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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Thinas

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Everything posted by Thinas

  1. Well... I appreciate the optimistic comment Mardrax, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to burst the bubble. My premonition was unfortunately correct and the timing of the poem frighteningly good. I'm certain people can learn to either overcome or live with this kind of massive differences, but this one didn't work out. It ended last night in a bar at 4am, accompanied by a short fight, an exchange of nastily direct questions, truths and subsequently, a truck load of hurt. It's such a shame, but from a purely objective point of view, I fear I may have been too idealistic about this. It's funny you were to point out that exact line Appy, as it formed the basis of the poem and was, along with the very last verse, the first to be written. Thank you for the nice comment. ~Thinas
  2. Hey all, The following is the result of my muse helping me unload a series of frustrations regarding a girl that I currently date. The piece is nothing epic or universal - It's just another story of a regular guy's problems with those irresistible abominations called women. This one in particular causes me quite the mental hazzle and so I wrote this, and though addressed to her she is certainly not meant to ever see it. It is merely a ventilation - But for the sake of constructive criticism (and for the sake of having an audience at all, bless you people) I decided to post it here. My relationship with her is somewhat untraditional and interesting to me because we're so horridly different that the concept of her and I as a couple is unthinkable in itself - She is a typical mainstream girl, dresses normally, goes to cafés, listens to pop and soft rock, and so on. I, on the other hand, is a roleplaying geek with my head solidly buried in the world of hardcore metal music, which heavily influences the way I look. This setup makes for some interesting conversations between her and I, and the relationship's future is questionable at best. The poem is entitled "Ambivalence" because that's how I feel about women - I absolutely love them and cannot imagine living without them, but I loathe the complications they bring and the way they seem to insist on screwing my head up. Hope you enjoy! Ambivalence Flowing, soft, fair hair Bright blue eyes and angelic skin Hourglass waist to tell the tale Of grace and beauty, so feminine Army boots and slouchy walk Chains of metal to scream the name Dangling laces and holey pants Long black coats complete the frame Such a mismatched pair we make Us together is either miracle or joke Tell me, do we grow with the differences? Or suffer and crumble under their yoke? The curse is there at conversations Goodness dear, the bullshit you can spew! I open my mouth, and I’m perfectly sure, What comes out is exactly the same to you But it’s forgotten, there at home Buried by Eros to conflict smother: Resting in my arms and I in yours Entangled in sheets and each other There is beauty here, in my world Even in growling and grinding guitars Truth, hidden in cryptic lyrics Why, sweetie, the hopeless visage? Unless, in time, on own volition I cannot and will not deter Since bending to mainstream is gutless Honestly, is that what you prefer? “To believe in something, and not to live it, is dishonest.” - Ghandi To extend my hand in loving invitation, To reveal what’s whispered and what they say Please, love, please, won’t you realize? The door opens outwards, and you’re in the way. But you’re going to leave me. Aren’t you? Scared or bored away. The doubt returns at lonesome nights Where feelings run high and mind astray The choice is yours but make it soon Thoughts based on emotion, ultimately If you can live with this longhaired boy Then stay and be loved indefinitely But if you scoff and shy at whom I am Embarrassed and willingly blind to see Then, my dear, it says more of you, Than it does of me. ~Thinas
  3. Ah, a bit of answers to your questions as well, if you'll permit. The Swedes do indeed use the letter å, but it ends there. They got ä instead of æ and ö instead of ø. The letters æøåÆØÅ are in fact keys on my keyboard. The Norwegians use æøå just as we do, however, and is far more similar in sound and construction to Danish than Swedish is. Danes and Norwegians have an easier time understanding each other than Danes and Swedes do, though it is correct that Danes will most often understand Swedish if spoken slowly. Swedes, on the other hand, tend to think the Danes seem to speak with a potato lodged in our throats, hence the "blur" that was mentioned. In terms of tone of voice, the Norwegians and the Swedes will seem change it as they pronounce vowels and thus "sing" their words whereas the tone of Danish is more...level. An appropriate comparison would be proper British english compared to the level sound of American english. That's in my ears, at least. Of course, I can't speak for everyone and I'm sure some are bound to disagree.
