Sorry these all basically have the same theme
Poetry Challenge - Day 325 Trying Optimism
If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?
Laurence J. Peter
MURDA IN MY DREAMS
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring Aithne, who was taking great pleasure in cursing the challenge setters. “Guys, where are we?” All around us, I could only see a plain grassy field that ended nowhere.
We are two beings existing parallel to each other
I look forward and see our paths go on perpetually
I look at you and see how close we are to touching
If we reach for each other, our fingertips would touch
That I’m sure of
What I’m unsure of is if you’d reach for me too
If I reach for you
Your physical dynamicity parallels my imagination
I see your energy, swirling through you
Always wanting to be navigated out through movement
And I have these thoughts
Wanting to be poured from my deepest subconscious thoughts
Out to this note
And yet, we are parallel
Two beings existing side by side along a straight line
The true synergy that is latent and can’t be accounted by this path we have before us
I wonder, if I reach for you
Would that synergy bring us together,
Like the strands of DNA,
would we spiral with each other,
the momentum of colliding together
pushing us away from each other
but never far enough
because the same momentum would pull us back together
Forced apart to be pulled together
If I reach for you,
would the touch of our fingertips,
connect our paths
Or the other way around?
Maybe if I reach for you,
you’d be repelled by the action
And the once parallel line would turn into an asymptomatic one
I risk getting close to you
But I will not get close enough
Because even just the act of reaching you is enough
To break the staticity of our paths
That our parallelism is but a fragile connection
Held together by the distance that we have
So if i even try, even a slight straying off my path, even a millimeter close to you
Would push me away
And the once parallel path would be nothing but history
I wonder and wonder
but i will never get an answer
Because in the end,
my dynamicity is just in my mind
and it will all depend on you
if you can find in the energy swirling in your body
the strength to reach out to me
Because I know that if you’d do that
There will only be one resulting path
I’ll let myself be attracted to your energy
And what once parallel lines would collide
the momentum pushing us away from each other
but never far enough
because the same momentum would pull us back together
if only you’d reach for me.
I’m sorry for not understanding your reason
I was clouded with anger
Because I trusted you
I let you guide me through the dark
I even blindfolded myself
and assumed that you did the same to yourself
I hoped that we were on the same page
You asked me if you could remove your blindfold
So you did
Turns out you have a flashlight with you
I felt betrayed
Because why did we have to walk blindly
Why did I have to walk blindly
I thought we’d guide each other
Turns out I guided myself towards a betrayal
You shouldn’t have just let me blindly believe
that we only have each other
You shouldn’t have told me the truth
Because now I feel pity
I felt like I wasn’t worth it to be with
That while I was guiding us together
Turns out I was the only one who needed guidance
So I’m sorry for not understanding why you did it
And I’m sorry that I don’t want to care
I hoped that finding true love is easy
but it isn’t
It was supposed to be worth it in the end
But it felt like looking for something
you weren’t sure what exactly
There are a lot of tales and stories
of people’s great chronicle of love
But they dont really give you any clear instructions
on how to reach your destination
Imagine wandering in the middle of the dessert
trying to find your oasis
with no idea where to look
You’re searching for oasis
but what does it look like, exactly?
Finding true love is not easy
that sometimes it’s impossible
I just wanted to trust you
I told you everything you wanted to know
Showed you all my flaws
You’ve seen my curves and edges
I thought that our souls can twine intimately
I decided to trust you
Then you immediately broke it
Seeing you felt like getting lost in a place I lived in my whole life.
I was walking down the street when I saw a shade of blue.
I turned to look at it and saw you.
Your love for your girl was visible on your face.
I felt odd, lonely and out of place.
Suddenly, I don’t know which way to go.
I felt like I was inside a masterpiece but I was the flaw.
Everything blended together perfectly.
Everything was soft and happy except me.
I walked forward with no certain destination.
I saw you glance at my way on my peripheral vision.
Then, I walked past you and her.
All I wanted to do was to get farther.
You were my home and my solace before you left me.
Now I’m lost and clueless, reduced to a nobody.
Without you, I’m just a piece of trash in the sea.
Sunday morning, I am falling
Was it from a cliff or a tall building?
Under this blanket, I am dreaming
What is this exhilarating feeling?
