Damon Inferel

Well, though it has been said that stuff that I just make up as I go along shouldn't really be considered poetry... I think that anything that has a rhyme scheme, some sort of meter, and was crafted with some imagination... it's poetry... perhaps not very good poetry, but poetry still. Here goes... Poem #1 Time and a half is the overtime fee Plenty of cash for the employee Something I desire is monetary reward And thus in a bank it shall all be stored Plenty of time to save and gain interest So all of the green can have a place to invest Perhaps into stocks or savings bonds Or even to help the wildlife in ponds Money is what's needed to help out the world Or even to help diabolic plans come unfurled But I'd rather help out our glorious population Or... maybe blow it all on an expensive vacation Poem #2 A beautiful rose Blooming brightly during spring Such glory it shows Poem #3 Is life what we make it? Or is it merely a game? A toy of fate All destiny's the same We are all doomed to die In one way or another So in a sense we're all alike No different from each other Can it be avoided or ignored? Perhaps forgotten all together? Or does fate have us wound Around it's finger like a tether? It's almost proof that we have no control Proof that fate truly exists Something not overcome By either our brains or our fists So how is that we cheat our fate? How do we evade our doom for a time? Why do we even continue? Is life so sublime? There is no answer There is no avoiding our inevitable end So it is only for this lifetime That we are permitted to attend Perhaps we don't die Perhaps we live other lives But is that really cheating death? Into oblivion it seems humanity dives...

Hn... about time I got around to this... Yep, my address is the same, though my current living address... may not be for much longer... insanedaemon@yahoo.com

Hn, this could prove to be rather interesting. I suppose I could give it a shot. I can rhyme almost anything. The time for play is over now I wish it would go on somehow But I need to eat my Chinese chow And later feed my gluttonous sow So I bid you adieu with a courteous bow Perhaps you could come and attend my cow Such predicaments wrinkle my brow I should have taken up silence, a difficult vow... Is that okay? Meow! ><

Mrowr? I'm just a little confused, but in terms of writing, it was really good. Nice repetition as well. Meow, I suppose if I really consider it, I do understand this poem and it's quite true. Hn... It's hard to explain though, but I understand it... Good poem ashke. =^-^= (I stole Pip's kitty) >< (There's mine... she's right, hers is cuter...)

A rush of adrenaline is the jolt of energy needed to continue the fight, to pursue what it is that one believes in... It's blood caffeine.

"Well, I'd rather the chance's be slim than nonexistent. There's always something that proves soemthing, but in this case, I can't ask him to ask me something only this Devaberiel guy would know... I don't know anything..." He shakes his head slightly. "There's got to be a way... But, I don't even know if I'm this guy or not." He taps his chin thoughtfully and blinks. "Yes! I have an idea! Amnesiacs always tend to start remembering things when they are taken to a familiar place. Perhaps the area where i was 'killed' will give me a clue as to what exactly is going on... and to who I am. What do you think?"

Meow... you almost made me cry with this Pip. I guess it's because I understand what you mean so well... It's a beautiful poem Pip in all writing aspects, and even more so because I know how you feel...

Noting that he's been promoted again, Damon steps up to the podium, moderately disappointed that not all of his dear friends were not promoted. He grimaces slightly at Wyvern, but pauses for a second, smiling, his small fangs shining slightly. "No hard feelings Mr. Wyvern, sir. Just a little grumpy. I miss all my friends, and I was hoping to see one more here. Meow. My head is a little swimmy." He pauses for a second, looking out to the audience and freezing. "Um... what the hell am I doing up here? I just remembered i have stage fright..." >'< "Well, um... I don't even know i these semi-speech things are supposed to be done, but I'd like o thank Mr. Wyvern, the rest of the Elders, and all of you other people. Um... since we all write around here, I'd like to thank my three muses most of all though. Merry, Pip, and my dear Ashke, thanks for all the inspiration." "In light of all of this stuff, I have improved my mood a little, and it's nice to see all of you people, sitting there, listening to me ramble about absolutely nothing. I'll try to make sure I've earned this promotion by keeping with my writing, and whatever this quest thingy is... I'll try to come up with some useful project thingy. Um... that's all." He steps down from the podium, placing a cricket on the microphone as the silence is interrupted by the cricket. "what the hell was I doing up there...?"