  4. Hejsa! Du må da meget gerne øve dit dansk med mig. Jeg er født og opvokset her og har dermed engelsk som andet sprog. Du laver stort set ingen stavefejl, og udover enkelte sjove formuleringer fungerer dit dansk helt fint. Ved ikke hvor meget feedback du er interesseret i, men jeg vil med glæde rette lidt i det hvis du ønsker? Bare sig til. /Thinas\ The english translation for those concerned: Heya! Feel very free to practice your danish with me. I was born and grew up in Denmark and as such, english is my second language. You make practically no spelling errors and besides a few funny phrases, your danish is just fine. Not sure how much feedback you're interested in, but I'll be happy to correct it if you wish? Just say the word. /Thinas\
  5. Alas, double-Weenie would suck. And I'll get it if I don't do something about it. So luckily, I did. I started a poem yesterday and finished it today, but will refrain from posting it here as I have posted it in the Banquet Room already, and it's too long to bother you with in two different threads. So I will direct you to its title instead, should you wish to read it. It's called "Crimson Creak", and I hope it'll take care of my Weenie as well as the dreadful prospect of becoming a double-Weenie. Thank you, /Thinas\
  6. Greetings yet again, This is probably the longest poem I have ever written. I spent two days on this one. It's a song about a man, scorned by all, who gets pissed off and decides to teach life a lesson. The poem is heavily influenced by Nick Cave and his album "Murder Ballads". It has ties in particular to the song "The Curse of Milhaven". As such, the grim contents of the song are to be viewed humoristically morbid rather than tastelessly gory. :-D Oh, and...I've written 2 or 3 pieces since I got the Weenie Award for never posting anything, so I thought I'd try to poke the almighty leaders of The Pen and ask them if this will do. Thanks in advance. I hope you can work your way through it and can enjoy its casual approach to the ending of life. That's what I aimed for with this piece anyway. The Crimson Creak This one’s about Willy A man from Chasm; that’s a town It’s where they defined “Hillbilly” And even the crows turn around Small but full of people Yet completely devoid of life Most mentally feeble Fueled only by petty strife His face was molded “real fine” By a thousand fishing hooks Willy was indeed last in the line When God handed out good looks So this poor guy, twisted by fate In any way, shape or form He lived subjected to everyone’s hate Unable to follow public norm You see, disabled too he was Chained helplessly to a chair Met spite and disdain, cause’ “He had no right to breathe their air” And the rev’rent’s daughter spat on him The type that meets challenge and bails Connie, she’s an unruly, walking sin Listens to Blink182 and Nine Inch Nails And Mrs. Goodfield, that snobby hag Let her dog leak on Willy’s chair Outside where she goes though just to brag Where she gossips and does her hair And the principal looked away When the schoolkids gave the name And “Wheely” joined the fray To add scorn to growing shame And after then, never the same… You see, one day it got too much Like a bull with tweezers on its nuts Wheely snapped, and as such Returned tenfold all the cuts Wheely was gone, mind too dark And as he hurt, shall suffer town So listen on, the future stark What goes around, comes around And luck turned about Struck so god damn fast As Wheely cleaned out Down to the very last It happened mostly in Main Street They still don’t know who and how but cops said “Done by an elite” With no mind and hands like a plow Come with me, witness the murderous streak That’s it now, don’t be shy So now the road’s called “Crimson Creak” Come, and witness why: So! Mrs. Goodfield, there you are Look at you, as always, piping hot Slender cheek, not a single scar Can you gossip more? Maybe not Her dog there, too, oh so sad Clothes completely free of stains Held on to that power line so bad Did at least the charred remains They found Connie there, too Adding her own to the river Rev’rent’s daughter, stabbed through By 40 times metal sliver With all her angsty little bands Ha! Oh vengeance hails At least she was holding hands With all the Nine Inch Nails They found all the kids from school Dug down, though necks stickin’ up Actually, I think this is kinda cool It must’ve said “lop!”, “lop!”, lop!” I couldn’t have done it nicer All in a line and run o’er Must’ve been quite the geyser As he drove the janitor’s lawn mower Police have been at it now for years Have found only a single clue Screams and mother’s tears Because they had nobody to sue Clue led to a secret garden Deep between darkest tree It’s where his heart did darken And Satan set his body free And there they found the evidence Of the man for whom none will care That man where blood took precedence They only found his empty chair So mind you this, should you enter Chasm Careful who you call a freak They’re no fun, dying spasms Behave, or join the Crimson Creak
