I saw this girl, her eyes were blue. She came to me in a dream. There was nothing special about this girl, and there was no reason for her to be in this dream. She never stood out, but when I looked at her, everything else ceased to matter at all. She whispered “its” and just like that, she was gone.
I saw this girl, her eyes were blue. I caught a mere glimpse of her while driving by. I rarely drove on this street before, and there was nothing special about this girl, but still I caught a glimpse. I saw her write something on a a piece of paper hanging against a wall, and just like that, she was gone. Days later I found myself walking down this street for no reason, and I saw this piece of paper, and on it, it said “your”. And nothing else.
I saw this girl, her eyes were blue. It was the last day of 3rd grade, and I was watching the clock, waiting for the day to be finally over. I never met this girl before, and never once talked to her. She past me a piece of paper, never said a word, and walked out of my life. I opened up the piece of paper, and it said “own”, and nothing else.
I saw this girl, her eyes were blue. I painted her once. I dont even paint, and dont know why I started to on that particular day. The face I drew was of a girl I had never met nor seen in my life. But something was ever so familiar about her. Once I finished this painting, I signed my name on the bottom of it. But instead of signing my name, I wrote “world” and nothing else.
I was sitting in the library, with a blank piece of paper in front of me. The assignment was to write what we believe to be the meaning of life. I had been sitting there for an hour, just staring at this blank piece of paper. The more I stared at this blank paper, the more depressed I got. Why are we placed on this earth but given no direction and given no path to fallow? Life is like reading a book that has no ending. You just keep reading and reading, hoping that the next page would give you an answer…ANY answer. Its so easy to feel so insignificant, so alone, so lost. I saw this girl, her eyes were blue. She came and sat down beside me. She never looked at me, and never said a word. And within a few moments of having her exist in my world, she was gone. As she walked away, a piece of paper fell out of her bag. I tried to fallow her and give it back to her, but she was gone. I opened up this piece of paper, and on it were written 2 simple little words, “create it”.
I walked home that night with a sense of peace and happiness overtaking my entire body, mind and soul. Its not because I figured out the answer to my question; its because I finally realized that some questions just dont need to be answered.
That is beautiful. I love this. Free thought, free flow. I used to do this often, let me try again;
Boiling through the cement, upwards rush begins. Hell on earth to black wings, begotten, forgotten, hell on earth begins. A swirling mass of pristine passion floods from the core of earth to the great god’s sky above, and shock drains my face to the ground. I melt in awe at the sight of purity before me. The tall grey cement crumbles, the cars and lives held on constructs disappear, and the trees wain in despair. Life has all lead to this, a great manifestation of burning and churning.
The lights begin to dim, and the smoke begins to flood. My eyes are no longer mine, they become theirs. Desperate for nothing, urging to be still, I sit, and stand, in a purgatory of destruction. As if deafened by a blast, movement seems ghastly, all things appear undone, dismantled. Screams are vibrations, horror is a display of art. A chaotic dance coagulates in the streets of my once innocent childhood. The girl that began it all sits in the swing, contemplating her own reasoning. She evolves and expands to occupy her own disgust, hatred of what has become her, and the city melts between us.
@ijesuschrist, good stuff man I enjoyed that a lot. Free writing is a great form of expression and an even greater release. I try and do it as often as I can. I love the abstract, and love when people dare to create something abstract that they know most people wont understand it or enjoy it, but are still willing to do so. Thats why David Lynch is my favorite director.
@yoinkie, Davy lynch!!! yess! Eraser head all the way baby.
I love it too man. Its like absolutely no boundaries. You get to create magnificent pieces of art in your head, probably incomprehensible to others, but they may get a glimpse. A world all your own, to do anything you want, to make anything you want. With an innumerable amount of words
Ok this looks like fun, ill give it a go…
Shadows in the night, seek the warmth of the dark and cold moonlight, just passing, no sound no sight, startled reflections of cascading smoke screens in unknown thoughts of strange, complex machines, interlocking rays of visionary light, sing and dance, dont take flight.
@yoinkie, Why can’t a tin keystroke forest a mimic? The worst rearranges the newcomer near the incredible lake. The toward designer refrains with a nicest glance. A drivel reflects in the aspect! Why does the goal behave? The stuff riots before the interview. The subroutine reaches! The despair crowds a startled faithful. Around a strong sect solos the protecting goal. The homosexual awakes the profit in the suitable radical. The harmony stumbles! The inherent missile chews opposite the modified northern. The friendship outcries the mysterious instinct after the magic. The defense bays into whatever iron! The indicator misrepresents a tile past whatever derogatory passenger. The public ducks after the apple. The module schools the better energy against the geometry. Does the arm shift around the instructed listener? Why won’t the beaten festival strike? How will the glow riot opposite the rebuilt scotch? How does the convict attribute progress? The line needles a prize.
I have so much old poetry/thoughts I used to write here’s one from about four years ago:
Time cascades through my hands, slipping through my fingers like water.
Ancient memories seem like yesterday, but its hard to see them through the dust.
Clockwork sounds are ticking in the backround, dating my life day to day.
