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Showing results for tags 'Crazy Writing'.
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This is verbatim transcription (That means all the spelling mistakes and errors are intact) of writing I did this morning at roughly 4:00 AM after being unable to sleep (And finding that WinAmp Skin I wanted. Until the point that I begun writing I was operating the computer essentially blind, meaning no glasses) Well, this is quite the experiment. I’m writing blind here, literally blind. Eyes closed I’m relying only on mu drndr og youvh snf yhr dounf yo huifr mr. Z Music is a rhythm, a flow, something that we can follow and be inspired by. That’s what I’m allowing to lead me now. I’m simple alloinw myself to sit here,eyes closed ed and completely in sync with the msuci playing. Heck, I have no ideda how many spelling mistakes I’m making. Likely hundres. But the fact remains that I cannot see what I’m writing and will not see until tomorrow. And that’s beautiful, isn’t it? Trying something new, just for the heck of it! In fact I was trying to sleep before this massive surge of inspiration overcame me: So now here I am, at somewhere near 3:000 in the morning sitting on my computer and typing blind—why? Because I can. Because the world allows me to. Because this is what I choose to do. Choose, not decide. To actually choose is to hdo it with no reason why. And that’s why I’m doing this. Because I choose to, because I just wanted to do it. And it’s interesting. Seriously, the senstations one feels typing blind is incredible. My blody actually sfells like its changing shape. But the music stopped now. My guiding force has gone silent and so the moment of inspiration has passed. In fact I already feel the heavy coat of sleep settling over my shoulders, running up and ffown my neck. I can feel the bbuttons seeming to grow smaller and smaller anas my hands grow larger and large, inflating with the gross movements of a tired body. It’s a strange feeling, in my minds eye I can seee all sorts of things, but then I feel them. My body senses them as though they were true. Now my fingers are inflated and swollen like some sort of strange sausisage, now the keyboard is curved and spherical. Now I’m skinny as a twig with long spindly fingers that can dance over the mite sized keyboard with ease. I think I’m donw now. The keys have grown large and small, my fingers have shrunk and grown, and my minds eye has swollen and felcated. Everything’s run its natural course and so too is my stream of conciousness coming to an end. Perhaps I’ll edit this tomorrow. Perhaps not. Goodnight everyone, My love find you and carry you forward.
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A young boy once asked a willow “Why is that you weep?” The willow replied with a heavy sigh “I weep for those who sleep.” “I weep for those asleep in the ground, For they buried and forgot I weep for those once fought bravely But are now just left to rot” “I weep for these gardens of stone, A decayed and tragic lot. And I weep at the thought that you, Dear boy, may one day fill a plot” “I weep for the foreign soldier, so far from his home dear I weep for his mother and brother, For whom death must seem so near” “For those who lay ‘neath bloody skies For those who show no fear For those with fire burning in their eyes It is for them I shed a tear” The boy was silent, too stunned to reply, But he mustered his courage and asked “Why is it so many must die?” “For oil, for food, for pride For land, and water, and to bridge a great divide. For lies and deceit and treachery in all they do, But also for hope, and truth, and freedom strong and true” “For orders given and orders received, For angels and for dens of thieves For weapons and cannons and endless gun rounds This is why the death knoll so often sounds” The boy fell silent and tears sprang to his eyes, It felt like it was hopeless As though he was trapped by the prince of flies The old willow watched this and felt its boughs bend deep, Then it held the boy in its many arms and asked “Boy, why is that you weep?” The boy looked up, his tears fell to the ground below but in his eyes was a strength even he did not know “I weep for the atrocities, the tragedies, the inhumanity of it all! I weep for my mother, and my brother, and whoever else may fall!” “I weep for the waste of creativity, the tragic loss of life I weep for my future enemy, and she who may one day be his wife” “I weep for ignorance, for lies like a spider’s web for sadness itself and for the water’s flow and ebb For life, and death, and for every question “why?” these are some of the reasons for which I now cry” The boy and the willow stood there, in a silence profound and deep “And for you too willow, for you I also weep” “The sins of this world are ours, The burden’s ours to bear That you must feel our mistakes Simply feels unfair, though I know that in a world like this That fairness doesn’t exist It is still something that I must insist” “And so tonight, in bed, before I go to sleep I will tell god above, myself Willows shouldn’t have to weep” -Robert