  7. Robot for me. I would've expected Emo Kid, but I guess that was 4 years ago.
  8. Dear all, It's been a while since last I put something out here, but I guess my writing goes like that. My muse doesn't inspire me as often as some of you people, damn you. The following poem is something I wrote in a state of depression. The story described within was meant to end in cataclysmic disaster, the end of everything and evil's final defeat over good. But I write depression out because it helps my mood, and so did this one. As such, the story's ending changed from horrible to better, along with my mood as I finished the poem. I hope you like it, though perhaps more importantly, understand it. The title is not necessarily the final title as I thought it too cliché, though it fits the contents well enough for now. Suggestions for another title are more than welcome, as is any other constructive criticism, naturally. Gothic Redemption It was a cold evening in fall And Jinn walked alone Through alley and darkest hall They broke her every bone No comforting chiming bell Nor watchtower’s ray of light No beacon in this hell To chase away the night Only the thick of gloom And raindrops’ drum Against rock lit by the Moon And betrayed by the Sun Her dress cleaned the street Her blood the souls of Men The rocks cut her feet From now to way back when And fall turned to winter As final rest was nigh She the final splinter Life’s last sigh And she marched, this child Face of stone, toward her grave Lost and hope defiled Standards no longer wave Creaked open cemetery door As dead trees greeted her To bloom in spring nevermore What once was, now were And there they waited for Jinn Belial, Lillith, Asmodai To commit their wretched Sin For their House of Lie Purity march to defeat As lamb to the slaughter Eyes rending meat And heart of Nature’s Daughter ... But their eyes grew As her pace quickened A single dove flew And their power weakened And she no longer paced Steel to readily pierce This enemy they faced Never before this fierce Their knives dug deep And drained her for life Blood spilled, world weep Though die did Adam’s Wife And ferryman took her away Eyes widened in denial Banish Evil Astray And gone was Belial And the dove did return Soared o’er hallowed sky Never to fall and burn Took with her Asmodai Left is but a humble cross Red dirt amongst many graves Testimony to lives lost Though humanity’s banner waves
  9. LOL @ Alaeha That would be a poem about my love for my computer, not my love for a girl. Maybe I should do one of those one day too. /Thinas\
  10. Hello, all. I just started studying software technology, so I'm heavily influenced it seems. The topic of the following poem is something that came to mind as I rode my bike home from school today. I can't believe this happened to me as I suspect I'd be the last person to ever write anything on this topic. But here goes anyway. This is what happens when a computer nerd faces the challenge it is to describe the world's most powerful feeling. I hope you find it less cryptic to read than I found it to write. Binary Emotion Whether embers or burning fire It lurks in everyone’s hearts You get what you desire Or you’re blown to a million shards It will blind your sight, and it will blur your mind Can’t resist, try as you might, but only her. No world behind. There’s no path in between It refuses compromise Fight to meet either extreme: Sweetest victory or painful demise And so I, too, burn alive I wish she could tell I walk aflame. Binary pool, took real a deep dive Tasted before, though never the same Indescribable, no word’s enough, despite countless books written Torn down no matter how tough I’m twice shy though once bitten Though…If I take the chance… Here’s the outcome offered: Either enjoyed or heinously suffered So here’s something I feel fits, for the heart’s searing sun: I need naught but two bits And it’d be zero and one. The answer’s so ridiculously obvious: IF: I want her to see. I want my feelings heard THEN: Courage is the key Love is the word
  11. Have you ever had to bitterly take the scorn of others because you lacked the courage to do something about it, only to walk away fantasizing about what type of revenge would suit you best? Have you ever mustered the courage to finally do something about it and felt proud over the mere attempt, even if unsuccesful? Have you ever pondered how cool it would be to, as a complete adult, dress up like Marilyn Manson at Christmas time and go line up in the Mall to sit on Santa's lap and, in front of all the kids, wish for Uzis and high carbon ninja swords? Have you ever seen a fantasy movie at a friend's and gotten so caught up in its world that you experience a depressing anti-climax upon staring at the rain-wet asphalt of the deserted roads as you walk home in the middle of the night? Have you ever experienced ambivalence towards a person because you like and admire him/her, but despair over the realization that you can never be as good, cool and succesful; that the person's existence points out your obvious inferiority? ...Only to realize that someone else feels precisely that, about YOU? Have you ever sat in front of your computer with WinAmp playing and subconsciously thought intensely about a song, snapping back to reality just in time to see WinAmp's shuffle function pick THAT EXACT song out of your 600+ long playlist - At random? Have you ever thrown the truth in someone's face, knowing it would hurt them, anger them and jeopardize your friendship, because they needed to know? Conversily, have you ever lied to a friend's face when they badly needed the truth, convincing yourself that you did it to protect your friend's feelings when the truth is that you lied because you were too much of a coward to deal with the ensuing hassle?
  12. Somewhere crucial inside Area-51 that the US will NOT appreciate my seeing. I wanna know if there really is something, or if it's just a hoax blown out of proportions by the media.
