Ideas are dynamite, and the fuse is yet to be found; a trail of gunpowder is laid carefully across the floor, but the footprints have pulled it out of shape and it is far from straight. It is a convoluted dust scattering…but when the spark hits, it’ll blow sky high nonetheless.
This is a place for me (a person with a name which is, as far as I know, unimportant at the moment) to put my writing.
This really isn't for it to be judged or seen by anyone, it's just a way to get me to write. And also it's a bit of a way to keep me from not saving anything I write.
Enjoy your stay (or don't.)
A Project About Love
Questions/Comments/Observations
March 17, 2012
March 17, 2012
let me write about me
i begged to an empty document
let me write about me and let it be beautiful
this is not about me.
i am having trouble today
in a world without capital i’s
in a place without autocorrect
ia m having trouble today
drowning in typos
and intentional misspellings
it is not a miss
if it is intentional,
miss
i am having trouble today
with the definition of “intentional”
and the definition of “grammar”
and what is love
and what is hurt
and what is pain
and what is beauty
and why do they matter?
i am having trouble today
with a waste of writing
and too many enters
i am getting better today
slowly growing and molding
as a human often does
I am going to leave today.
And I am going to create this.
And love is beauty.
And beauty is love.
And pain is hurt and hurt is pain.
And they are all the same.
They are all human.
And they are all living.
Just like me.
I am okay, today.
This is not poetry.
And it is not about me.
March 15, 2012
Ishani.
A person is a noun, a thing. A person is something you can touch and feel and see.
Ishani is a person.
Ishani is a human being in all senses of the word.
That is what she is.
But ishani is more than human or person or thing.
She is a collection of ideas and thoughts.
Ishani is a name.
But Ishani is more than a name.
Ishani is feeling and seeing and thinking.
Ishani is an animal.
But Ishani is more than an animal.
Ishani is mine
But Ishani is more than mine.
Ishani is this beautiful thing
This beautiful idea noun
This lovely human being
The best ishani there can be.
Ishani exists.
Ishani is.
————
Written for Ishani.
February 17, 2012
Feelings
When I was younger, I was told to write down my feelings. I was told to keep a journal, or diary, and it would help.
I did not do that.
Instead, I told doors and windows, but they didn’t listen. Doors are there to keep out the people who left, and windows give a view of outside. Lord knows no one wants to see that.
When I was younger, I told my feelings to the things that I hated most, and it sort of stuck.
I realized this once and I began writing letters. I wrote to family members and I wrote to the children who bullied me at school and I told them my feelings. I wrote to celebrities and characters and ideas and places and things. I wrote down my feelings at last, but not the way I was told to. I sent letters and occasionally I got letters back.
Once, there was a boy that I’d written a letter to, whom I hated, like all the others. I wrote the letter, and I did not write it about him, but I wrote it about what was going on at home, and what was going on at school, and what was going on everywhere. He sent one back. It was not a bad letter. A lot of the time, I got bad letters. It was a thoughtful letter. He wrote about his feelings, too. He made comments about my feelings, occasionally. By the end of the letter, I’d forgotten why I’d hated him. By the end of the letter, I felt something almost close to love for him, but that is something that happens.
I did not write that boy another letter.
January 25, 2012
“likely, they are”
Likely, they are not as we’d expected.
Likely, they have evolved and changed as things often do.
Likely, they are gone.
Likely, they are currently falling apart, dissolving, as we’d only expected not to expect.
Likely, they are not even in existence.
Likely, they are nothing.
Likely, they aren’t.
January 21, 2012
What if you could take people’s minds and traits? What if you could walk up to someone, ask politely to borrow a bit of their Self-Esteem, and they could just give it to you? You could be everything you’d ever wanted to be, right? “Excuse me, sir, it doesn’t seem like you are using that musical talent and I myself am in a bit of a fix here. Could I possibly take some? Oh, thank you, sir. I needed that, sir. I’ll give it back as soon as I can, sir.” “Stop calling me that and just leave. Christ.” “Sir, you could borrow some of my common courtesy as well if you’d like, sir.” He’d probably want to take that Musical Talent back then, but you would try to run. Maybe he would catch you. Maybe he would tell you. He’d tell you how you do not actually have Common Courtesy. How all you want is to have everything. He can tell. He’s seen people like you. People who are not defined by their traits but by their lack of one: Care. The one they all gave away when they were younger because of their need for more Power.
