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ClockThe grandfather clock's face turned down, sad. There must have been a bad moon. Time is an unhappy business, abstract, misunderstood. The clock had stood in the same spot for 200 turns around the Sun. And it never became more fun, than it had ever been. Clock remembered the families, the parents, the children, and also the childless, the unmarried, the loveless singles. He was good at remembering; it's what he was for. Happy times and sad times. Times. Time. What a sad business.
Lancelot Price 2014 July 26
The Boy and the SailorThe little boy stopped in front of the elder sailor, admiring the man’s stagnant position along with his strong posture. The sailor continued to smoke his decrepit pipe, unaware of the boy staring at him. The boy contemplated what he should do- whether to tap the man before asking him questions or just to start asking them aloud. As the boy pondered over what he should do, the old sailor finally took notice of the well-dressed school boy in front of him.
“What do ya want, sonny?” the sailor asked.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” the nervous boy replied.
“Ain’t ya or ain’t ya not goin’ ask me something?”
“I’m not sure what to ask you.”
“Well, ya better ask me quick cause I’m liable to drop dead any second.”
“Lemme think, sir. Why do you wear your anchor tattoo on your leg instead of your arm?”
“Keeps me grounded this way I don’t fly away like them balloons.”
The Little PrinceOnce upon a time there was a beautiful Prince, and he loved. That was his blessing and his curse. He felt everything, so deeply, good and bad, and it pierced his soul. It hurt the Prince to love so deeply, and he saw that no one else did. So he forgot that his curse was also a blessing and he hated himself because of it. He felt the pain deeper and deeper and forgot the love. He couldn't make the pain go away, but the devil sent whispers to him telling him he could, but the love and the beauty had to go first. So he tried to kill the beauty inside of him. Tried to convince himself it didn't exist. And he felt the pain deeper and deeper and the love and the beauty less and less.
Finally he went to the devil, intent on trading his beauty for a life with no pain. He begged the devil to take away his pain.
"But first little Prince, I want your love, and your beauty." the devil said. So the little Prince reached inside of himself and pulled out a shimmering, pulsing, glowing orb of beauty a
Sermon"Tell me about why God's real, and I'll tell you why you're wrong."
When I heard that, I winced, not sure how to respond. I'm devout about my faith, if not vocal - I won't talk about it unless asked, but this was a question I felt needed to be answered - and yes, it was a question.
I wasn't sure at first how to respond, but after a while, I came up with this to say:
"Alright, so let me tell you a parable about you. Things in your life go south after we talk - maybe right away, maybe it takes time, but one thing leads to another, and when you wake up one morning, you can't pay your credit bill. You go into debt, so on, and a few months later, you're out of a house, which means you're also out of a job. Things get worse - you get desperate. You need cash, so you try to boost a car. The owner walks out, and you never meant for anyone to get hurt, but sometimes these things just happen: now you're a murderer. Grand Theft Auto, charged as an adult; let's be frank - you're going to jail for
To Bruges You know, my mother always told me that I should learn how to play their game, how to just fit in. Not one of my strong suits, I always preferred to stand out. But in this I desired isolation, of sorts; I wanted to exist on the top of a staggered rock formation looming from the seething sea, I wanted to stand there and watch the sky swirl and devour the sun, I wanted to exist in an eye of a storm. It didn’t matter what storm, just a storm, so that, if I am bothered enough, I could eject myself from my momentary haven and out into the insanity of life. I snapped my head back into focus, the stairs, right.
With heavy feet and uneven gate, I managed my way up the spiraling steps, the pulsing red hue of crisis lights swallowing my face in crimson. My hair matted against the pounding rain, lungs aching from the trek, finally I found myself face to face with my door, a little slit of darkness from the peep-hole, the fading 315 hung s
Old Thoughts from New PeopleThere's sunlight on the empty road, but he supposes there isn't much to it, really: photons generated in the explosion of nuclear fusion, suddenly flying, an accident of fate to land here, at this moment, where his eyes had evolved to pick it up as visible light. It isn't fake, exactly, but that didn't mean it was real. He didn't think it meant much of anything.
He walked along the solid yellow line on the highway, occasionally putting his arms out as if he were balancing on something precarious, embracing a childlike desire to pretend that the world around him was more than it appeared to be.
He wore a jacket despite the summer air, and his poorly cut, short black hair stuck up in an unmanicured parody of the magazines that stuck out of the bag that hung off his shoulders. He seemed at peace with things, with the silence, with the sun. The road stretched on ahead and it stretched back, but for him, it may as well have not been there. He could have been walking into the ocean. It didn'
VoidHow long does it take for the dreamer to realize that the dream can never be? My life spins in an endless void, going deeper downward into an unknown world. What can I do to stop this paradox that I’m force to dance with? There is nothing here to see, nothing here to hear, nothing here to grasp. Falling downward, when will it end? My mind is buzzing with insane tired thoughts, making me want to close my eyes and sleep by-and-by.
Wake me when this torment ends, wake me and tell me I’m still alive. The endless sleep is here, pulling into the ethereal void. Where is the light that is bound to those whose soul seeks to find escape? No one can hear me in this place, I can only beg for someone to save me. I know I’ve been here before, the place so endless and constant, tormenting the mind through this bottomless pit.
The fathomless agony that hounds those who venture through, oft lose their memories by casting them from their ingenious minds; discarding them aside for
2 heads are better than one.Two heads are better than one: Short stories about people with two heads, so virtuous with one head, don’t lose theirs.
1. The 2 headed monster metaphor.
2. The Siamese twins that did not want to sell to everybody.
3. The Siamese twins who do not care for what they published on Internet.
The beauty of writing / drawing lies in perfecting our skills as a samurai learn to make perfect cuts with his katana or in the same way a basketball player learn to dunk.
If you are part of the artistic community of DeviantArt what I write today may interest you, or if you're on DeviantArt to appreciate their art, you may find seeds of knowledge among my letters.
I can’t hide it, I love writing, but what I like the most is to philosophize about positive aspects that help me be a better person. What you are about to read is a compil
thingswhen things go bad. its not fun. you feel out in the cold. like theres no-one to help you, rather like you're falling and cannot do anything, even worse, theres no-one to help you. no rope, no net to catch you. just helpless falling. its worse though, when you can see someone else falling away, away fron you, and you cannot help them. you cant put out a net. its either not possible or you just have to leave them too it. thats the worst. i hate leaving people to fall to their death. and all you can do is watch. just watch them fall, away, away.
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