  13. Thank you, both of you. I'm not sure I know what Gwai means by shifting word order for rhyme, though...Each line was made in an attempt to rhyme with the next. I looked it over to see if I made a bobo and switched somewhere so one line rhymed with the second next or something, but I couldn't find that anywhere, so that makes me curious. Thanks for the comments, Thinas
  14. Good poem, Sabre. To be honest, I hadn't expected you to write poetry, so I'm pleasantly surprised. Like Loki Wyrd stated, it reminds me of a bad trip of some sort. I really like the way you describe losing the struggle against the addiction, and especially the incredible cost. Your soul for feeling like a king just once. Go fight for your soul. It was taken without right. Someone who isn't as bad or as uptight as people are led to believe -
  15. I told you online already, but I thought I'd give you permanent recognition while I was at it. Describing something as deep as Love is a mighty task to take on indeed, but I think you manage it very well! You sound...experienced. As I stated in #thepen, the line I recognize the most is the one with the senses where you call it uncaptureable. This is exactly my opinion of it too. Love's too wide to be defined. No example fully contains what it's all about, yet everyone knows what Love is. Well done. /Thinas\
  16. This is an angst poem I wrote during the night from thursday to friday. I was sleeping over at a friend's house, and the words came to me just after I'd crashed on his bed. I got up and typed it into his computer. I normally try to refrain from writing angst, because the genre is so popular already that it's difficult to produce something that sticks out, so if you feel it's just another addition to the masses...you're likely right. As always, I welcome constructive criticism with open arms. Kingdom for Serenity It’s the story of my life From womb to now, isn’t it nice? It’s the story of diplomacy and its glorious ways It feels good, it feels right, but I assure you, right back it pays I fled conflict from day one Said lots concerning others, about me none To people when needed, I’ve brought reflection But they’ve always missed my impenetrable shell of protection A gifted few noticed, felt They know it’s there, brief scent smelt Deep, a maze of emotion and thought. To me, it’s a pit I wish someone would know, figure it out, understand my shit But that person doesn’t exist The door has too many locks, I cowardly persist I need to be destroyed. Thoroughly. Screwed up really well So I can rise from the ashes anew, Bird Phoenix, and seek out my L Fake symbols of power Sheep in Wolf’s clothing, tremble and cower Some day, I’ll show what I stand for, reveal my mind Unravel its mysteries, burn the curtain. Truth. Dignity. Wonders to find. Until then, I’m just that man Whose back carries you when you can’t stand Be careful though, I’m built on pillars of rotting wood It’s dark. But it’s there…Painted on my face, in the shadows of the hood I want to break down in rage! No diplomacy, no mercy, sick of being the sage! You have no real idea what I’ve witnessed, what I’ve seen All I can tell you is avoid it. Show yourself. It sucks to be the man in between Jesus. The system tray says 4:09am, and look what I’ve written. I want you to search. The meaning is there, but as always, it’s hidden. My Kingdom for Serenity.
  17. (Author's note: I, too, really liked Yui's piece from the RP we did. ("The Embrace"). Let it be known that the story I told as a storyteller in Vampire the Masquerade is nowhere near as vivid as what she wrote. She's giving me more credit than I'm due. In an attempt to make amends and to return the favour as far as dedicating her writing to me goes, I wrote up another piece that's basically the same story plus a little background, but from quite a different point of view. Hope you'll like it! Important: Not being all too familiar with the American movierating system, I think this is to be considered PG...Let's just say that it's got explicit contents, but that these are used in character.) A Confession (Set in the world of Vampire: The Masquerade, from the viewpoint of the Ravnos ancilla ‘Denor’) It’s always a sweet deal when offered, but bitter as hell when suffered. I once heard Metallica sing “You feed it once and now it stays” and “I run but it stays right by my side.” I wonder if it’s deliberate that their lyrics were so…so frighteningly close, or if somebody’s mouth slipped and caused a breach. It’s just too descriptive to be coincidental, yet too good to be made by us. Bah. “Offered” is a wrong word anyway. It’s not like I was given a choice. They didn’t ask, and now I don’t either, exactly because of that. They robbed me of that sense of courtesy. Among other things. When the night was foreign and day domestic, I remember walking home from one of my nightshifts in that shitty ass job, the hardship of which my dad thought would “mature” and “harden” me. That was back when I had my Brooklyn apartment. The job was on Manhattan, and I’d take the subway, but I always had to walk through a corner of Central Park to get there quickest from the station. I never did. Fearful of what the darkness of the park hid in the night, I walked along the wall, all the way around the park, occasionally glancing into the myriad of dark trees and bushes behind the wall. On benches and under streetlamps inside I could see shady people doing shady things, and I wondered what they might do to me if they