Guedirre turns to his small party, the motly assortment of gamblers and the like and scratches his beard. "Well, it seems ye all are a little bored, shall we go?" He blinks, his soft blue eyes contrasting with his gruff brown beard. "Yes, let's."

Bravo, dear boy, bravo. I very much enjoyed this. I am in hopes my ashke will as well. Brilliant work. (P.S. I never critique poetry because I'm not good at it, or I'd have a critique... if I was able to find anything wrong with it, that is.)

Happy unbirthday! For an Elder, you don't seem too old... Maybe I'll be an elder someday... Maybe if I click my heels three times... >< >< (happy kittens)

I miss my friends, Is this how it ends? Am I going to be alone? Time is cruel, Am I just a fool? My, how emotions have grown. I spend time apart, It burns out my heart, Such sadness I have not known. (If there's anything wrong with the grammar or anything, I just want to note that I'm too depressed to care right now, but critiques are still welcome. Just a little lyrical stylings from the corner of my darkened mind.) >;_;< >;_;< >;_;< (Very sad kittens)

"Well, I suppose you might be able to explain my death/rresurrectionwith the fact that... there was a cleric who did come at me at the last minute...you know?"For some reason Gabriel sounds oddly impatient,as though he wouldlove to get around as to if he was this person or not, otherwise he would feel like a total jackassand...

(Meow... Eh... come to think of it, I happen top be a fairly well-approved acquaintance of Mr. Blades, and thus I have read the entire thread, trying to see how all of this works. I give you my apologies Mr. B. P. O., but it seems you have challenged my friend the most, and I suppose I could try a second hand at this game. In honor of Mr. AshtonBlades, I challenge you Mr. B. P. O. {Though I know you'll practically beat me into the floor... hee hee.) All right, this rhymes to the B. P. O Tryin' to dis Mr. Blades... "Oh no!" This small little kitten is steppin to the mike keepin' pink paws wound around it tight I seen your rhymes on many an occasion spittin this stuff without procrastination But I know you don't thik you'll beat the freestyle king just listenin' to your rhymes only makes my ears ring annoying, deploying these words It's gotta be the worst junk that i have ever heard Try to beat the Blades and you totally absurd I won't floor you, I'll be bowin' on the ground spitting my P.O.S words without the lyric sound But I gotta try to defend 'im, he ain't posted in a while so I'll try this for him and try to match his style He's a little bit more harsh, but he keeps it short and sweet Not like ten paragraphs, which takes the sugar from the treat Me? I'll try to claw your face Make you run out bleedin' while you screamin' from the place I'll kill you, me the little sadist I'm the little kitten who decided to start to play this Tear you frickin' heart out and swallow it whole I'll devour your essence, your entire soul, but Mr. Blades is king and you can't compete You want to try to battle him, that stick... you gonna eat. (No offense, I just... meow. Eh... jsut before you tear me apart, I have to strongly ask you don't dis my gf. I have nothing but literal hatred for those that do, and i don't want to hate you... I really mean it, she means a lot to me.)

