P
Paraiyar
Guest
Are you familiar with the Sophia Perennis at all?
my "stuff"
- Thread starter Wayfarer
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human bot
From the other side of the mirror a pair of inexpressive eyes looks back at me.
Hello, I say, I am the human botfly, thanks for your patronage. You gotta do something about that body of yours, it's uncomfortable.
Just kidding.
But sometimes I wonder if this isn't just a body I'm borrowing, and when the real owner comes back eventually, he'd be pissed at me for ******* it up.
And sometimes it does feel like he is again in "control", although that is only a passive one, a semblance of will, pathetic as it is. And it feels like he's unaware of me, vegetating and being happy. Such a sorrowful sight. And one could let himself fall to that, comforting as it looks.
That's when I take the reins again. Because that is a path that only leads to destruction. Doesn't mine lead there too? Well, at least not for sure. And I sneer at him, while controlling him, for that is the only satisfaction I can get.
I look and observe, but he is always still. He does the same, I believe. We look at each other in a neverending spiral. Where does it collapse? Oh but in nothing, in wasted time, in regret or.. in a twisted form of fake superiority?
Yet the common sense.. I don't like it, though I know it be true. So for now, goodbye, my other self, see you hopefully not too soon.
From the other side of the mirror a pair of inexpressive eyes looks back at me.
Hello, I say, I am the human botfly, thanks for your patronage. You gotta do something about that body of yours, it's uncomfortable.
Just kidding.
But sometimes I wonder if this isn't just a body I'm borrowing, and when the real owner comes back eventually, he'd be pissed at me for ******* it up.
And sometimes it does feel like he is again in "control", although that is only a passive one, a semblance of will, pathetic as it is. And it feels like he's unaware of me, vegetating and being happy. Such a sorrowful sight. And one could let himself fall to that, comforting as it looks.
That's when I take the reins again. Because that is a path that only leads to destruction. Doesn't mine lead there too? Well, at least not for sure. And I sneer at him, while controlling him, for that is the only satisfaction I can get.
I look and observe, but he is always still. He does the same, I believe. We look at each other in a neverending spiral. Where does it collapse? Oh but in nothing, in wasted time, in regret or.. in a twisted form of fake superiority?
Yet the common sense.. I don't like it, though I know it be true. So for now, goodbye, my other self, see you hopefully not too soon.
black spot
the deepest night
the darkest winter
lies in the core of each of us
ready to take over
not really like a black hole,
more like spiraling despair
it tugs at those hidden thoughts
it whispers falsehoods
it revels in the host's pain
it drains all colors
flattens the world
into a meaningless blur
it makes everyone else's words
both inaudible whispers
and piercing daggers
bleeding the soul to its end
more than everything
it saps the will to live
and even the smallest grain of sand
suddenly seem vastly better
while time slips away
both unnoticed and ignored and hated
the years pass
yet it's always there
waiting for its chance
without hurrying or worrying
because it knows
it won't ever be gone
slowly, but surely
it poisons all the leftover good
until it starts seeping out
suddenly real
and that's when fears and whispers
start gaining shape and
sneering at you from the dakness
and even the daylight can't melt it
Would it be better to cry?
I don't know, because it's not allowed
this clay mask can only crack here and then
allowing only shame to pass through
and regret
The extended hands can only wither
unbeknownst to their owners
but ever so clear to my eyes
and I can only smile
to try and hide the very same feeling that smile itself only worsens
and sharing this pain
doesn't decrease or partition it in any way
because it can only grow stronger
and rot away everything that it touches
the only thing that can be done
is to endure
endure
and forcefully suppress it
even if only a small fraction
because after all
there is no light without darkness
the deepest night
the darkest winter
lies in the core of each of us
ready to take over
not really like a black hole,
more like spiraling despair
it tugs at those hidden thoughts
it whispers falsehoods
it revels in the host's pain
it drains all colors
flattens the world
into a meaningless blur
it makes everyone else's words
both inaudible whispers
and piercing daggers
bleeding the soul to its end
more than everything
it saps the will to live
and even the smallest grain of sand
suddenly seem vastly better
while time slips away
both unnoticed and ignored and hated
the years pass
yet it's always there
waiting for its chance
without hurrying or worrying
because it knows
it won't ever be gone
slowly, but surely
it poisons all the leftover good
until it starts seeping out
suddenly real
and that's when fears and whispers
start gaining shape and
sneering at you from the dakness
and even the daylight can't melt it
Would it be better to cry?
