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The Writing Thread.

Discussion in 'General Discussion' started by joust, Feb 6, 2005.

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  1. joust

    joust Elite Member

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    Hey i never saw a legitimate writting thread, so after reading the thing just posed in "Three In The Morning..." (which i really liked by the way) i thought i would start one.

    So feel free to post whatever you've written. Stories, poems, lyrics anything.

    Heres some stuff i have written. The first is something i wrote really really early in the morning so i was really crazey. the second is something i wrote while sitting with a kid at the camp i work at after he got in trouble, which he did every day. the 3rd is a random poem i wrote for this competition on www.poetry.com (i think thats the URL). I am a really bad speller so please stick with me.

    Lo, but in the darkness i see no evil. For that is my will. To see with out fear what is truly in store for me. That which begrudged me from the day I was born. Though I may scoff at the matter, I find it fit to address it with the most elegant moral dignity. Although this false prophecy of a balanced spirit may through me off the the cobblestone, i will yet find the path. The path, though beaten and well traveled, has not seen yet its last day. For a new walker, a soulless one who's hollow eyes see complacency in everything. For when i walk this path alone, my soulless shell is not alone, their is the light one to guide me to my final destination. Fighting back tears I sit here and write. Sodium falls from my face, accumulating on the crevasses. Why you may ask? As i find it fit, i will answer with lo another unscrupulous answer; Why not? As I cannot control that which was seen fit to give to me, I cannot control this emotion from which this physical reaction stems. Perhaps it is a inner emotional trauma in the eyes of change. I fear change like a fear my own shadow, weather it is good or not has yet to be discovered. Then again can one truly study their own shadow without reflecting onto their own psyche the ideas of idealism. This phantasmal shape, no definition in its moral or dignified shape, simply a portrayal of its forlorn master, pondering its own ability to comprehend the notion. As I ponder the forlorn theory of my shadow, it brings to my attention the question "why the fuck am I writing this" but the answer seems all to clear the answer is like the tide; "im really fuckin tiard that's why"...



    He sits alone in the office... the troubled kid. He mixed all the paint together in arts and crafts, and hit a counselor square in the lower back. Now, this once rowdy, angry boy sits quietly, fidgeting with the Velcro on his shoe waiting for his dad to pick him up. Gazing up at the ceiling, and the kids playing outside with pessimistic eyes; he releases a sigh. A 5 year old boy, looking like a 21 year old inmate on death row awaiting the inevitable. His condition is forgotten with the offered prospect of going outside to get his lunch box. I'm willing to bet that his mom in her power-suit making his lunch would have broken down had she known the caged conditions under which it would be consumed. The office is old news to him, every inch gazed at while waiting; lectured endlessly. Everyone knows that if you hit kids in summer camp, the downward spiral of reproductions, inexorably leads to your failure to graduate high-school, starting with the 1st grade. Every inch of the battered office scoured ... in a vain effort to avoid the ones containing prying eyes.


    Phantoms,
    Shapes in the dark
    Reaching into my soul with cold dank fingers,
    The tips scraping my very being.

    When is it my time I ask,
    The faceless reaper holds his tongue.
    I fight, trying to cling to what's left of my life,
    But the tide is coming faster then expected.

    Sinking into the abyss,
    The endless void of reality,
    I press my face into my hands,
    Grasping for a memory to hold on too.

    -Musashi (my pen name )

    thanks for reading and post on. Im sorry if i just totally missed another thread like this.

    EDIT- yeah i know i spelled writting wrong in the title sorry.
     
  2. oblong

    oblong Elite Member

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    very good idea
    i have a few screamo songs written
    be up soon
     
  3. FOEone

    FOEone Elite Member

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    man, i can just see this thread right now exploding into a forum for every 13 year old who thinks he's a poet or some tortured artist. oh well. have at it.
     
  4. Alchohlics_Anonymous

    Alchohlics_Anonymous Elite Member

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    ^but FOE, didnt u like it? :blink: it was pretty good.
     
  5. oblong

    oblong Elite Member

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    foe? waht if it does?
    people are basically just expressing themselfs throught means wich are not art
     
  6. DNA

    DNA Elite Member

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    some poems i did for school, might as well contribute

    The Three Little Pigs that Lived in Florida

    Once upon 2004, there were
    3 little pigs that moved to Florida,
    One moved into a romantic beach house made of
    Reeds and bamboo.
    The second moved into an economical trailer home
    Made of cheap tin and drywall.
    The third moved into a hurricane proof house
    Made of cinder blocks and quick set cement.