I feel the wind against my skin
And the gravity pulling me in
I see nothing but the sky
And moving patches of clouds up high
Look down, I need to look down
To see if jumping is worth the fall
Defy gravity, I need to jump back to reality
Whether what’s down there is worth the fall
I don’t want to know
I’m trapped in the limbo of falling
It seems endless and can’t be broken
But I wonder
Would I fall on the ocean with a wave of certainty
or would I fall on the concrete of cold hard reality
Let me see what’s down there
I want to see what awaits me
I’m helplessly falling for you
If you’re down there, will you catch me?
I was turning around when the fall broke
I was gasping for breath when I woke with a jolt
I remember the sensation of falling
And wanting the fall to end
Then I felt my consciousness waking
I never knew what could’ve happened
Fear and Loathing in Gonzovision Pt. I
“Obviously one of the things I have to appreciate about America, and if I didn’t I’d be either stupid or insane, is that for good or ill, I can function here and I don’t think there are many societies or political systems where I could function the way I am now. And perhaps a lot of people would think it much better if I didn’t and that’s the best reason for destroying the system - getting rid of people like me”
- Hunter S. Thompson
#GHETTOHEAT #AUTHOR #BROTHERSBEHINDBARS #LOVEDONTLOVENOBODY #CLEVELANDOHIO #NOVELIST #WRITER #ESSAYIST #FICTION #CRIME #STREETLIT #URBANFICTION #GHETTOHEATHOTNESS #URBANLIT #READERS #BOOKCLUB #PEACEANDGHETTOHEAT #GHETTOHEATSTUBBS #HIPHOPLIT #IAMGHETTOHEAT #BOOKBITCHES #URBANFICTIONAUTHOR #STREETFICTION #PUBLICLIBRARY #INSTASTUBBS #AMAZON #GOODREADS #THEHOTNESSINTHESTREETS #GHETTOHEATMOVEMENT
What is tumblr but a modern version of a group of artists, authors, scholars and jesters throwing around dares to one another in a wooden log cabin on a cold winter’s night?
Every once in a while the jester makes a joke to keep up the morale and the atmosphere while the scholar scolds him for his actions
Scholar gives the writer advice on a subject, correcting their grammar and authenticity
The artist and the writer toss around ideas and admire each others’ works, occasionally critiquing some minor detail
The artist captures the moments onto the canvas whilst the jester gives them ideas for horrendous paintings
The writer takes notes from the jester as the scholar screeches in terror
And in the end
It is the scholar who cries of joy as he reads the opus written by the writer, with the cover given to it by the artist as the jester pours more tea for the group and laughs light heartedly
Sometimes, the jester, the writer, the artist and the scholar are mutuals, sometimes they’re complete strangers on a single post adding to it as they go on, sometimes they’re one person
Sometimes its chaotic and terrifying, sometimes it’s fun and light hearted, and sometimes, one of these people has an unexpected past with something nobody else expected to ever even hear about existing
They were all going to die. And many of them did…just as she’d dreamed. And she was no better off for the knowledge. Her classmates—the other seniors of Altirs. The juniors! Oh…the horrors came for them all that Harvest Eve.
Talita was human as far as she could tell. However, she knew something was wrong inside of her. Pain reverberated through every part of her with every movement but the pain felt far away, as if she were both feeling and not feeling it, the same as the agony she’d suffered in salugalu. The distortions of her reality—the lights, the sounds, the death around her—were worse than any part of her bad trip on Purple Dot.
Visions of Spencer overpowering her—both in the past and earlier that night—along with blinding pain that still wracked her from his bite and memories of a fearful Ava fleeing from his next attack, remained neverending in Talita’s thoughts. Numb now to constant terror and plummeting hope, she trudged along after Adam like a zombie.
Adam…Adam was there. Somehow he was there. And he didn’t abandon her once he saw that she was fucked.
She’d stumbled, alone, among the hissing creatures, cowering every time she heard a spray of bullets and screams—so sure that she’d awoken from her dark sleep into actual hell. Talita ran—and she didn’t know where she was fleeing to then, all that mattered was that it was somewhere away—but still a face she thought she’d never see again appeared. And he was still good. And she was there. He was so patient with her. She was sure whatever was going on with her had to make him nervous, no matter what he’d said about her past. Talita made herself nervous too.