I don't know, because it's not allowed
this clay mask can only crack here and then
allowing only shame to pass through
and regret
The extended hands can only wither
unbeknownst to their owners
but ever so clear to my eyes
and I can only smile
to try and hide the very same feeling that smile itself only worsens
and sharing this pain
doesn't decrease or partition it in any way
because it can only grow stronger
and rot away everything that it touches
the only thing that can be done
is to endure
endure
and forcefully suppress it
even if only a small fraction
because after all
there is no light without darkness
Attachments
Necromancy
I want to show you my entrails
But you will probably settle with the outer layer of my skin
Am I a rotten corpse in a parade costume?
Is the make-up working?
You don't push me away
But you do keep me at a distance
So that the stench doesn't reach maybe
With every word and action
You make skewers of me
That no one will eat
Still you smile
And I hate you for that
Because you made it
I want to show you my entrails
But you will probably settle with the outer layer of my skin
Am I a rotten corpse in a parade costume?
Is the make-up working?
You don't push me away
But you do keep me at a distance
So that the stench doesn't reach maybe
With every word and action
You make skewers of me
That no one will eat
Still you smile
And I hate you for that
Because you made it
I let this thread stay inactive for too long lol Here's a review about a movie: Solaris(1972)
[spoilers]
Solaris’s main focus, in my opinion, is on what makes humans human. What defines a person? Is it memories? Is it the body? Is it emotions? How would you react if you met an entity indistinguishable from a person in almost every aspect?
These and other interrogatives are examined on the movie, which asks also some philosophical questions. For example: what is our purpose being alive?
This is the first Tarkovsky’s movie I have watched. Many frames of the movie look like paintings. How not to mention the first opening minutes. Vibrant colors characterize nature on earth, while cold colors are reserved for the space station. It needs to be noted that instead of the customary dark, white light enters from the windows, because of Solaris ocean, like the name implies.
Tarkovsky doesn’t show us a optimistic vision of the future. We have a rundown space station, with only three people on it, on the verge of madness. There seems to be no way to make contact with the ocean of Solaris and throughout the whole movie there’s a strong atmosphere of incommunicability. It is a very introspective movie, despite being set in space most of the time.
A moment of dramatic tension is when the “guest” (as they decided to call them) becomes aware of the uniqueness of her existence. Especially as this realization comes together with a decreasing difference with respect to any human being. By the time the movie is close to the end, she’s indistinguishable from one. So the question is.. is she a “real” person? What defines a person? How does she feel about her condition? What about her feelings or thoughts? Are those really hers?
The movie can be a little hard to watch as some scenes are a little too drawn out but on closer examination they set the necessary pauses to ponder about the points the movie is trying to make. It also serves to set a contrast between scenes similar in purpose: for example we have a man driving through the highway for five minutes (almost) while the trip to the space station is much faster.
Notable also the use of some black and white scenes in contrast to color ones, to set apart the past, dreams, memories.. although there are some changes and I will probably need to watch the movie again to be sure.
The conclusion some characters reach is the necessity of looking inward and the impossibility to understand that which is greater than us:
“We have no interest in conquering any cosmos. We want to extend the Earth to the borders of the cosmos. We don’t know what to do with other worlds. We don’t need other worlds. We need a mirror. We struggle for contact, but we’ll never find it. We’re in the foolish human predicament of striving for a goal that he fears, that he has no need for. Man needs man.”
It is in this setting our protagonist experiences deep conflict and has to make a final choice.