    So on the 13 of August, big bad
    Hurricane Charley came knocking into Florida.
    Charley said, “Evacuate, evacuate,”
    But the 1st little pig said, “No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin!”
    Charley said, “Let me in or I will knock your house in!”
    So Charley knocked his house over and killed the little piggy.

    So on the 5 of September, big bad
    Hurricane Frances came knocking into Florida.
    Frances said, “Evacuate, evacuate,”
    But the 2nd little pig said, “No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin!”
    Frances said, “Let me in or I will knock your house in!”
    So Frances knocked his house over and killed the little piggy.

    So on the 17 of September, big bad
    Hurricane Ivan came knocking into Florida.
    Ivan said, “Evacuate, evacuate,”
    But the 3rd little pig said, “No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin!”
    Ivan said, “Let me in or I will knock your house in!”
    So Ivan tried to knock his house over but just couldn’t

    So he tried to get his power down and lure out the little piggy out
    He said to the little piggy, “I’ve made landfall now I’m nice and safe,”
    So the little piggy came out and fixed up parts of the house mean old Ivan broke
    Just as the little piggy got inside Ivan came roaring back.

    He tried to lure the little piggy out two more times,
    He just couldn’t catch that little pig.
    So, he decided to try to go down the piggy’s chimney and
    Blast him to the wall dead
    When he got there he realized that the chimney had been hurricane proofed.
    So Ivan finally settled down and went to Alabama.

    Moral: Hurricane-proof your house and don’t try to ride out a hurricane.

    ____________________

    PRICELESS

    10 cans of Rustoleum brand spray paint…

    $29.80.

    2 Sharpie Magnum 44’s…

    $7.20.

    1 OTR .084 Flowpen…

    $6.95 plus shipping.

    Not getting caught by the police,

    Priceless.

    _____________

    Seven Ways of Looking at Street Art

    I
    Among twenty tall buildings,
    The only thing pretty
    Was the street art writing on the walls.

    II
    I was of a million thoughts,
    Like walls
    In which were painted with street art.

    III
    The street art whirl like summer flowers.
    It was a small part of a large piece of street art.

    IV
    A boy and a spray can
    Are happy.
    A boy and a sticker
    Are happier.

    V
    I don’t know which to prefer,
    The message of street art,
    Or the simplicity of a sticker,
    The slap of a sticker
    Or just before.

    VI
    People filled the subways
    With heavy breaths loathing the ever impending cubicle.
    The deep black shadow of ink
    Swirled around in circles and lines.
    The mood
    Outlined in drippy red
    Left completely indecipherable.

    VII
    O bustling people of the city,
    Why do you loathe such work?
    Do you not see how people work,
    To get you to notice them
    And the name they put in?

    ________________

    COUCH POTATOES

    Lazy,
    groping in there filth,
    People are potatoes.

    Greedy and self centered,
    never an lending an eye for another,
    People are potatoes.

    Ugly,
    ingrown eyes and flailing arms,
    People are potatoes.

    Unclean,
    covered in dirt and grudge,
    People are potatoes.

    Dry,
    personalities as lame as dirt,
    People are potatoes.
     
  7. SALVO

    SALVO Elite Member

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    regoddamndiculous
     
  8. fuckgraffFLIX

    fuckgraffFLIX Senior Member

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    Iam a human being, Iam an artist, and one of the art’s that i do is graffiti…
    U know what ? graffiti saves me…and at the same time it kills me…

    U know when your girlfriend or your boyfriend is also a graffer, and u both live in the same town…well thats whats going on with me here…and let me tell u a little about it….

    Iam going out, plastic bag in hand, true colorz, flat black, marker’s and a mop
    Iam tagging along, getting stressed and loving it, i like to take my time…
    I know ill never get caught, coz i beleive i wont…i never have and i know i wont…
    Coz doing graffiti for me is a gift of love, a gift of god i give to any one who lays eyes on my simple tag or throw up coz then he or she will be touched by something beyond logical…its going to touch his or her soul…i dont paint for robots or maybe actually i give a soul matrix to them robots…

    But then u know sometimes i go out with the person i love, we tag together, the human i love is a magnificant graffiti artist, my first influence, and iam not talking about some bullshit graff here…art that is perfect and so original that i admire…i feel such a magic…we look out for each other, we brag about the famous spots we just hit, we kiss…oh i love this person so much…and fuck do i love graffiti…lets go fuck baby…paint on our hands…hectic sex and amazing friendship ahead…

    But then suddently my lover leaves me, just like that without giving me news iam going crazy and the only thing i can do to survive is to paint, make stickers, go out late at night and hit everything so my soul mate will see iam still alive…i wanna impress that person all again…hit dangerous spots on my lover’s road to work…with to much time on my hands i create beautiful things to never be forgotten ….will i ?