Hn... Meow... It's a little difficult to describe... let me see. It might not rhyme though... Lovely dark threads upon her crown Not quite black but a beautiful brown Amber orbs that reflect kindness Though sometimes sadness lies behind this Thin, small glasses that never clash A voice sometimes loud but never brash Lovely alto and never annoying To hear her speak is always enjoying A smile that's pretty and often full of thought Answers unavailable are always sought Cheerful and bright, but full of emotion And sometimes distraught at a lot of commotion Intelligent and pretty, often full of humor Never really spiteful, and never starts a rumor In my mind she's perfect, with almost no flaws A graceful beauty with elegant paws I'm happy to be with her, I do love her so Such compassion and grace I have the pleasure to know I'll love her forever... from now until then Always dear ashke, my beloved Elwen (Meow... Eh... I hope she doesn't mind, and are paws body parts? I didn't know if you wanted ALL body parts, including animals, to be left out, but she has pretty hands, and... yeah. >;_;< 'tears of joy')

But... your birthday was yesterday? Why... are pople still saying happy birthday? Humans... I don't understand them. Happy unbirthday! You have 1 birthday and 364 unbirthdays... ~Alice in Wonderland...-ish

Gabriel pauses for a second, contemplating on exactly how far Calonderiel has wandered away. "Hn. He hired me, but yet..." He turns back to Lenore, a look of remembrance on his face. "Wait a minute... Hey! That means I have a rival... a dead one no less, but a rival. I have something of a vague memory, and now that I think about it, it's true. I have had a lot of nobles, even some monarchs who have deemed me the best bard in all the land. I may not look it with my clumsiness, but I can spin a wonderful tale, and I've never been insulted by my work. I was very rich before I died... sort of, I tended to spend it on alcohol I think. That's why I still drink so much now." "You know, that's a good thing. My memories are starting to come back!" He does a small dance to himself in his mind and ponders Calonderiel once more. "Eh... I don't recall him though. He's just... so familiar. Do you know what I mean? It's like, I know so much about him, I just don't know anything. Here's an idea, though you might laugh at it, it's a little farfetched..." He stops for a second, trying to figure out how to word his somewhat lengthy explanation, which, to him, is completely feasible and quite possible. "To get to the point, perhaps I am this Devaberiel guy. It seems like everything that I have been told about this guy plays just as I remember... what i can remember. You told me that our resemblance was more than just uncanny, and I seriously doubt he coincidentally had a twin brother who died at the same time, me, who woke up... unless his entire family was killed. Not to mention, both he and I have been called the best bards, and though I don't remember anything since before I woke up from my 'death', I do find Calonderiel to be a very familiar person... like I do know more than I think about him, and why his constant coldness doesn't bother me... like I am trying to cheer him up." He pauses, searching for something to drink, but ignores his still scratchy throat and continues. "However, should I turn out to be this person, I have no memory of it, and thus I know absolutely nothing of what i was in the past, save for being deemed the 'best bard'. Also, it would require that Calonderiel even believed that, theoretically, I, was still alive, which I don't think he could take if he did believe it. So, the question is a theoretcial one. If I am this Devaberiel person, how would I go about pushing past the wall of ice that Calonderiel has around him so that he might be able to believe me? If I am him, again, theoretically, then Calonderiel may know something about my past, how I 'died', and a lot of other things. If I know that I have never been able to lie, that would mean I had formerly told him everything about myself, much as I would do now, except I can't remember. Hn... What do you think? Logically, it is possible..."

Meow! I am quite shocked, you actually dragged a chuckle out of me. I don't laugh out loud that often, but this was terribly funny. Nothing to critique, but i'll also give you a rare applause. I don't do that too often either.

I take no offense by your words, Miss Alaeha, but I suppose I should explain myself. As you said, the poem does sound a bit hurried, as it actually is. One might say that it is meant to be read fast, but with sort of a 'skipping' tone, if you will. You know like... skipping? Anyhow... I suppose I should say that this poem was using a specifics syllable pattern of 3-4-3-2, which is why my word choice may seem a little awkward. Though when i said 'Hell is to strangle', I neglected to remember that strangle already has two syllables. I'll change that. I am guessing that towards the end, when I say, 'stange angle' puts sort of a contemplative twist on the whole thing. Er... at least, if I read it with an ellipse at the end of that line, it might seem a little more thoughtful. And, as a last note, I would think that a poem is always written as you go along. I honestly hope that did not sound insulting, I did not mean it to be. I just believe that anything that is written as you go along... just, this one was a tad more spontaneus. A case of a forgotten muses I suppose, and I tried to bring them back. Thank you for your critique though. Meow! >< "Get your burger's worth." ~Ancient Burger King slogan

