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#21 Silver

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Posted 17 September 2011 - 12:51 PM

 Stover, on 17 September 2011 - 03:34 AM, said:

 Silver, on 16 September 2011 - 10:57 AM, said:

 Stover, on 16 September 2011 - 02:51 AM, said:

 Kari, on 13 September 2011 - 08:44 PM, said:

So Silver has been writing a REALLY awesome create your own adventure story for another forum.

ONE- you should read it.
TWO- he should write one for us too.


http://www.gamefaqs....ntests/60267736

So I have apparently run across Cody many times, years before LATR even existed, and did not know until just now.

What the fuck?

Wait whaaaaat?

I used to spend all my GFAQs time on the contests/summer contests board back in 2004-2005 or so, after I returned from my break during the fall of LUE. I didn't post much between 2003 and 2006, but I definitely remember seeing posts by your username at least on /8. It has been in my favourite board list since the feature was implemented.

What was your username? I've been a regular there since 2002.

#22 Stover

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Posted 17 September 2011 - 06:03 PM

 Silver, on 17 September 2011 - 12:51 PM, said:

 Stover, on 17 September 2011 - 03:34 AM, said:

 Silver, on 16 September 2011 - 10:57 AM, said:

 Stover, on 16 September 2011 - 02:51 AM, said:

 Kari, on 13 September 2011 - 08:44 PM, said:

So Silver has been writing a REALLY awesome create your own adventure story for another forum.

ONE- you should read it.
TWO- he should write one for us too.


http://www.gamefaqs....ntests/60267736

So I have apparently run across Cody many times, years before LATR even existed, and did not know until just now.

What the fuck?

Wait whaaaaat?

I used to spend all my GFAQs time on the contests/summer contests board back in 2004-2005 or so, after I returned from my break during the fall of LUE. I didn't post much between 2003 and 2006, but I definitely remember seeing posts by your username at least on /8. It has been in my favourite board list since the feature was implemented.

What was your username? I've been a regular there since 2002.
http://www.gamefaqs....162&user=392337

#23 stretts

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Posted 17 September 2011 - 08:54 PM

Two poems here I wrote while in Japan of 2006. Inspired by the murder ballads of Nick Cave

http://stretts17.deviantart.com/

They may ignore any and all poetry/english conventions but heh, i was 16. Would love ot hear what anyone thinks of them, reading back the scent I really like how i ended it.

Fearless leader of Stretts' Bitches and Tits


Last.FM


#24 Old Henry

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Posted 24 September 2011 - 03:32 AM

I'll share a short story I wrote.


The Red Algeria

by Hank Helvey

Quote

An influx of light and darkness emerged over me. I had dreamed of the red, ray-shined beach of Oran before I awoke. Rubbing my tired, red eyes I felt a sense of relief. It was almost like blue, crisp waves were hitting the still rocks on the beach, when I finally came to. The beach that rested outside of my boring town, and in my dreams, had been a constant companion of mine. It was so reoccurring in my life that it even found its place nestled in my unconscious mind. I feel the warmth of its sentiment. When I felt that warmth, although I could not fully grasp what it meant, I realized that the red beaches of Oran were something profound to me. There, at the beaches of Oran, I found senses of nostalgia and curiosity that I could not find anywhere else.

There was an air of mystery that surrounded what I felt towards that abode; I found that the feelings I witnessed where inexplicably indescribable. My thoughts of the waves convinced me, from the moment I felt the breeze sweep through my freshly opened window, to embark towards those red majesties. I heard the call of the wind, as it rushed past my shutters, making them flurry about. There is a beauty about the water, about the sand – as coarse and annoying as it is. There is simply something profound, something that cannot be said, but only felt.

I sat down on an oak chair near my window, listening to the call of the gulls. I had lived in Oran my entire life; witnessing its comings and goings, although as sad as some as the departures were, the incessant arrivals brought a certain charisma that lightened the atmosphere of my quiet, walled town. As a younger man, I had regularly found myself sitting in the red beaches, thinking. I observed happy young couples, and tried to express my frustration through the heat of the sun, in ink and words. The sense of nostalgia at those beaches was overbearing, yet always reinforcing to my soul.