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It's been a pretty good day today. I finally finished my first ever (and absolutely terrible) Gundam SEED 1/144 High Grade Model. The Calamity Gundam, piloted by Orga Sabnak. (Seriously, I went to a course on Gunpla* modeling, and they already explained that everything I did on this model is so wrong. Luckily my next models, the CGUE type DEEP arms, the Forbidden Gundam, the Destiny Gundam, The Dreadnought** Gundam, the Destiny Gundam***, and the Strike Noir Gundam will be far, far better with all the info I'm learning) After finishing that model I crashed for a bit at my sisters, and then went off to Metrotown (A popular BC mall. Way too popular, mind you) Skip ahead a bit, I picked up the first Invader Zim DVD for my mom, and finally designed the layout of her present. It's going to be a scavenger hunt with her present at the very end. It all went swimmingly. In fact it went so well, that I feel I needed to get some writing out, so here it is, the first Janus story that has been public in quite some time. Rain-Soaked Tile "Could you pick up some eggs while you're out?" My sister asked, her voice carrying just above the satisfied giggles of her young child. With a grin I responded that I could and promptly left, the door swinging shut behind me and settling in with a satisfied click. With a slow and steady movement I pulled my heavy coat over my shoulders and pressed the 'play' button on my PSP, instaneously my mind was filled with the soothing sounds of Pachabel's Canon in D minor Smiling I set on my way down the long hallway. The elevator slid open with a slight hiss, dingy and badly lit it trembled slightly as I stepped inside and made my floor selection. With a jerk it dropped, rattling and shaking all the way, my stomach churned but remained steady, finallly with a last shake the doors slid open and stepped out on the ground floor, the grey sky and dreary weather plainly in sight. With a small sigh I heaved the door open and stepped out into a blast of wind and rain. With a glance skywards I wished I had brought an umbrella from home--unfortunately home was many miles away, and across a bridge. Oh well, C'est La Vie. I noted with some chagrin that the music had shifted from Pachabel to a more fitting and morose tune, the single working headphone on my machine streaming out tales of woe. Slightly perturbed at this change in background noise I shifted my eyes downards, watching as the rain pitter-pattered off the soaking wet pavement. What a great day to be outside, huh? The cars and traffic whirled by, their lights gleaming crimson and gold through the mist of the rain, there were very few people on the sidewalk with me--few enough that I felt I could indulge myself in a hidden pleasure, with a small, reserved smile I opened my mouth and began to sing along with Satori Negishi to a personal favourite of mine Hoshi No Tobira of Gundam SEED Destiny: Stargazer fame. A few more tracks, more rain, a constant deluge of the stuff just pouring down. More songs, more singing and then people started showing up, slowly at first, as is always the case but soon they were filling the sidewalks. I sighed, of course I knew it would happen but nevertheless the dreamer never wants to be woken when the dream is satisfying. Finally I arrived at the skytrain station, a monument of bricks and simple technology, guided by remote computers and a team of highly trained professionals in a tower far from the remote station I was boarding at. Nervously I felt in my pocket for my sister's buspass, satisfied it was still in my pocket where I had left I ascended the rough stone staircase and waited on the platform, happily breathing in the fresh, wet air. In a flash of motion and colour the skytrain arrived, touting the location to which I wished to travel. Seeing the crowded exterior I took my favourite position near the sliding doors and leaned against the transparent plastic 'window' which divided those sitting from those who, like me, chose to stand instead. The trademark tones came over the speaker and with a sudden lurch we were off. Stations flew by, people flew by, places flew by. People I didn't know, places I knew but didn't care about, places I did know and did care about, people I thought I knew, and stations that I vaguely remembered in the recesses of my mind. Every time the doors slid open with their serpentine hiss I became so aware of the vibrancy and life within everything, from the cold white metal that composed the many stations, to the faded yellow warning paint on the slick tile, and every time the doors slid shut the thick plastic windows muted everything, turning the bright into the dull. I watched this all with an indescribable feeling. Finally I was one station before my terminus location; a crackle over the loudspeakers and the computerized female voice informed us of the locale we were pulling into. I closed my eyes and allowed the sounds of the train to wash over me and when I opened them something within me gave a tug. There was a sight, indescribable, really that in my many years of riding the skyrain I had never seen, and may never see again. The car I was in was near the edge of the station, far from the protective sheet metal that made up the brunt of this paticular stop, no, I was in a place lit only by the natural, grey, light from the sky. Rain-soaked tile split only by two metal poles was all I could see at first, and then--then directly across from me, crossing that Rain-soaked tile, and on the other side of those metal poles, holding up their weak sheets of plastic was another train just like mine. I'm sure it seems absurd and even a bit silly, but there was a train exactly like mine directly opposite to me, both of our doors were open, there was someone standing in my exact location and it suddenly struck me how amazing it was. I could see them and they could see me, and there was some sort of connection, some primal, human connection. Somehow across that rain-soaked tile I discovered the feeling of...humanity. I don't know how long we stayed there, the train silently humming as the influx and eflux of passengers continued, I can't imagine it was very long. But after what seemed like an eternity of a second the doors slid shut on both trains. The connection was cut and simultaneously both trains pulled out of the station. And the rain continued to pour. My apologies on the story, it's a little rough, but it's not really for anything but me. You're simply getting the chance to peer into my head. *GUNdam PLAstic models ** That's how it's officially spelled, oh Engrish, how I love thee. *** This is the coolest Gundam in the world, that is all.
