Lost and found... "aMUSE-ing!" says Peanut.
Found this the other day, for some reason, in a box labeled "spellcrafting components, books of shadow". The style of writing is achingly familiar; as to the identity of the writer, I'm not entirely sure, but I have a DAMNED good idea. Let's see if you can guess (P.S., if you weren't around at this time, or if you aren't familiar with the persons of the "group" at the time and their particular and peculiar writing styles, it's a lost cause, but take a stab at it anyway).
Jan. 15 & 17, 2001
Okay. Back again. And, once again, I am lost. I have this thing; I get way depressed at times. You know how it goes. Lack of ambition/motivation; the feeling of hopelessness; a longing so strong it muffles your heartbeat and leaves a bitter, coppery taste in your mouth; and basically wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep until you fade into eternity. When I get like this, it eats me, washes through me like a corrosive acid, dissolving my being until I'm hollow, a person left bereft of all light and as fragile as if I were made of glass.
Poor waif.
I feel as if I have nothing. And perhaps I do not. I want what I cannot have, and have what I do not want. It leaves me empty, and I need to be filled with something again. Black despair is not something.
I hope and wish for so many things, and it seems as if I'll never get them. Alas, Dreamer, behold all that's on your pedestal. And highest up, with an aura, a light, that's all it's own, is your Unattainable Goal. Whomever thought that Love would be so hard to capture? I do not want the simpletons that want me. They know not what they seek, and I would flay them alive if given a chance. The utter impudence of it all astounds and annoys me; I cannot stand hopelessly fallen people. To be so hung up in such a schoolboy manner is a huge antagonism to me. I cannot explain how. Maybe it's a lack of backbone. Males who reek of infatuation are marked to me as an easy kill, weak prey. It places me on a path of destruction; I long for nothing more than to show them the mistake of hankering after the unattainable, of laying themselves out prostrate upon the alter of the merciless Muse. It is a rarity for me to bestow such affection, but it is a devotion paralleled by nothing else, and almost impossible to retract. It is almost as if I give something monumental and vital of myself to that person, and am only whole when they are present.
So now I say: I am but a shadow of myself. Ah, my Beautiful One, where are you now?
- Muse
I read that and laugh, a little. I miss that girl, but I'm glad that she's gone.
Since I'm posting stuff I've found that is written by a hand other than my own, here's two from "Nightengale (SP? She spells this funny)"... hahahah, about ... well. Dude, this stuff is hilarious; she makes the subject sound like a super hero. *poses* I'm Brad. Anyway. Let's just steal a title and call both of these "About a Girl" :
Here comes a true child of Caine, deep in her thoughts, beauty of the land, yet queen to none. Seeker of justice and protector of weak. Misfortune and misjudged treads heavily on thee. And laughingly she slips into her dreams. Almost sinfully she works out her plans. She could be a heroine or your very own demon. Extremely vindictive and very little patience it's simply a wonder she hasn't cast us all into hell.
next...
Trapped between two angels - she sits alone. Thoughts in clouds she commands with powers found within. (This is actually a reference to... let's just call it a realization of some rather strong abilities I wasn't aware of until she pointed it out when I was exercising them one day.) Long-legged and very slender, green book (which happens to be in my lap right now) opened to her next work of much resourceful vocabulary. Her round eyes open to my own. Secret laughter. The pen-weaver knows, with her kindred soul. Yet no place falls to her as home. She floats alone. Mistaking friends for enemies and enemies for friends, will she ever find a home in a world so cruel or will she disappear into a reality of herself?
I also found some stuff of Linda's... I won't post them up, but it just got me thinking... the ppl I hung out with back then have one hell of a different style of writing, each and every single one that could wave a pen.
This is the last something I'm going to post up here... actually written by me. It's very silly (so much so, it's damned near embarassing), extremely childish... and was compiled by taking three days of pain and morphine-induced hysteria's worth of pieces and smashing them together in a way that oddly fits. This is the end result of all the writings I pumped out during the (very few and far between) times I was awake and lucid, in the aftermath of my back surgery - hence the morphine-addled spew I'm about to type out. Enjoy! This just cracks me the hell up:
"Hospital Days Compliation"
I'm covered in bandages
sticky shit adhesive
My teeth feel like they're melting
Can't blame it all on surgery
I'm Little Bo Peep of the drug kingdom
Come closer and I'll give you some
Post-operative withdrawl
Let me see your smile
All I have is Primus
Nirvana-induced lust
Carrot pie without crust
Needles made out of lead
Sometimes I wonder if I'm dead
They gave me a walker
Hollow-steel stalker
"Post-operative" means "after"
Drug induced laughter
Look at that picture
I'm the Queen of Literature!
Pop those pills
Something that kills
Tear my stitches
Burn the witches!
Hello Mr. Hospital Chaplain
Did you steal my acid?