Cut the throat Jump off the boat Try to drown It's fun Sink the ship And don't give lip You can't die 'Till one Dying you But why so blue? It's all good There's sun A bright light An angel's flight Falling down ...you're done Strange angle... Hell's to strangle Twisted soul To shun... (Eh... whatever. I guess I could say it's about fallen angels and the Heaven's penalty for suicide... Despite the fact I'm not a Christian... I just love various philosophies and different points of view... Meow!)

Meow... Merf, I'm new at this, but i love listening to freestyles, so I figured I'd try my hand at one... IMO, freestyle's the only good rap, but the beats to all rap are nice to listen to once in a while... Don't flame me too bad... All right, I'm new at this I ain't got nobody that I can diss. I don't know any monkeys, no blades, no one, Just wanted to rap cuz it sounded fun. I don't start beef with any of ya'll fools, I ain't got no rhymes to use as tools. I don't keep it gangsta, it's always low-toned, It might be good when i'm stoned. I don't listen to rap, Just a bunch of lip flap But it's all right, it ain't crap I'm more into the alternative stuff Stuff that's loud and pretty rough, But I'll learn about all this someday Tryin' to rhyme it my way, Who knows, maybe I'm here to stay Whatever, I'm out I'll go back to litenin' to Slipknot shout. Thanks for the time It's been sublime I just hope that this all ain't slime... (Merf... I told you I was new at this. Meow...)

Alas, thy challenge presents itself to Damon, and as he is one of whom who both adores and hates competition, the latter half loses the argument, and dear Silent Daemon decides to try his hand at Jan-Ken-Pon. Lying amidst the table in his study, a fair variety of books strewn about, a great many of which written upon the practical application of time travel, Damon finds himself pondering the exact proportion of his sanity compared to his insanity. "Well, considering I spend exactly 2.3 seconds laughing every minutes, 1.6 of that deeming that I am closer to the solution, thus being able to transmogrify myself into a beam of light and throw a few key ingredients into the beginning of time, thus ending my present existence, as well as the existence of man as I know it. The perfect plot to destroy the world!" He taps his finger to his chin contemptuously. "However if .7 of those 2.3 seconds are a measure of my insanity, then it is approximately proportional to... my brain hurting." He laughs for exactly 2.3 seconds, a wide, mad, grin spreading his face for the latter .7 seconds of his laugh. "Well then... I suppose we could run another test, shall we? previously, I made it to the birth of Jesus... correct? Correct. Let us see if me may make it back to the legendary 'Primordial Soup'..." A small lever with an 8-Ball handle is pulled, sending several coffee machines whirring about in the rotating mechanism as the heat from the coffee is transmitted through a prism. small particles of light are bent into the prism, uniting with a large prism, powering the machine to it's full capacity. "Well, I suppose I should sit down now..." As Damon sits in the chair, he places his prime ingredient for the 'Soup' into his pocket. A pair of scissors the size of a large butcher knife, the edges honed to molecular thinness. I may die in the process, but I can kill everyone on the planet, as well as the universe with this one pair of scissors. Theoretically, the entire planet will be a mass of greenery, all living material being a soft as it is now, yet impossibly sharp, flaying all living creatures instantaneously as they are cut into ribbons for infinity, their blood flowing through the small crevices in the earth. This... is worth it..." (Meow... sorry, this is my third morbid post in just an hour...)

