Okay, okay, were to start...
What do I truly want to know that someone might be able to teach me? What do i want to know that i can learn by simply opening a book and reading about? To answer these, i would have to say very little. There is no book (to contradict myself, see Akashic Records) that holds the secrets of this world, no class that teaches me why things are. Those things are my interests. The things you can spend lifetimes studying, and not learn more than a fraction about. So all in all, i am doomed to be curious and thoughtful my entire life. i am doomed to be intellectually “unfulfilled.” I think i might be able to live with that though. probably...
The following are just bits of thoughts. Poems, paragraphs, whatever, just bits of my mind on paper. hope you find it interesting.
Sorry there isn’t as much as i thought there would be. I’m not comfortable sharing most of them with the wide world. :P
Remember, things may not be what they seem.
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First off, Remember that story i posted... a couple of posts ago? well, here’s the prologue.
You enter my life at exactly the wrong moment. I am drifting in and out of consciousness, taxing on a cocktail of pain, anesthetics, and blood loss. I open my eyes to the largish hole in my chest, and i glare at the men in blue scrubs that are pulling out the folded steel shrapnel of the bullet that entirely failed to do its job. My eyes focus just beyond them, to a paneled viewing room, and rest on you. A face that feels so familiar, and yet so foreign. as i drift back out of conscious, i let out a single, hollow laugh with no humor in it at all.
I should probably remember you, but....
I don't.
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Cheery, eh?
The next piece is just... random.
Ever do we walk this earth, our influence spreading out with each step. Rippling. A stone against the surface of a lake. Each minute wave colliding with others. Entangling lives, crossing paths, Making lives... And breaking them. Each person only a single pebble at the bottom of the lake, and each life only a small ripple, but it just wouldn’t be the same without them.
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Another poem, but if poetry can’t be a form of thought, then I’m the muffin man.
I’ve got time
to watch it all crumble away
to hear everybody say
that it all ends today.
I can wait
‘till all of the past is gone
‘till we all move right along
just singing the same old song.
It’s over
We remember what we have done
the beginning has finally begun
I wonder if we have won.
This time
We will give it all that we’ve got
Fighting our fights on the spot
Living our lives today
Scared of throwing it all away.
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… Random thing about writing.
Everything i write starts out as a means to an end.
One page to clear my mind
One verse to help forget.
Everything I write turns into a softly nagging thought.
Could I explain it all so bluntly?
Could I explain it all so bluntly?
You know, that is not the end....
Everything I write turns into an obsession.
No, it still isn’t enough!
I have so much more to say....
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Anonymous.
Anonymous.
There is more, for another day...
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