once.

I, or somebody posing as me, was born in a ramshackle shack designed for housing rams (a ramshack, if you will), the son of a solitary scientist and an amorphous hybrid in vaguely human form. Mother's womb could not, or would not, hold me for long, and so I spent the last 6 months of my gestation, and the first 9 years of my life, in a test tube. Father would spend day and night at his laboratory, trying to teach white mice to sing like songbirds. Alas, his experiments failed consistently and he died penniless in a vat of corn syrup. The world has no place for such genius.

Mother was more attentive of me. Oh, my poor Mother, if only you could see me now! Alas, she did not live to see my thirteenth birthday, for one tragic day she morphed into the shape of an Atlantic cod and spent her last moments thrashing senselessly upon the floor of our shack. I, helpless to do anything, watched with barely-disguised fascination as she died. That night my father returned home to his battered wife, never realising that the local fish and chip shop had closed down two years previously.

And so it was that I became a man, hidden from the world, my form misshapen by the confines of the test tube of my infancy. Yet, what manner of man am I? What manner of man can I be? I am a monster, a monster in monstrous form. Once I ventured out into the outside world, to buy peanuts and crème de menthe, my staple diet. It is a terrifying world. Having had no experience of social interaction or the particulars of trade, I was lost amidst the shouting, screaming and throwing of canned goods in my direction. With a cheery grin I responded in kind, but I can only assume that cans of sweetcorn are not considered an acceptable response in your society, for I was chased from the shop. Heartbroken and hungry, I returned to my shack and have sat alone ever since. I am terribly hungry. If only Mother were alive, she might change herself into something edible. Alas, she is not. I am alone.



The Duality of Stan

'It happened again today. That's every day this week, darling. I helped Joe with a problem he was having with the network, and he thanked me. Right there in the middle of the room, where everyone could hear. I didn't know what to say. I just turned my back and went to my office. Hmmm? Well of course I should talk to Larry, but what would I say? He'd look at me like I was some kind of well-rounded, dependable colleague and I... well, I don't know what I'll do.

So anyway, Joe thanked me like that and I saw Rachel, and she looked at me as if I was a professional. I mean, like I really knew what I was doing. For a second I thought she was going to say something nice, but she just smiled. Thank God for small mercies, I suppose.

Honestly, darling, I don't know how much longer I can stand that place. I'm tired of being treated like a somebody, you know? Being constantly made to feel wanted and part of the team. What did I do to them to deserve this, that's what I'd like to know. Gosh, honey, I know I'm just as unreliable as the next guy. But no matter what I do, I always seem to fit in. From the moment I arrive in the morning to the moment I walk out of the door, I get nothing but a barrage of admiring glances and polite conversation. My God, I swear sometimes they seem to be in awe of me. It's sending my self esteem sky high. Maybe I should go back to Dr Otker.

Sweetie, can I ask you something? No, no sugar thank you. Listen... Honey, would you do something for me? I know we normally leave this kind of thing for the weekend but... I need this now, really I do. Well, okay... I... I don't know if you feel like it tonight but... would you berate me? Yes... I need so much to be insulted, really I do. Undermine me, darling, would you please? Well, you know... do like you did at the weekend. I'm sorry, sweetie, you know I would never normally ask but work went so well today... oh, I don't know... surprise me. I just want so much for you to treat me like the scum I am. Torment me, insult me, belittle my manhood... well, I don't know, honey, you seemed to manage it constantly on our honeymoon. No, no... I'm sorry, sweetie, I shouldn't have lost my temper. You should be losing yours. Yes, darling... I want you to make me feel worthless again. I want you to take away all the relaxation of a pleasant day at the office until my emotions are left a festering carcass for you to urinate on...

What did you say?

Oh, honey... mind your language in front of the kids, please.'

_________________
'They can take your lives, but bring me back my ale!'


Sun Mar 02, 2008 9:09 pm
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