I had found something that stimulated me, when I lay on my towel, underneath the presiding rays of light that cooked the entire desert-town. For some men, curiosity is spontaneous. For me, when I see the cool waves swallowing the sand, it is a catalyst for something in me – a thirst, a curiosity that is unrivaled anywhere else I go. Whenever I have been there, witnessing the rare and monumental depth of the sun rising, reflecting its image on the ever-moving streams of salt water, I have felt myself expand. I have felt my mind simply claw for more – more knowledge, more comfort, and more stimulation. Although they say that a stimulated mind is the opium of man, I say that despite man’s preconceived notions, everything is the opium of man.

“Raymond”, a voice called out from the street to me, and I awoke from my contemplation; I was on the second floor, sitting in clear sight at my window. The accented tender voice was immediately recognized by my ears. A sense of relief subtly nested in my heart like a Robin nesting in the midst of spring – the voice belonged to a woman named Maria. I heard her voice and processed her identity instantaneously, yet simultaneously, as her voice continued again. She asked me if I wanted to go to the movies, as the bustling morning-rush of citizens that colonized the streets of my quiet desert-town took place. I politely declined her offer; several weeks ago we had a passionate one night stand, and I had simply awoken in the morning in a panic. I had been avoiding her ever since, to my dismay.

I could hear a sense of sadness that enveloped the beauty of her voice, cutting the tone and volume in half – almost like her heart silently cried, in the moment her voice broke, as she said, “It is fine, Raymond. I hope I will see you soon.”

I bathed carefully and took my leave from my apartment. After journeying for twenty minutes I found myself at the red beach that lay precariously outside my Oran. The coarse, miniscule rocks that formed the beach dug into my feet. I felt their warmth; the sun was high, emitting fantastic red flames that baked the coincidentally red beach. I took my towel and laid it out evenly, before collapsing on it.

My thoughts raced, bouncing between what I knew and what I wanted to know. But, I found myself occupied by the entrancing warmth of the sun, that devilish pestilence, which cleansed the red Algerian beach that nestled the walls of this red city. I found a sense of relief as I felt the vibrations of the stream-lined tide crashing into the red, scorched beach. I found a sense of relief as I became a part of the beach itself, being cooked by the relentless flames that reached so far from the sun towards my figure. I grabbed the scorched sand and let it, like I was turning an hourglass, slip beyond my reach, and beyond my control. What was left in the palm of my hand, I clung to. I clung to my relief.

It never left me on that red Algerian beach. I closed my hand and made a fist, and laid it on my chest. I felt myself fall out of what I knew and what I wanted to know. For just as in Arabia the sands of time were gold, the sands of time were red in Oran - in my red Algeria.


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#25 charles

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Posted 20 October 2011 - 08:07 PM

finally writing again.

lyrics for a nonexistent band

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#26 Tara Lynn

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Posted 21 October 2011 - 12:14 AM

charles i love your writing
***********************

#27 Kari

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Posted 21 October 2011 - 01:57 AM

the animals
have all fled me

I sit here
expecting the worse
at any minute

perhaps
I should choose

happier music

Posted Image
Never climb the ladder. EVER.

#28 Old Henry

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Posted 25 October 2011 - 03:44 PM

I have been thinking about this particular time of day, and I have to admit that there is a sense of mystery associated with the night. For as long as men have stood in the dark, without illumination, the human imagination has conjured terrible and exciting things. Needless to say, some people enjoy the terrors composed in a dark man’s mind - myself being one of them.

Imagine yourself in a place where there is absolutely no light, and no external factors influencing the way you cultivate your life. In the country now, we can see the stars and their splendor. But it is only a fragment of what the men centuries ago could perceive. I truly am envious of what they witnessed in the clear night’s sky. For those men truly did cultivate their lives, and in the night, they could sit in open fields, wondering how they felt so small - how their lives are compared to the brightness of the novas, the moon, the sun glowing behind the shroud of the clouds.

On a full moon, I wonder what they would have thought. I wonder how their hands may have been, to their side, resigned, or shaking in delight to the stillness that only darkness brings. The night time does have an awfully wonderful effect on us, and I do believe that man, through his ever-growing void of not experiencing nature, is forgetting about the breath-taking power of a simple sky full of stars that bewilder even the wisest of men.

The stars still bewilder me, and I hope they do the same to you.

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#29 charles

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Posted 01 December 2011 - 04:09 PM

[redacted]

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#30 Old Henry

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Posted 02 February 2012 - 12:01 PM

Hit the Mark Twain

Quote

Days in this city are few for me. Regardless, they make a foul stench in the air. I could say they certainly leave their mark to be recognized in the years to come. You see, I’ve been out of the killing business a while now. But, among all of my accomplishments I haven’t found any happiness. Recently, however, a job came to me that I couldn’t refuse. Normally I’m opposed to such a thing, but as of late I cannot but feel that this indulgence isn’t a curse. It’s an opportunity to repent.