saw me. And I felt, and I was so fearful. Then I turned cool. When the day turned foreign and night domestic, it was so sweet. I kept my job for a little while before I realized that I didn’t really have to give a shit about it anymore, and I took the route through the park, for the same reason why the dog licks its own ass; because I could. I rejoiced in my newfound fearlessness. I was so cool. I’d turned from fearing what was in the park’s shadows to being what was in the park’s shadows. And the pushers and the smokers and the gangstaz all crossed the street to the other sidewalk, thinking that simply passing me by was closer than they felt like getting. I saw their eyes, and they revealed their thoughts; their gut feelings screamed “Get the hell away” but they couldn’t explain why the “pussy” that approached them instilled that feeling. And I loved the intimidation I caused, and I was so cool. Then I turned too cool. It took me 3 years to realize that I never really did become more courageous. It was my fear that had gone down the same drain as my Mortality. It was a loss. Not a gain. And I was so stupid. I walked the park on my way to work, and every pedestrian choosing a different path, every bum, every pusher, every smoker, every gangsta avoiding me was another cut. I wanted to run up to them and get close to them, for no matter how low a fucking loser they were socially, they were warm and emotional. A wealth no longer accessible to me. Thinking I could return to what I once was, I simulated my former life and started walking the outside of the park again. But the spark was gone, the mysteries revealed. And the shadowy stones of the wall reflected the shadows that had stolen fear’s place in my heart. And I was cooler than I bargained for, and so very very stupid. And so I walk the nights of this desolate place, a pathetic excuse for an existence, an angstridden corpse with more existential issues than I’d have worms by now had they buried me. That’s where I entered the strip club. It was neatly arranged, not a cheap place at all. Looked like a decent place for a night time snack. The place was filled to the brim with lowlife dogs and I was pleasantly surprised to not have to wade through knee-deep saliva. That’s how sad they were. There were some Asian-looking girls swinging their legs around 3 metal poles on the stage. I could smell the oil they’d smeared over their bodies for the skin to glisten more. Ending their show, all 3 of them cocked their heads and looked back, and their arteries shot straight into my eyeballs like the neon signs in Las Vegas used to tempt my gambler self. I came to understand, though, that they were not the evening’s main attraction. So I patiently waited, absentmindedly shuffling a deck of cards on my left hand. A mildly annoying man with a disco-ball for clothes and dollar-signs for eyes came on stage and announced the evening’s main dancer. That’s when time slowed down. He probably didn’t take that long, but it felt like I made it to shuffle my deck 50 times before he got his ass off stage. There was something in the air. I wondered if it was my nose catching the scent of a particularly enticing blood type somewhere in the room, but it didn’t make any sense; whatever I felt didn’t come from any of the 5 senses. Too late did I realize that it was exactly that. I felt. Something I hadn’t done for years. And I was warm and comfortable. When she came on stage, I could have sworn that my heart beat a single time, one last hurrah for mortality, like a worn-out Chevy you feed a bucket of fuel and 12V DC. It momentarily shattered the Mount Everest of self-control I usually take pride in, and I jerked slightly before recovering, making an attempt to swallow spit my mouth no longer secretes. Looking around, she spotted me and in an instant her face grew as pale as mine despite her make-up. It was weird. At the time, I didn’t know what she felt or what she knew, but her eyes had scanned over me and then swiftly returned as if she…recognized my face, and was less than thrilled to see it. Oh, the courage, the heart, I could hear it beat through the crowds but not a wrinkle in her brow, not a shaking of a hand. The frailty added to her beauty, and the courage it took to suppress her fear to my admiration. She overcame it like I never did mine. And she danced, and the way she moved took me back to stories of the gypsies my grandfather told me. And I fell in love, and I knew I had to have her. She left the stage and I the strip club. I leaned against the wall next to the door outside, fighting an inner struggle between selfishness and what remains of my code of ethics. One part of me desperately wanted to escape the solitude I suffered, but in doing so, I knew I would take and break her. Shatter the very thing that jumpstarted my heart. One short battle later, my code of ethics lay bleeding at the bottom of my soul and my triumphant selfishness was conversing with a couple of simpleminded fools that had just exited the club. And it was so easy, and I added another notch to my cane of sin. I had a short talk with the two dogs about the gorgeousness of “that last dancer”, and naturally, they were none too shy about how they wanted to introduce her to a little “nocturnal activity”. I smirked at the comment, because they had no fucking idea what nocturnal activities really are. I basically told them that if they so wanted to prove their manhood, why not take the talk to the backdoor of the club where