[/spoilers]
[spoilers]
Solaris’s main focus, in my opinion, is on what makes humans human. What defines a person? Is it memories? Is it the body? Is it emotions? How would you react if you met an entity indistinguishable from a person in almost every aspect?
These and other interrogatives are examined on the movie, which asks also some philosophical questions. For example: what is our purpose being alive?
This is the first Tarkovsky’s movie I have watched. Many frames of the movie look like paintings. How not to mention the first opening minutes. Vibrant colors characterize nature on earth, while cold colors are reserved for the space station. It needs to be noted that instead of the customary dark, white light enters from the windows, because of Solaris ocean, like the name implies.
Tarkovsky doesn’t show us a optimistic vision of the future. We have a rundown space station, with only three people on it, on the verge of madness. There seems to be no way to make contact with the ocean of Solaris and throughout the whole movie there’s a strong atmosphere of incommunicability. It is a very introspective movie, despite being set in space most of the time.
A moment of dramatic tension is when the “guest” (as they decided to call them) becomes aware of the uniqueness of her existence. Especially as this realization comes together with a decreasing difference with respect to any human being. By the time the movie is close to the end, she’s indistinguishable from one. So the question is.. is she a “real” person? What defines a person? How does she feel about her condition? What about her feelings or thoughts? Are those really hers?
The movie can be a little hard to watch as some scenes are a little too drawn out but on closer examination they set the necessary pauses to ponder about the points the movie is trying to make. It also serves to set a contrast between scenes similar in purpose: for example we have a man driving through the highway for five minutes (almost) while the trip to the space station is much faster.
Notable also the use of some black and white scenes in contrast to color ones, to set apart the past, dreams, memories.. although there are some changes and I will probably need to watch the movie again to be sure.
The conclusion some characters reach is the necessity of looking inward and the impossibility to understand that which is greater than us:
“We have no interest in conquering any cosmos. We want to extend the Earth to the borders of the cosmos. We don’t know what to do with other worlds. We don’t need other worlds. We need a mirror. We struggle for contact, but we’ll never find it. We’re in the foolish human predicament of striving for a goal that he fears, that he has no need for. Man needs man.”
It is in this setting our protagonist experiences deep conflict and has to make a final choice.
[/spoilers]
Hazy summer day. The crickets are chirping. It is a nice day. Sitting on porch with anxiety draped over me, I glance with empty eyes. What was it I was looking at? Maybe a cat, stretching near the food bowl, maybe a little bird, momentarily resting on an unsteady branch. Not a breath of wind to ease the feeling of suffocation. The crickets get louder. My throat is parched.
Heat starts deforming the world, far away, near the gate. If I didn't know any better I would think it is - with much a similar function than it has - a gateway to another dimension, instead of the battered, rusted, hinged mess it is.
Wearily, I get up and I wander towards the tool shed. My shadow is confined to an uneasy circle by the midday sun and I feel the heat eating at my sanity, little droplets of sweat trickling down my cheeks. Old Tobe is lying under a palm tree, not a bark in him. Two slits and a tentative wagging acknowledge my presence. I crack a smile, wryly.. it won't be long. I look around: **** liars, said they were coming back. Knew it, you can't trust people. They were probably swindlers anyway. Would have asked money, or worse. Although.. never mind.
I reach the shed or, to be more precise, what's left of it. All those times I had put off fixing the planks.. but it probably wouldn't have mattered. I start searching among the rubble, searching for the tools, trying to separate them from the useless. Why am I doing this? It's the natural question. After all, it's all a matter of time. They did tell me when I announced I was moving here, "you're crazy,
[UNFINISHED]
Heat starts deforming the world, far away, near the gate. If I didn't know any better I would think it is - with much a similar function than it has - a gateway to another dimension, instead of the battered, rusted, hinged mess it is.
Wearily, I get up and I wander towards the tool shed. My shadow is confined to an uneasy circle by the midday sun and I feel the heat eating at my sanity, little droplets of sweat trickling down my cheeks. Old Tobe is lying under a palm tree, not a bark in him. Two slits and a tentative wagging acknowledge my presence. I crack a smile, wryly.. it won't be long. I look around: **** liars, said they were coming back. Knew it, you can't trust people. They were probably swindlers anyway. Would have asked money, or worse. Although.. never mind.