Adam paused when she pulled on him with fevered force, turning in her direction. His clear blue gaze, now bloodshot from strain, passed over her as she held on tight. Her clutch was squeezing—in her daze she though he might disappear like the dream he was if she let go. The parasites still shuddered around them—she’d shuddered the same way a few moments earlier, toppled by an unseen force that stole away her consciousness until she was able to open her spasming lids, gazing into the same blue gaze that watched her now.
With her free hand she touched her chest over her heart and lingered there, waiting until he cemented what that movement meant to her. His attention followed as her hand moved to his chest and rested over his heart, lingering as well. He stood still, studying her hand, and met her eye again when she pulled it away.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “No problem. I’m…really glad I found you. That I could see you again. Means a lot to me.”
Me too, she mouthed to him.
“We’re getting out of here together. All right?”
Yes, she replied without sound. Together.
She thought he understood.
“Stop thinking about the end result, because no matter what happens, by telling the truth, you’ll be on the best possible path to happiness.”
That’s one of many little bullet points that I’d left over from last week. I was feeling tired, so I didn’t want to get into every detail of every thing that I was thinking or feeling at the time. But this one has rung a little true for me.
I’m rounding off NaNoWriMo with nothing done for this story.
It’s depressing, to tell the truth. However, I also picked up a new writing exercise. I’ll head over to the writing prompts subreddit, pick something, and write it. I did it yesterday. I did it for a prompt today that actually got taken down before I could respond to it.
So, I sent what I’d written directly to the poster of the prompt and I wrote a short for another one.
Writing itself doesn’t seem to be the issue for me. It’s my connection to what I’m writing that gets in the way of things.
The story that I’m currently working on was never meant to be taken this seriously. It was supposed to be an inconsequential collection of the story scraps I’d accrued while forming more viable ideas. But, a few months ago, I came to the realization that what I’d believed to be my magnum opus, the story I was crafting to put on my pedestal as my greatest work since before I was a teenager—a story that was a literal lifetime in the making—was a contrived mess that I couldn’t reasonably untangle.
It physically hurt, realizing that I’d fallen out of love with World Crown, formerly known as Vermillion Mythos, formerly known as YVK Chronicles. It’s interesting seeing how my ability to name things has grown as well.
Anyway, now it’s a carcass for my other creative efforts to scavenge from. And it’s a sizeable one, so I’m not short for ideas yet.
To pull myself back to the point, I’m now attached to this new project in a way that I wasn’t at its inception. And this wasn’t created for NaNo mind you; this story is, I think one-and-a-half or two years old. Even older if you consider the more rudimentary stages of its existence. And because I want my child to become accepted by the world rather than a wretched outcast, I’m keeping it locked away, where it can do no wrong in my eyes and where no one can judge it.
I don’t know when I’ll get into talking about the stuff I read in depth or anything like that, but I did come across this earlier today in How to Be Miserable by Randy J. Paterson:
· People wo adopt reasonable standards generally achieve as much or more tan perfectionists, because they get a motivational boost out of success, enabling them to devote more energy to their efforts.
· Perfectionism imposes a fear of trying out new things out of a knowledge that you will not excel on your first try. This results in a restricted life.
· Perfectionism can cause you to spend a lot of time erasing minor flaws that no one else can see, inadvertently annoying people with your slowness and preventing you from shifting to other challenges.
There’s knowing something, and then there’s accepting something. The first two are things I knew, but need to remind myself to accept from time to time, so that I act instead of plan. The third one was something I’d never considered, but did resonate with me. A good friend of mine, a fellow writer, got tired of listening to my ideas for a long time because I never implemented or finished anything. And I know it got on his nerves.
So, what am I doing to rectify this?
Well, this is the second week of posting on Tumblr. I’d like to keep this going. I used to constantly burn myself out because I felt like I was screaming in the dark. And I know that’s the point, but accepting that it’s the point is the hard part. Acknowledging that I’m not the people I look up to. That these posts are for me and that in the future, I’ll have something I didn’t give up on to actually look back to and congratulate myself for.
I also want to keep writing these Reddit shorts. I’ll post them here once a week. Maybe there’s some gold to pan in there.
I don’t know how to end this post.
Salman Rushdie: On Storytelling