she was about to exit, and do it right then and there. To add scorn to misery as I openly challenged their words, I put in 200 dollars against them. A valuable lesson unlife has taught me is how easily the pride of man is manipulated. Another valuable lesson is how much easier a woman’s trust is ‘earned’ if you’re a knight in shining armour. And I saved her from my own trap, and the notch threatened to snap the cane in half. I got up early the following night, and I sat in front of her for a couple of hours as she slept. It was then the impact of my actions struck me. Perhaps sleeping had caused the rush of egoism to fade, healing my sense of ethics in the process. There in front of me lay the most masterfully concocted act of destruction my deceitful mind was guilty of to date. I’d taken perhaps exactly what I fell in love with and in the attempt to preserve it, keep it for myself, deprived her of it. I fear her vengeance, for if she suppressed her fear of me when she was alive, what can she do now? And I cried blood in disgust, but I swore to care for, and earn her, so I put next to her a book with answers she sought, and carefully compiled the tears into a pitcher, that at least she wouldn’t hate me when she woke up thirsty. The cane beats against my face every time I see her, but she’s mine now, and I will not let go. Because I can’t. ~ D (PS: I tried to change my style of writing in this particular piece. Usually I write prose and drama in a fantasysetting in pretty much the same style. The above is an attempt to add a poetic touch to something I was beginning to think too dry, but I have no idea how it worked, so criticism is naturally appreciated. Thank you in advance. )
  18. If one ignores the fact that there's a wife and children, the poem reminds me of Gollum's fate and state of mind. It's probably because I've listened to the lyrics of "Gollum's Song" on the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack, but I seem to recognize the hopelessness and the loss of time expressed on the poem. I second the words that are already spoken. It's a pearl. Well done. /Thinas the Darkelf\
  19. This reminds me of something one of the Lord of the Rings hobbits would sing as they went through a forest. Which indirectly means I agree with Gwai. It's cheerful and relaxing somehow...Relaxing, because it doesn't seem to be a complaint or a protest. Many poems are. Enjoyable, as has been said. /Thinas\
  20. I hope whomever it's meant for can see it, Vlad. I don't know why, but I have this feeling the person it's meant for is female. Perhaps it's because of the "He" you mention, that shouldn't be listened to. If we take the theoretical scenario that I am that girl, this poem would warm. It's good to see that you bother writing things like these when they're needed "out there". So many don't. Keep up the good work. /Thinas\
  21. A little poem that sprung to mind these days. I'm not often into poetry, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I realize that it's depressing, but it wasn't made to be enjoyable. Only to provoke thought. Nuclear Winter It's an upside down world we live in. What's purest considered sinful. I fear we live in emotional celibacy, For fear of embarrassing simplicity. I will have it no more, but I can't rebel can I? Go on without me if you see fit. Extinguish the fire of passion. Let sophistication reign, ban the desires of eros. Celebrate the mind, bathe in your own mental superiority. But know that in the shadow of civilization, you let wither the reason why you live. May you have the strength to help yourself when nuclear winter sets in. For no one else does.
  22. (IMPORTANT PRENOTE. THE LINKS IN BELOW MESSAGE CANNOT BE LOADED BY CLICKING DIRECTLY ON THEM. YOU HAVE TO COPY PASTE THEM INTO AN ENTIRELY NEW BROWSER.) And so it came to pass that a cocky idiot finds himself at the gates of The Pen. Yeah...He wrote a letter, tied it to an arrow and fired it in, over the walls before. But this time, he thinks, he might be better off walking in with it himself. They say the places you get to see in there are worth the effort. So here goes. My application is neither fiction nor poetry nor drama. It's another one of these ugly thoughts that strike me. A realization about something utterly random and really, quite useless, nevertheless interesting. (I think). I am a 19-year-old kiddo. And I watch quite an amount of movies. The knowledge one slowly accumulates about movies gets frightening. I've reached the level where I begin to discuss movie-related subjects that immediately give away my nerd-status to anyone listening. If you want a good example of my condition, take the two conveniencestore/video shop guys from Kevin Smith's "Clerks". Yeah. I'm that bad. If you haven't already guessed it, what you are about to be subjected to is a movie rant. It's an ethical detail that suddenly struck me, and I tried to explain it to Gwai over IRC a while back. It failed miserably. Wrong approach. As the arrogant snot I am and as video freaks often become, I assumed she'd seen this particular movie as many times as I have, and thus, noticed as many details as I have. She hadn't. It went to hell. This is not a mistake I make twice, however. So fear not. This time, I'll carefully explain so even people who haven't seen the movie at all have a good chance at catching what I'm talking about. We'll begin with a picture. I have uploaded this to my brinkster account beforehand. http://www16.brinkster.com/thinas/Matrix031.jpg