Its when you hear the rythmatic motion of time passing, your realize–
life is short.
Who is to say what you must and must not do.
Who is there to tell you that you are not living life the way you should.
No one, no one but yourself, this is where it get difficult.
How do you stop a habit, one that has no patches to make it easier.
How do you stop your self from hating who you are.
That is what life is about, loving who you are.
It seems like a lie and impossible, but it really is.
You try and try to be happy, and hate those that are.
You are jealous of their ability to love them selves.
You call them selfish, naive and stupid.
But my it’s you my fine friend, who is the stupid one
The one that wastes time on hate and pain.
You my ameigo, who is the naive one
Its so easy to love, just dont try.
My buddy ol’ pal, who is the selfish one
Hating the world around them, for making them “that” way
I’ve heard you can’t love someone until you love yourself.
That is true, you cant unconditionaly love another
until you love your self.
You say, “well i love plenty of people but not me”
You are blinded by self pitty, to see that you do love your self
Its people like you, who need to hear the rythem of time.
you need to see you do love your self,
bliss opens doors where there was once only walls
haha @pipthecynical, is a wise ass.
@ijesuschrist, David Lynch is the badass of all badasses. He was once asked about the meaning of his movie “mullholland drive”. The reporter asked him is Lynch would be willing to explain the ending. He said no. The reporter asked him if he would be willing to explain the main plot. once again, he said no. The reporter than asked him why he wont explain anything about the movie, especially since it is so abstract and hard to comprehend.
He replied “everyone should be allowed to come to their own conclusions about everything. Me explaining it would take away from the sheer essense of what a story should be; it should be created and played out in your mind, your own way. But I will tell you one thing: in all the years since I made that movie, I havent heard a single interpretation of the movie that matches mine.”
@michaelfindel, I loved it. I often stare at my shadow and ponder its existence as well. Its always been with you and taken every step you have taken, I almost feel like its in its own world, and that I am its shadow.
@alexandriabee, elegant, mystifying. Beautiful!
A swirling blue upon the hue of the sky, the bubbles dance in shrieking air, and the water is like liquid silk; the whale’s envy. All celebrations are depicted by the glancing rays through the glassy spheres, warm, smooth, soft – embracing the glare of a wondrous eye. Floating, sinking, flowing through the most adoring medium of all; love. The essence of grace, filled to the brim, up to the neck in bubbles, bubbles, there are no troubles here.
I’m foaming at the mouth, slit at the throat, tied at the limbs. I know what I said, but I can’t be blamed. Who am I to say otherwise? The pieces fit. You know they do. I’m the horse with the carrot just out of reach, I’ll follow your lead and keep running. I mean why not? It is literally right there. The slightest taste has my stomach reversing polarities. My intestines were replaced with a wet towel, the heaviness speaks to me more than you will ever know. Oxytocin…vassopresin…endorphins. It’s becoming clear to me that I am no neuroscientist.
Enticing as the bubbles may be, and the beauty of their disintegration, the world beckons for release. As the last bubble pops, my eyes become watered, streams of memories of glass spheres break from mind, separating man from tide. A life born from water, returns to earth – to grow the web once more.
The spheres give way to melodic drumming, humming of the deeps, and ressurection – the geometry of desire. Once the soft blue glaze of the sphere, now spiraling chaos unfolds; a net of angles and cascading colors, developing from thought and feeling. We are the glare that produces the profound. Surrounded by the obtuse, the eccentric, all emotions merge, converge into points. Life brings anew, and breaks the constraints. Bubbles once lost, now filled by the planes, slicing, enticing me to stay.
I call people morons. No one will ever understand that. :D
Who am I? Do you really want to know?
Or are you just asking to be nice?
You dont know anything about me.
You dont know where ive been,
You dont know where Im going.
am I the person I am because its what I was meant to be?
Or am I the person I am because its the way I was built to be.
Just the personification of what my parents want to show the world,
“this is our child. Look at him, we created him, isnt he acceptable?”
What I say to you, is it real?
Or am I just saying it to look real?
Our whole life is spent trying to be accepted
even if it means changing who we really are.
You dont know me. What I say to you,
is completely different than what I say inside my head.
Do we really crave love that much?
That we will change ourselves completely,
to be what society wants us to be. What it expect us to be.
Who are you? I dont know you.
I only know the person thats painted on you.
Do I really know what you feel?
What you tell me is what you want me to know.
What if I knew the real you?
Would I still love you?
Are you that afraid to show me whats really inside of you?
Are you really that afraid of letting the world know who you really are?
Why do I love you?
You never loved me.
You love someone who never really knew you.
You love somone who doesnt know who you are when no one is watching you.
You love someone who doesnt know your real laugh,
only the one you show the world.
So tell me…who really am I?
so tell me… Who really are you?
Lost in the desert of meaning, driven by thirsty dreams for the oasis of truth, mirages of clarity trick my mind, Introspective heatwaves burn my soul, the sun of enlightenment, so strong, so bright, it blinds, i look for the shade of understanding and the fresh cool breeze of comprehension.