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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Why are you here?


Vlad

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Hmmm, Why am I here? Well a long time ago me ma and me da met for the first time and that equation = me.

 

Why do I Write? Well because writing is a way of getting my madness out of me and infect other people with it.

 

 

Ok now it is time to be serious for a change. I write becouse there is just this certain urge to share with the world the way I think. Let the world get a glimps of what makes me tick. Besides the feelings I get when I should finish a story, or take part in role-playing, or even writing one of my poems.

 

I am here becouse I like to have a place to show my work should I ever complete a story. I like being able to post anything without people knowing who the man behind Racouol is. It also gives me a chance to improve without the clutter paper makes.

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I am here because vincent Silver pestered me about it, so I originally came here to shut him up. But now I stay because i like it.

 

I write because some of my feelings and thoughts cannot be expressed in my pictures, and they are more easily perceptable in writing than when put on paper as a picture.

 

Here is an example that could have NEVER been drawn to show all of the feelings.

 

5-04-03

One day, on the natural plane of which humans originated, a man wondered. He did so while riding on his bike, as he was wont to do nightly for an hour in the least. Not being a person to care or think much on trivial things, being such as the ruler of a nation, or a person mysterious death on a faraway country, his thoughts centered more on himself, for in truth, what a person cares thew most for is most often himself. This is the nature of these weak creatures named humans. Being his nature, as one who is not viewed as a person is liked, he did think of that which was what he wanted. Some money in his pocket, a little food to snack on at his house, water, a friend rather near his location, it mattered to him alone. Two of his more common thoughts, truly, being those of other lives for him and one particular vision of beauty. in fact, he always, to himsaelf in the least, calls that one beautiful, as if it were the name of that one. He nearly curses himself for his fleshly weakness, but nevertheless, he doth endureth. Many jokes are made by he only half-hearted, because he lacks the love. Many are the people who have never and will never notice this. For those, he weals, and for them that notice, he tells all to, in time. But it is seldom that they notice, so he weeps all the more, weeps with no tears. the pains are an interesting joy to this one, who clenches his jaw for the new pain of it, this week old pain. Waiting, patience is his new friend, and his old enemy. When the thought is in him, it causes him almost physical pain, noticible to those who might look to see if it is there. In the end, it is forgotten on the winds, as is the flame to the ocean. Short is beautiful, one does say, so these many shortlived pains are deadly beautiful. But he hates them. When he says all he needs to say, he has lost all words to say, even thogh he does be a wordmonger, this fellow. He pleads to his friends through his friends with the visible crying girls, women, and they say little, other than dude. This only satisfies a small amount, so therefore, he makes more. And he wonders

 

Peace out. B)

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Well, the answer collided with me shortly after I posted that I didn't know the reason that I continue to write.

 

I had been trying for 3 hours to get in the shower. Finally, life seemed to slow down enough and I decided to make a run for it. I turned on the water to get nice and warm for my entrance, and had managed to get half undressed, when my 6 (almost 7) year old came flying through the door, running into the bathroom, and squalling like a storm at sea about *something* (I don't even remember now what it was). My blood-pressure flew up drastically as I dove for the towel and began screeching at my child to have 5 just 5 minutes of peace, privacy, and silence.

 

That's it!!!

 

I live in a life that is more hectic and frantic than a mosh pit, yet, when I write, I have serenity. What I write doesn't matter.... good or bad (and trust me, most of it is bad), stories, poems, songs, jokes, even posts or letters to a friend... it is "me time". Everything else I do, I do with or for someone else. Writing allows me to stop time and do something that is soothing, peaceful, and private.

 

Ahhhhh... I feel so much better now.... and I did manage to get that shower. Posted Image

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why am i here? because my son dragged me in and said "here, read that."

why did i stay? because i love it here. i felt like i'd come home, and that's extremely rare for me.

 

why do i write? because i can, when so often i cannot speak. an injudicious word can get you killed. when i write, i can polish and refine and stand back and gaze from as many directions as i can reach to ensure that what i say is not only what i mean, but what i mean to say. writing it is safer than saying it, and yet it's also freer as there are things which i can write but cannot say. it sounds so trite, but runs so deep - i write because i *can*. there are things in me which demand to be said, thoughts and words and ideas which pour onto the paper or into my word processor, which if i try to speak them to someone else they're gone on hummingbird wings and i can't recover them. writing gives me a chance to impose order on an often otherwise tangles mess of thoughts, emotions, raw life experience. imposing order on the words lets me also order my thoughts and to some extent my emotional response to things. some people talk to a friend and work their way through it all. i must write it. so i do, because i can. it always comes back to that.

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hmm... Initially, I was lured in here because Oz or Wyvern (I'm not sure which) mentioned free booze. Oh, that still keeps me around, of course, but I've found that I've become quite attached to all of you folks that frequent this place. I've found that the Pen is a remarkable place to weather out the myriad of problems that seem to trouble the heart. It is also a place to express our joys, accomplishments, and even the mundane feelings of mid-afternoon Tuesday blahs. Although I hate to admit it, booze seems to pale in comparison to all of you folks.

 

The Pen is alive through each one of it's unique members. You guys and gals make this place special. But don't get me wrong, the free booze is great.

 

As for the writing...as I've never actually completed anything that I can recall, I feel I can't comment on that part. The urge to write hits me so infrequently, I can't say too much about it. I suppose that life's to blame there in some way. It's funny...sometimes it seems that lack of the necessary urge to write is slowly alienating me from the rest of the Pen community. A sobering thought, to be sure, but one definately worth thinking about.

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I don't have problems to compare to most of yours. In truth I've lead a very tame life.

 

However, I find reading and writing to be fun. And this seems the best place on the interent to do those things.

 

And if my presence has ever helped anyone in some small way, then I am glad for it.

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Tamaranis - i don't think problems are a necessary component to writing. ;> Personally, i'd much rather write for fun, and am delighted to know that you can!!

 

Brute - i truly hope that sobering thought doesn't become a self fulfilling prophecy. i come to know and appreciate people by what they write here - be it writing-related comments, general chatter, or posted writings. i don't believe any one is any better than any other. If we all sat back and simply posted our writings we'd be dying for a dearth of feedback. As far as i've seen, you have a valuable place in the community here and i for one would hate to see you fade away.

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