Provided the link works, note that you are looking at a scene from the movie "The Matrix". The time in the movie is where the hero (Keanu Reeves, "Neo") has just swallowed the red pill at the meeting with Morpheus and has been freed from the Matrix. He just recently woke up from the computer-generated, illusory world that is The Matrix, and is now sitting up in his cell, wondering what's going on. A robotic drone senses the malfunction (Humans aren't supposed to wake up) and comes to check on him. Since his mind is no longer trapped in The Matrix, his body is useless to the machines. So the drone disconnects him by ripping out all the wires that go into his body. Neo is then flushed out into a pool, where Morpheus' ship comes and picks him up. So much for the situation... What's interesting is Neo's red cell, and those in the background of the picture. Neo's cell is not exactly unique. There are thousands, yes, even millions of these cells. The point in the entire movie, the wronging that justifies the beatings, is these cells. They are power generators. Humans in the movie are kept as prisoners, their minds sleeping in an eternal dream, The Matrix, so that the machines of the real world outside can use the human bodies to generate power and thereby run the machines. Furthermore, there are scenes of fields in the movie, in which human babies are grown in red, egg-shaped cocoons until they're large enough to be inserted into the huge powerplant of millions of human batteries. It is these fields I went on the net to get a picture of, but the one picture I did find above will serve its purpose. Looking at the picture, we grimace at this fictional fate. We find it preposterous that we intelligent beings could ever be degraded to that, could ever be subject of such cruel abusal. And then the filmic setup works. The movie succesfully identifies the bad guys for us, for with that scene, we place our blame on the machines. They are evil, we think. Controlling. Scary. Their atrocities against the human race should be brought to an end. They should be destroyed. And now, for the hopefully shocking point of this ramble. There we sit, every last one of us, yours truly included, in the comforting darkness of the theater, and are professional hypocrites. All of us. Hypocrites. We sit and watch a horde of machines abuse and imprison the human race to uphold itself, and we call it evil. But the true question really is... http://www16.brinkster.com/thinas/point.jpg http://www16.brinkster.com/thinas/kyllingehal.gif ...who's evil? How many species do we abuse to uphold US? Can you blame machines that are not capable of morale? Conscience? Or perhaps the machines of The Matrix, in some weird sense, function as a symbol of the human race, and their crimes done to us in the movie, the crimes we do to nature in real life? Saw those chicken? There were 18 per squaremeter. Think about it. The morale of the story is that one should NEVER, EVER, watch as many movies as I have. For if you do, above bull**** is the result. Now double up into a fetal position and suck your thumbs. /Thinas the Darkelf\ Local Lunatic of Denmark
  23. (Prenote) The following is neither an opening post nor an indirect application for membership. It's an idea that's been flickering around in my head for a while, and with AM down, I saw no harm in posting it here. I hope you share that opinion. You can consider me a "Guest writer"....if you must consider me at all. Looking to my left, on my tabletop, there is a so called "lavalamp". It's a tricky contrapment someone made, quite probably out of boredom and a lack of a fishtank. But still, its simplicity fascinates me and the lazy bubbles relax my mind and send my thoughts away. Make no mistake - The lavalamp's effect on a mind is in no way similar to Fox Channel's. While one no doubt looks like a drooling, mindless zombie in the process, the lavalamp politely enriches and returns your thoughts while Fox Channel steals them and has you STAY a zombie. It was in one of these brief moments the idea that you're about to hear struck my mind. The splitsecond where you snap back to reality, blink, and shake your head softly before you pick up your lower masticational device from the floor and wipe up the puddle of saliva it left. Until that happens, however, you're stuck in the lavalamp's hypnotizing power, staring blankly at the slow world of activity inside the glass pipe. The birth, and the death. In the button, there's a sea of amalgamated wax, moving softly as it's heated by the lightbulb underneath. It's what causes the red, fiery color the lamp emits. Once in a while, when it becomes too hot, the wax will gather into a round bubble and begin its journey towards the lamp's top. It ascends slowly, but securely. It happens that a descending object will meet the new bubble on its way. One going up, one going down, there's only one possible outcome. *Boink!