But the thing is, he’d say, you can’t actually give away all your Care. You may think that you gave it to that cranky old man across the street, and that one woman who kept claiming you can never care too much (she was wrong; she realized this after), but you didn’t. You still have it. You still have everything you’ve ever had and you don’t know this and neither does anyone else. Let‘s say you took someone else’s Musical Talent. Now, you may have taken it, but he still has it. Except now he has to work. And so do you.
What you don’t know is that that man will walk into work tomorrow and realize that maybe he does need that Musical Talent after all but you’re a bastard who stole it from him. He is not going to start singing or playing anything again for a long time but when he does he will think of you.
You have not taken his Musical Talent but you have replaced it. You have replaced it with a thought of yourself and now you are musical talent for him. You are everything that you stole and you are everything that you think you’ve lost. You are Care and Musical Talent and Intelligence and Ambiguity and Integrity and everything else you’re not. You are what you take and you are what you lack and you are what you aren’t and you are what you are.
Slowly, you are becoming everything. You get rid of the bad and take in the good. Maybe you started out bad and now you are Good. Maybe you started out good and only think you were bad. Maybe it is just your mind. Maybe you are going to live a long and happy life but either way you are becoming everything.
You will be everything in this world. It will be in your aura, in your mind, in your mouth, in your shoes, your face, your taste buds, your hair, your arms, your legs, your genitals, your eyelashes, your chest and your knees. It will be everywhere. Everything will be everywhere.
Are you scared yet?
No? Well, do you know the power of everything? You should. After all, you stole Intelligence. Not only that, but Creativity as well. Think about it. Imagine it. You know what is going to happen. You know how this is going to work out. Your vast amount of Imagination and Intelligence and Creativity and Pragmatism will never let your forget, not to mention your enhanced Memory.
Now,
where the hell do you think you’re going with that?
————
Prompt (“where do you think you’re going with that?”) suggested by Hannah
December 28, 2011
“chance”
We met in the schoolyard on my fifth birthday and he was trying to eat the monkey bars. Why anyone would attempt such a feat, I really do not know, but he was trying and I really didn’t understand it, so I walked right up to him and asked him and he said they reminded him of candy. I told him that monkey bars are not, by any means, candy. They are metal and you cannot eat metal or else you may get sick and die. He didn’t seem to understand this idea and he continued to try to eat them until a teacher came over and stopped him.
I continually fear that the monkey bar metal was painted with lead paint and it has gone to his brain because he is still friends with me now. I fear more that it somehow managed to go to my brain because I am still friends with him now. Well, I suppose not, actually. Huh. Anyway, he is Aaron and once I was out walking with him and we ran into someone else. Ultimately, that someone and I became romantically involved and it ended badly and I may or may not have ended up assaulting them with a very heavy object that may or may not have seriously damaged their leg. I admit, it was a very bad decision. That is another reason why I fear the monkey bar paint got to my head. Anyway, we had split and they had not pressed any sort of charges, probably because most of that assault was a sort of accident in dropping the object. However, when waiting in the hospital for them, I met someone else.
Now, this someone else is the important one. I did not end up romantically involved with this someone else but they did end up eventually assaulting me with a heavy object that did happen to be a gun. And they did not, of course, hit me with said gun but instead they shot and that bullet, which I suppose is what truly assaulted me and is not heavy at all, went right through my head and out the other end and I was killed, they say, instantly. Now, that is how I am here.
Now that I am here I am not really sure how this is meant to go because I am not religious yet I am still somewhere. The thing is, I’m being asked to write this all down, and I wasn’t instructed what to write. I was only instructed to write. I don’t know if I am meant to be judged on this essay or anything like that. I was never good at essays, as you can tell. I am just telling you how I am here and hoping maybe that is enough to get me into whatever place is best. Of course, if I deserve whatever place is best, I’m not sure. I mean, I have made as many mistakes as anyone else, and I suppose if this is a sort of God thing my biggest would be, well, not believing. Not really, anyway. I guess I never really cared. Is that a mistake? I don’t know. To be honest, I’m really just wishing I were still alive. It’d be nice, you know, to be alive, but I’m pretty happy just to be writing and thinking right now. I really don’t know how this is meant to go. I really don’t know what I’m meant to be writing.