    But u know what ? even if iam forgotten… iam fucking happy, even when tears come in my eyes becose i cant escape that person's presence who has tag’s all over my little part of town, iam taking over, iam buffing the walls with my paint, iam living my life and escaping sadness, suddently i love myself and life, and iam putting all my new colorful stickers in my coat pocket and then look at me…. iam fucking flying around the whole town at 3 am and iam fascinated by it all over again…passing softly my hand on an old tag of my loved one

    Then i stop, in some alley in some staircases..i feel the city…i breathe it ...its so calm , no cars , nobody…

    I then shoot an arrow of love in thoughts of my angel…prays that it reache’s…

    I walk home and wash my face and my hands…throw my clothes in a corner and iam off to sleep talking pictures in my dreams of all the things that i put up that night until i get to the street of my baby and slip under the covers and squeeze my honey tightly ….low pressure…ZzZZzZZzZz

    Aint i so fucking poetic HAHAHAHAHHAHA

    :rolleyes:
     
  9. meks

    meks Senior Member

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    SCREAMO! YES!.......... SCREAMO!!!!!
     
  10. joust

    joust Elite Member

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    im 17. and if people want to share what they write, who are you to critisize them? sometimes i like having people read my stuff and tell me what they like and dont like.
     
  11. Alchohlics_Anonymous

    Alchohlics_Anonymous Elite Member

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    wha??? :blink: :blink: :blink:
     
  12. FOEone

    FOEone Elite Member

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    im 17. and if people want to share what they write, who are you to critisize them? sometimes i like having people read my stuff and tell me what they like and dont like. [/b][/quote]
    you misunderstand. im just saying that there are a lot of kids out there who think that they can slap some words on paper and call themselves artists. i wasnt referring to anyone in particular. not you or anyone else, but come on. you know there are TONS of people like that out there.
     
  13. joust

    joust Elite Member

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    oh yeah man i know, but i dont critisize them if they are really trying. People who slap words on paper however, are not trying and should be flogged with salmon.
     
  14. oblong

    oblong Elite Member

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    :wub:
     
  15. Havoc411

    Havoc411 Elite Member

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    ugh. POETRY DOSENT HAVW TO BE NAGATIVE!! alot of theese phonies dont get that. and they make poems about killing themselves and about how they hate everything. lighten the fuck up. "things might be fucked up, but im still looking up" <-- words to live by
     
  16. Alchohlics_Anonymous

    Alchohlics_Anonymous Elite Member

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  17. Havoc411

    Havoc411 Elite Member

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    nobody, just felt like saying that. cause all those "deep" wannabe poet fags only talk about dark and morbid shit and i hate it.
     
  18. Alchohlics_Anonymous

    Alchohlics_Anonymous Elite Member

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    hahaha sounds like those goth fags i see at school. fuckin losers.
     
  19. Skore_One

    Skore_One Elite Member

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    grafitti bobeety banana fanna fo feety GRAFFITI!
     
  20. inker

    inker Elite Member

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    first shit i ever wrote i wrote it today in homeroom cause i was bore
    check it Murder Scene

    Ill hit you with my paw right in your fucking jaw once yo fall ill beat you with my feet kid you cant fuck with this and if you try ill your fucking head wit lead this shit is ill you hear me and your heart fills wit feardont test your luck cause once your found im bound to bust cause I pack a glock and i keep it clocked dont even talk to me cause i might throw a fit and you will get hit man ill punch you in the dome punk go cry home paint and weed is all I need kid dont step to this you will get jumped once im done your face ill be plumped and your body dumped kid you aint nothing but a fake turn around and your bitch might get snatched complain about it and you might get smashed kid they call me soon but i dont go out till noon and when i do you'll be doomed punk i got a gun so i suggest you run go ahead test your luck lets see how fucked you are kid i wont fight you ill light you up kid dont hate on me unless you want to test your fate kid you aint no killer your a fiend and once my gat spots you i'll end you ill hit the murder scene with gasoline and matches ready to turn you into ashes

    wath do you think