* They clash, rather violently for their size, in midlamp. Frequently, they bend and stretch as they severely deform in order to make it past each other. On rare occasions, one may even absorb the other. But most often, the ascending makes it past the descending, and continues towards the top. It may meet other obstacles on its way, it may not. But it gets there, with time. Hovering around for a little while, at the very peak of the glass lamp's interior. Its goal accomplished, its dream made real. But it lasts only until the wax bubble meets its sad fate in the laws of physics. It will cool down. The heat that propelled it at first is gradually fading, its spirit lost. The bubble descends. As it drifts slowly back down through the lamp, it may meet new bubbles, on their way up, and history will repeat itself. *Boink*. They clash, once again stretching and bending their vulnerable bodies at the impact to create room. But we will continue to descend, for we are no match for the heat of the new bubble. In the very end of the journey we reach our birthplace in the molten sea of wax in the lamp's bottle, there we shall end, absorbed back into what created us, returned to the sea from whence we came. Widen your view. Adjust the scope. Enlarge the scale. We are in modern time, and the lamp is long gone, replaced by the ocean-crossing Internet game we know as Archmage. What's different? Little. What's similar? Everything. The server with its rank, its fame, its height, and its tender players, some only a mouseclick away from the fictional "Inferno", the Hell that they reincarnated from. So close, the masses still feel its heat. Some are already up there, where it matters, in the top. Some are wronged, some receive visions. But common for them all is their ambition. Its what propels them. Some find they share the same ideals, the same philosophy, the same goal. Mayhaps they even laugh at the same things. Two swords fight better than one. Or....As you guys would like to hear - Two Pens write faster than one. So in light of this undeniable fact, they gather, and others rally under their flag. As with all things, it takes time. But with the right amount of heat, the right amount of patience and work, the bubble that is our guild grows, and the journey begins. Fueled by the ambition of the people it consists of it ascends up through the server's tube with only one goal in mind - The top is up there, and the bubbles who guard it got there at the expense of others. Some are already on their way down, having been knocked off the top, or having simply lost faith. They descend. But it's against their will. They will do whatever is in their power to cling to the glory they once had, so they jump the new, ascending force, wanting its land, its resources, its heat. *Boink*. "They clash, rather violently for their size, in midserver. Frequently, they bend and stretch as they severely deform in order to make it past each other. On rare occasions, one may even absorb the other. But most often, the ascending makes it past the descending, and continues towards the top." If their spirit is adequate and their heat sufficient, they will make it. Conquer the top, achieve their goals, realize their dreams. But what now? They are as far as their initial ambition will take them. This is it. The goal is reached, the glory obtained. This is where the heat comes to an end. Fighting for something from the bottom has two ultimate options. You either win everything you dreamt of or you fail to move anywhere and stay where you are. It's a "Win/Unchanged" situation, so to speak. Anyone would take that chance. Fighting to hold on to what you already have also has two options...But they're much less pleasant. You either succeed and keep what you have, or you fail and lose everything. It's a "Lose/Unchanged" situation. No one wants to take that risk. As human beings, we would rather retire in glory than defeat. So people start to lose interest, some may even do what the wax could not and constitute a difference between the analogy and real life - They leave the lamp altogether. But most of the guild fights on. They continue the fight because they believe they can change the laws of physics and prevent the descent. Some are even hellbent on this cause, but the fact is undeniable: The work their ambitious selves did with great zeal in the past have begun to resemble death cramps. Pleasure turns to duty, and each post written on the board is a great exertion, done for the Love of what the guild was before it reached the top. The bubble WILL cool down, and I assure you....It WILL descend. I personally find it paradoxical that like the sammon moves up the stream to its death to spawn, the guilds of Archmage desperately fight to reach exactly what kills them. It's not anyone else, the wars it wages or the beatings it takes through other means...It's the success that destroys the guild. Think about that. All Archmages are a bunch of suicide candidates. The Army of Darkness has been through most of the system. It took several years, but they've done it all now, save dying. They gathered players, formed a bubble, began their journey, clashed with other bubbles multiple times in their ascension. I was absorbed into the bubble when it was on its way up. I was there during most of its clashes. I was there when it reached the top....And I was there when it began to descent. It clashed with guilds like WoD and Hungrymen on its way down; they were on their way up. I also foolishly fought this natural course. Eagerly, even. But I realised what was happening a few months ago, and pushed the Eject-button. I've helped in the forming of a new bubble now. Let's see how heated it is. The story serves as a reminder to those that mock a defeated power on their way up. Never forget the cycle. Mock as you see fit on your way up, but remember that sooner or later, after you've reached the top, you'll come descending back down. And when you do? ...*Boink!* Sincerely, /Thinas the Darkelf\
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