*click clack* Well now, what have we here? Ah, dear me, it appears that we have a dysfunctional cricket. Ah, my little friend, so you not know how to chirp as the rest do? *click clack* Oh, that sounds awful. You say that you do know how to chirp, yet a dreadful child of husky build paused to glance at you for a moment. Well now, what might that have to do with anything, if you don't mind my asking? *click clack* Ah, I see. The common instinct for a cricket to pounce away out of fear is not an inhereted gene in your family? And thus, you came to look closer at this awestruck child? *click clack* Yes, and he proceeded to watch you skitter about on his gelatinous palm for a moment or two before he twitched too quickly and you leapt in his face. All right, then what? *click clack* My, my, I feel sorry for you. This dreadful child, this horrid excuse for a person, this flagellant rotund bulk of an insidious blob took his fear out on your leg and... dear me! He... tore it off?! Slowly?! You must have felt awful, being dealt that excruciating blow, despite the miniscule size of your brain. Please, I meant no offense. *click clack* Thank you for your understanding. I have but two questions to ask you my fellow insect comrade. Why is it that you *click clack*, as opposed to chirp, and/or, how is it that you do it? *click clack* Oh, how silly of me not to notice! You are clicking all of your heels together, and the clack comes from the momentany struggle of seperating the softly serrated barbs. The sound, it is so miniscule, but I could not help but notice it, being but a mere kitten with my natural hearing capability. *click clack* Oh, forgive me, the other question. Where is this boy? *click clack* Thank you friend, I shall avenge you. Perhaps you had best not watch, and I would suggest that you run along before I attach an appettite to you. Instinct, nothing more... so please, run along. *click clack* *click clack* *click clack* Meow! *claws clicking, skin clacking gainst the pavement* (I'm so morbid... Eep. I think the last part may have ruined it, but I just had to kill that kid. I nearly pass out from crying if I consciously hurt a living thing... no joke. {exception:Vance})