I was asked to kill my ex-brother in law.

Leroy, my sister’s old husband, wasn’t my first choice; now I wasn’t involved too much in my sister’s life, but I found a sense of acceptance and respect when I met him. Leroy, though flawed, did his best to please her. I know she nagged a lot, but maybe it was in her nature to be so demanding?

Now, what he didn’t do right was that he cheated on my sister. She came home to some load of women in bed with him; come to think of it I should’ve asked him how he did it, but I was on a job in Peru. The only reason I bring this up is that my sister, Martha, killed herself shortly thereafter. I suppose he feels guilty all these years latr…but something in my character urges me to achieve revenge on her behalf.

“Say goodnight, Leroy”, I told myself. I loaded up my Remington 700 and rode out on my Harley Fat Boy LQ.

It was around 10:45 when I climbed up the roof across from Leroy’s apartment. I was so annoyed; I can still remember the buzzing of the television below me and how it just irritated me. As much as I wanted to barge down and shoot the television and threaten the residents it was much more professional to keep my cool.

Leroy’s apartment was on the fourth floor, straight across the barely active road. I exhaled a cool breathe. It was October 4th, but as you have it the fall in Santa Monica wasn’t that cold. It was pretty damn mild. As expected Leroy was sitting in his living room in his boxers. He was watching television. Just like every other person on the street: he was mindless.

I adjusted my sight to get ready to shoot the poor bastard, but as timing had it he got up to go to the kitchen just as I lined up on him. I thought about leading the bullet, but I relaxed and figured he’d come back to the living room. If he didn’t, though, I’d have to go in and do the dirty work myself. Around five minutes latr he came back like I thought he would. I laid my bipod down softly on the roof and went prone. I breathed in and out.

You know the little voice you get before you do something bad? Yeah, well this wasn’t one of those moments. That voice wasn’t there to tell me not to kill him. Either that’s a good or bad thing, but I’m not here to preach morality. I’m going to tell my story.

I laid my finger outside the trigger cage, casually breathing. I can still remember the look on his oblong. He had rings around his eyes, obviously from stress. “Might as well finish it”, I thought to myself.

I laid my finger cautiously on the trigger. As my muscles worked to squeeze the trigger, however, a voice ringed out behind me.

“Why does it melt?” the voice asked me in a high pitch. I turned expecting someone sane. Again, this wasn’t the case. Who in their right mind asks such a random question? Well, obviously not someone healthy. I gazed upon the sight of the “Sidewalk Warrior”, a homeless man who I’ve encountered before. Once he was a successful stock broker by the name of Stephen Orwell, but these days all he does is incessantly mumble about how Jell-O melts, or how he needs to change the oil on his yardstick. Nonsense, that’s all it is to me.

Then, as soon as I spotted the feller, he whacked my head with a pole he carries around.

I awoke some time latr in an alleyway several blocks away. All I’m aware of to this day was that my gun wasn’t with me and that my wallet was gone. The nut robbed me and prevented me from killing Leroy. “What a jackass”, I thought to myself. I mean, sure I have millions distributed in various banks around the world. But this was different. I actually found myself in purpose by aiming to kill my ex-brother in law.

The damn knot on my head prevented me from remembering more.

I headed out of the alleyway and walked to collect my thoughts. Now, as you would have it I came across an interesting sight. I saw Leroy stalking some blond haired lady on roller skates. “Well, I imagine homeless people deserve to get laid too”, I whispered to myself. Forgetting that strange scenario I continued to walk through the park where people where doing what they usually did. There were kids running around, Stephen Orwell hiding in the bushes, and by the largest coincidence, Leroy sitting alone on a bench.

By this point I figured I could still run up to him and snap his neck. Now, I can easily dispatch several men with my bare hands. I’ve done it time and time again. But, as there were kids playing football near me I thought otherwise. I was going to go talk to him.

“Leroy”, I said aloud. His oblong was vacant to a degree, like he was deep in though. A moment latr he snapped and replied, “By lord, I haven’t seen you in a while Jed.” We both stared at each other for a paused second. It really wasn’t awkward to see him after a long while; it was that there was so much to talk about.