I reach the shed or, to be more precise, what's left of it. All those times I had put off fixing the planks.. but it probably wouldn't have mattered. I start searching among the rubble, searching for the tools, trying to separate them from the useless. Why am I doing this? It's the natural question. After all, it's all a matter of time. They did tell me when I announced I was moving here, "you're crazy,
[UNFINISHED]
Is it so wrong to just say "hi"? I don't know what you think - of course, I can guess - but I'm sure you ignore completely whatever may be on my mind. After all, you must think of it as irrelevant, as outside of yourself. Am I just a happenstance, an incidental, maybe even entertainment (if I weren't so boring) for you? You make it difficult for me to act at all because I always have the lingering fear of hurting you somehow, of suddenly having the driving reason that brought me to say something to you, reversed onto me, distorted. Should then I be silent maybe? But that would nullify my intentions, and make no difference than my inaction, to you, while it will make me anguished. Not resentful, because I understand, because you can't make me, anyway. That's why I'm thinking.. but no new truth will arise.. and next time it will probably be just another "hello" or "hi", while you keep ignoring everything that is behind that single word. It's this way I continue my repentance and probably perpetuate your suffering. I'm a piece of work.
Droopy said:Wayfarer said:ThanksDroopy said:
This is just a thread where I post what I write.
Have you been taught it? Where did you learn?
What? Thanks for the compliments but I have a very long way to go. I've simply been writing for some time, that's all. Over time one improves, hopefully.
Wayfarer said:Droopy said:Wayfarer said:ThanksDroopy said:
This is just a thread where I post what I write.
Have you been taught it? Where did you learn?
What? Thanks for the compliments but I have a very long way to go. I've simply been writing for some time, that's all. Over time one improves, hopefully.
I know. You definitely sound very young and amateurish. But I see a lot of potential and heart. So keep at it
One of those nights. Wandering, lost, like a beaten dog. The somehow comforting smell of the city all around, the kind that tells you "know what, life sucks, but everyone still moves forward ". Going to buy take away, because you feel like you'd be too much of a nuisance occupying a table. Bare minimum talk, avoid eye contact. Tear in one eye.. it's not raining, is it? You can't breathe. It's not particularly hot. Practiced steps, like walking in the mud. Let cars pass at intersections, you're not in a hurry. Person behind you, no one else in sight. Quicken the pace. Slow down. They pass you without a glance. It's one of those nights.
beautiful loser
Well-known member
I want to see more stuff like your document organizer...I love DIY.
Sigh
Cloudy sky in my mind
would make me forget the real sunny sky
were it not for damned construction workers
Aroma of home, in my mouth
because the real thing is not yet there
Longing and dread equally
fill my belly
Silence mixes with traffic noise
a cacophonic symphony comes into being
As usual, blood flows through my veins.
Cloudy sky in my mind
would make me forget the real sunny sky
were it not for damned construction workers
Aroma of home, in my mouth
because the real thing is not yet there
Longing and dread equally
fill my belly
Silence mixes with traffic noise
a cacophonic symphony comes into being
As usual, blood flows through my veins.
I really like the Black Spot and Untitled ones!
You have a nice style of writing, kinda faint, clean. Imagine an all-positive word for crude, maybe? All the works from the diy-document holder thing to the poems are brilliant in their own simplicity (And that is just my opinion, and meant to be positive )
You have a nice style of writing, kinda faint, clean. Imagine an all-positive word for crude, maybe? All the works from the diy-document holder thing to the poems are brilliant in their own simplicity
(And that is just my opinion, and meant to be positive )Meaw said:I really like the Black Spot and Untitled ones!
You have a nice style of writing, kinda faint, clean. Imagine an all-positive word for crude, maybe? All the works from the diy-document holder thing to the poems are brilliant in their own simplicity
Thank you