Well. The paper is ending soon and I was only supplied with one sheet so I guess that is all I have to say. I am sort of hungry and that is odd because I am dead. I was sort of hungry when I died as well. Maybe that is my Hell. I shall be exactly how I was when I died for all eternity and I shall be sort of hungry and I will have wasted my one single sheet of paper which is my one single source of amusement on this. Damn.
————
Prompt (“chance”) suggested by Hannah
November 20, 2011
I'd still like to continue the Love Project
Here’s a link to what it is, if you’ve missed it.
It’d be lovely (get it?) if you were to submit one! If it’s longer than the character limit on an ask, just put it into two. Thank you!
November 14, 2011
phone writings
“Does he know? Does he know?” Whisper the people (the ones around him? In his mind in his room in his house? in his friends?definitely the last one.)
“Does he know about her age her weight her real nose real hair real eyecolor real parents real husband?
Her history her facebook page her photos (the ones she regrets) her twitter her tumblr her music?
Her kids her family her sickness her reality?
Does he know?”
She looks up at him with her (real?) eyes wide and he thinks what he doesn’t know (fills in the gaps) and looks right back
(Into the decidedly real eyes)
November 6, 2011
Perfection
I first noticed it last Tuesday night. It was a strange and surreal experience, beyond what I’d ever seen before. Even with my generally distracted life of work and pets and lovers and such, I noticed it. Something was off. Or rather, not something off, but something was right. Not even something, but everything. There was absolutely nothing wrong at all.
Everything in my life was going fine. I wasn’t having relationship issues, nor work issues, nor pet issues, money, insurance, hygiene, health, anything. Everything was going perfectly. Whenever I asked my friends how things were, they’d answer “great,” or something else to that idea. I decided to check the news. If you’re looking for something bad, you should always check the news.
There was only good news. Only news of advancements. No murders or deaths. I’m sure people had died, but not in any way newsworthy. This was an issue. There could not possibly be nothing wrong. It seemed to me, now, that the only thing wrong was that there was nothing wrong. I was the only one bothered and this was because no one else was. I saw smiles everywhere I went, even on the people who never smiled. Everyone was happy, and this was not right.
I began to feel nervous and guilty. There had to be something wrong for everything not to be wrong. There had to be. But here I was, being upset that everyone I loved and cared for was happy. I should be happy, like everyone else. I should be one of the ones smiling. But I couldn’t be. These people weren’t meant to be happy. It sounds horrible, I know, but they’re not the sorts of people who just get happy all of a sudden. It takes work for them, and for them to be happy, it’s not how it works.
I began to pay even more attention when walking down the streets and noticed there were no homeless people. No one at all. That shouldn’t have even been possible, and that’s when I began questioning whether or not this was reality. It’s only been one week now, but I’m nearly sure that I’m in some sort of coma, or maybe I’m dead. I’m beginning to think this is my Hell, disguised as a Heaven. Normally this idea would be preposterous to me, but I really don’t know anymore. I’m so worried, now, about what’s going to happen to ruin this all, that I can’t properly enjoy it. Everyone seems wrong; everything around me feels off. I can’t take this anymore but I fear I’m going to have to deal with it forever and I feel the need to shut myself away but I know that even then nothing will be wrong. Nothing at all. Everything will be absolutely fucking perfect and I’m going to have to deal with it; I’m going to have to deal with this all of these fucking things fitting perfectly into place while I sit and I wait and wait and wait and wait and wait for something to finally go wrong but it won’t even though I know it will but it will keep not going wrong and I can’t take this, I can’t.
I’m beginning to want murders to be committed and maybe I’ll just do it myself; maybe that’s what I’ll do. And yes, I do realize that I’m beginning to think in such terrible ways and I catch myself now, but what if in the future I don’t? Fuck. I need this to end and I want to die, but if I kill myself I’m afraid that this is someone’s plan. Someone’s way of subtly murdering me, and I can’t let someone do that, and yet here I am hoping for a murder.
And nothing is changing. Nothing at all is changing.
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