The one thing I remember that I still cannot explain was that a small grin crept across my worn oblong. “Well, Leroy, I’m not here to bicker. I just want to have a few words with you”, I calmly said. He quietly agreed, half-smiled, and got up. We started to walk down near the basketball hoops when Stephen, along with his trademark pole, approached us.
“Here’s your wallet, Mr. Twain. I was madly drunk last night…I didn’t mean to hit you hard. I hope there aren’t any hard feelings”, he solemnly stated. I just held my hat in my hands and accepted it. Leroy, Stephen, and I just stood there. It seemed somewhat surreal.

In the end the stupid things aren’t so stupid. A man you may almost kill could become your best friend. A crazy homeless man may want to repent as much as you. You may even get over an old grudge. You may get an end to a story, a life, and even forget your mission in peace.

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#31 charles

charles

    oh i hate that guy

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Posted 16 February 2012 - 11:56 PM

sometmes t's good to wrte thngs that confuse and/or deceve.

_beleve t's mportant to make thngs ntrcate.

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#32 WeAreDormin777

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Posted 17 February 2012 - 12:45 AM

Wrote many stories growing up in school. It passed the time.
Sing Softly, Sing me to The Lake...
Sing Softly, Bring me to The Lake...

#33 charles

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 01:50 AM

I hate deviantART so much.

Most popular poem in the last 24 hours:
Spoiler

Most popular poem in the last 8 hours:
Spoiler

"Be a slothful and gluttonous."

These poems make me want to kill myself. So maybe they are masterpieces...

//edit: woo 1600 lost on cri 5ver

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#34 robholding

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Posted 02 March 2012 - 01:00 PM

I lost.

#35 charles

charles

    oh i hate that guy

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Posted 07 March 2012 - 10:34 AM

FOR THE KNIFE/FOR THE KNIFE

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#36 charles

charles

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Posted 14 March 2012 - 05:18 PM

I sold out. I joined a ton of writing groups on deviantART and have started whoring prostituting my work around.

qq

/ff

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#37 charles

charles

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Posted 21 March 2012 - 12:40 AM

Ignore the shiver down your spine.

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#38 charles

charles

    oh i hate that guy

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Posted 25 May 2012 - 11:03 PM

astronomer's anatomy

Quote

i.

seen, undoubtedly
so gracefully stepped;
exhalation of debt
owed to none

a miniature trek
of the tongue
laden with melodies
sung to the back
of the sun

there's a wonder in hearts,
a pull to the stars
from the oceans,
a flight
from the moorings


ii.

there's a wander to hearts
as sure as the stars
fill the oceans
with light
till the morning


iii.

all held breaths
do expire
and all heroes
turn liar
inevitably

can you tell
is the fire
worth the burn,
the dive
worth the struggle
to breathe


iv.

if you can
tell me

if you're able
trick the words
into stable forms

shapes ripped from wavers
torn straight out of air

and devil-may-care
I will answer


v.

I can dance around
any conversation
with ease

my teeth
skim surfaces sweet
then retreat


vi.

there's a blunder in hearts
short circuits the stars
fill with motions
in spite
of our mourning


vii.

can you call it adoring,
being subject to the spin of the system?


viii.

I took a stroll
through the orbits

let the gravity enormous
have its way with me

and when the sun
strayed from me

I found myself
coldly amorphous


ix.

what on earth
did I do
to deserve this

x.

the impact
on the surface
was negligible

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#39 charles

charles

    oh i hate that guy

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Posted 29 June 2012 - 09:08 AM

If anyone here is into sci-fi, I just wrapped up the fifth short story in my ongoing series called Orders.

It's called Aquarion and deals with an underwater kingdom and mutation experiments!

All ten chapters are on deviantART, starting here: http://fav.me/d50d4py

archon of nothing
and lord of dispersing
but i cannot keep
my cursive phalanges
from fucking cursing


#40 WeAreDormin777

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Posted 25 September 2012 - 08:57 AM

During the days of High School and occasionally during College I wrote this story known as "The Life and Times of Micabar The Great." It was about a man beast who for tradition amongst his people would put his hands on his chest. Always. He does not speak except for the occasional shriek as he explores New York City (after being brought their from his island he's lived in) he ignores eveyone and thing around him. Alot of people read it and seemed to enjoy it. It was written like a newspaper comic strip.

Another two I've had in my mind but never put down on paper was New Noah (story about robots) and this other weird story about a floating castle in the mind of a patient. I would go further into detail if anyone is interested in it.
Sing Softly, Sing me to The Lake...
Sing Softly, Bring me to The Lake...




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