Brief Notes: Um... this is kind of a psychological thing, so it might be a little disturbing. Just fair warning, but I swear it is not bloody, just a small wound and a trickle of blood... that's all. In addition: The narrator's voice is eerily calm. If you know of Karasu from Yu Yu Hakusho, think him. If not, just think of a psychotic person who is simply talking to you very calmly with the same calm stare... Also: Yes... read slowly... Meow... No, you do not understand. Nobody understands… How could you? To you, to everyone, the blade is to be feared. The cold steel against your fragile flesh brings nothing but fear to you, to everyone. How could you understand how much pleasure lies within the blade when you fear it so much? You, all of you, you fear the death. You fear the pain. You fear the warmth of your own blood against your flesh, against your tongue. You fear the flavor of yourself, the savory sweetness of your own blood running down pale flesh, the ecstasy of being weakened as the hot fluid spreads down you. You fear it. Why? How could you understand? I do not blame your ignorance. You say that your ignorance is bliss, but do you know true bliss. Does your ignorance bring you pleasure? Can you taste your ignorance? Can you feel it? No? Then explain to me, how is it that ignorance is bliss? I understand you think me crazy, but yet you have thought many people crazy. Is that not right? What is crazy? Perhaps it is you who has gone crazy, dwelling on the problems of others so much that you do not see that it has driven you to madness. Have you ever considered that those that you consider crazy are the only sane ones? Have you ever introverted your views, looking from their perspectives? Here, take my blade. No, I will not hurt you, nor will it unless you make it. Yes, that is right, take it. No, no, not the handle. Hold the blade, the steel. There you are, is it not cold? Does it not send shivers into your spine, does it not feel pleasant? Please, tell me. Oh? You say that you do not understand it? You do not feel the pleasure within the blade? Here now, those palms of yours are not sensitive yet. Take the handle. Do not worry, I will not hurt you in any way. Ah, here now, you hold the blade. What is that? You do not feel anything? Oh, poor you, you do not understand yet, do you? Press it to your throat. Now, now, there is no need for hesitation. It will not hurt you unless you make it hurt. You see? The blade is cold, but not painful. It is indifferent to you, your expression stays the same. The blade is wishing to know what you will do next with it. Turn the blade so that the blunt edge is pressed to your throat. You have a beautiful neck, do you not know that? Now, forgive me, I tend to lose myself from time to time. Slide the edge across your throat. No, not swiftly. Try it again, but slowly. You see? I have seen your eyes brighten. You understand there is pleasure within the blade, but yet you seem bewildered. No, no, do not hand me the blade. It is natural to fear what you do not understand. You are but human after all. No, you must hold the blade. There now, please, pick it up. Do not be frightened of the blade. What is that? You fear me? Please, do not fear me, I will not hurt you. Now, please, pick it up. Good. This time, please, put it to your arm. Now, now, the sharp side. Do not be afraid. As I have said, the blade will only harm you if you let it. I would not have you put it to your wrists, we would not want to kill you, would we? There you are, it is cold, is it not? Yes, I can feel your pleasure from here. Yet, you still show fear. If you fear the blade, it will harm you. Ah, now that will not do. Please, stop shaking your hand. The blade understands that you fear it, and if you draw it now, you will be hurt. I wish you no harm, so please, pull away for the moment. Allow me to handle the blade. Thank you, you are most kind. Do you see? The blade knows me. It knows that I am unafraid of it, it can feel my pleasure. I can see that you are bewildered, you still seem not to understand. Observe closely. A-ah! There. Yes, that… I have longed for that. Thank you. Now then, I see that you are curious. Here, let me clean the blade for you. There we are. Do not worry about my wound, it is meager. I will refrain from tasting it as we have not progressed that far yet. Please, take the blade. Yes, that is right. You seem to be better understanding now. Yes, that is right, press it to your arm, but gently, and move slowly across. I see that you are gritting your teeth as the blade shreds each layer of your flesh. No, before you draw blood, please stop. You have progressed much, but you still fear the blade. No, there are no more examples. Please, try again. Bring it to your arm slowly and let the anticipation ready yourself. Imagine the blade being brought closer to your fragile flesh. Feel the dull presence of the blade steadily becoming sharper as it draws nearer. No, do not look at the blade, feel it. You will know when it has touched you for the anticipation will make the pleasure great. There, you feel the blade, and it is cold, sending waves of pleasant chills into your spine and along your arm. Yes, you can feel the thin blade pressed to your skin, the glint in your eyes tells me that you want it. Now, slowly, draw it across your arm. Yes, you feel it tearing away, but you show no fear now, only pleasure. It is cold and satisfying, and the warmth that will follow will only make it greater. It does not feel as if it is common flesh anymore, does it? It is something that is sensitive, something that everyone has forgotten could bring them such delight. Oh my, your wound is open. You can feel the blood trickling slowly down your skin can you not? Yes, the warmth leaving small goosebumps behind, your own delight causing the chills that create them. Oh, now, now you understand, but not in entirety. The option is yours, as you may taste your pleasure, taste the warmth of your own blood. I can see that you desire it, but you feel awkward. There is no need for that, do as you will. What is that? You feel strange because I am observing you? Here now, I will close my eyes. I am trusting you. … Ah, there we are, I see your lips have been stained. I see that you long for more. Please, do not let my observation keep you from your desires. It will only begin to hurt once you fear that you are doing wrong. Here now, I shall tend to my own wounds. Do you see? Now my lips have been stained as well. Yes, I see that you understand. I can see the lust in your eyes, and that is only natural. You will learn to be less hasty in the future, much as I have learned. For now, however, indulge yourself. Please, do to yourself as you wish with my blade. I will merely observe. I am proud of you, I am very proud of you. You understand me now. I see you, licking your wounds, the ecstasy you must be experiencing, and I too long for it, but I am merely an observer for now. Do as you will, my beautiful apprentice. (Author's note: Sorry if this disturbs anyone... I just love my twisted mind soooo much! Meow!)

Guedirre's blue eyes glint for a second and he smiles. "Oh. Well, thank ye very much." he comments jovially.