*falls over laughing* That was a bit edited for "content"... some of the shit actually "written" didn't make any kind of sense at all, well... lol. You know what I mean!!! It wasn't until I was typing it out that I noticed that it uses the same words/phrases over and over... Sweet Lleu, I was out of my head. HAHAHAHAH THERE'S EVEN A NOTE SAYING "FORGIVE THE INSANITY..." WRITTEN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE!!!
Alrighty. Bed time.
Jan. 15 & 17, 2001
Okay. Back again. And, once again, I am lost. I have this thing; I get way depressed at times. You know how it goes. Lack of ambition/motivation; the feeling of hopelessness; a longing so strong it muffles your heartbeat and leaves a bitter, coppery taste in your mouth; and basically wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep until you fade into eternity. When I get like this, it eats me, washes through me like a corrosive acid, dissolving my being until I'm hollow, a person left bereft of all light and as fragile as if I were made of glass.
Poor waif.
I feel as if I have nothing. And perhaps I do not. I want what I cannot have, and have what I do not want. It leaves me empty, and I need to be filled with something again. Black despair is not something.
I hope and wish for so many things, and it seems as if I'll never get them. Alas, Dreamer, behold all that's on your pedestal. And highest up, with an aura, a light, that's all it's own, is your Unattainable Goal. Whomever thought that Love would be so hard to capture? I do not want the simpletons that want me. They know not what they seek, and I would flay them alive if given a chance. The utter impudence of it all astounds and annoys me; I cannot stand hopelessly fallen people. To be so hung up in such a schoolboy manner is a huge antagonism to me. I cannot explain how. Maybe it's a lack of backbone. Males who reek of infatuation are marked to me as an easy kill, weak prey. It places me on a path of destruction; I long for nothing more than to show them the mistake of hankering after the unattainable, of laying themselves out prostrate upon the alter of the merciless Muse. It is a rarity for me to bestow such affection, but it is a devotion paralleled by nothing else, and almost impossible to retract. It is almost as if I give something monumental and vital of myself to that person, and am only whole when they are present.
So now I say: I am but a shadow of myself. Ah, my Beautiful One, where are you now?
- Muse
I read that and laugh, a little. I miss that girl, but I'm glad that she's gone.
Since I'm posting stuff I've found that is written by a hand other than my own, here's two from "Nightengale (SP? She spells this funny)"... hahahah, about ... well. Dude, this stuff is hilarious; she makes the subject sound like a super hero. *poses* I'm Brad. Anyway. Let's just steal a title and call both of these "About a Girl" :
Here comes a true child of Caine, deep in her thoughts, beauty of the land, yet queen to none. Seeker of justice and protector of weak. Misfortune and misjudged treads heavily on thee. And laughingly she slips into her dreams. Almost sinfully she works out her plans. She could be a heroine or your very own demon. Extremely vindictive and very little patience it's simply a wonder she hasn't cast us all into hell.
next...
Trapped between two angels - she sits alone. Thoughts in clouds she commands with powers found within. (This is actually a reference to... let's just call it a realization of some rather strong abilities I wasn't aware of until she pointed it out when I was exercising them one day.) Long-legged and very slender, green book (which happens to be in my lap right now) opened to her next work of much resourceful vocabulary. Her round eyes open to my own. Secret laughter. The pen-weaver knows, with her kindred soul. Yet no place falls to her as home. She floats alone. Mistaking friends for enemies and enemies for friends, will she ever find a home in a world so cruel or will she disappear into a reality of herself?
I also found some stuff of Linda's... I won't post them up, but it just got me thinking... the ppl I hung out with back then have one hell of a different style of writing, each and every single one that could wave a pen.
This is the last something I'm going to post up here... actually written by me. It's very silly (so much so, it's damned near embarassing), extremely childish... and was compiled by taking three days of pain and morphine-induced hysteria's worth of pieces and smashing them together in a way that oddly fits. This is the end result of all the writings I pumped out during the (very few and far between) times I was awake and lucid, in the aftermath of my back surgery - hence the morphine-addled spew I'm about to type out. Enjoy! This just cracks me the hell up:
"Hospital Days Compliation"
I'm covered in bandages
sticky shit adhesive
My teeth feel like they're melting
Can't blame it all on surgery
I'm Little Bo Peep of the drug kingdom
Come closer and I'll give you some
Post-operative withdrawl
Let me see your smile
All I have is Primus
Nirvana-induced lust
Carrot pie without crust
Needles made out of lead
Sometimes I wonder if I'm dead
They gave me a walker
Hollow-steel stalker
"Post-operative" means "after"
Drug induced laughter
Look at that picture
I'm the Queen of Literature!
Pop those pills
Something that kills
Tear my stitches
Burn the witches!
Hello Mr. Hospital Chaplain
Did you steal my acid?
*falls over laughing* That was a bit edited for "content"... some of the shit actually "written" didn't make any kind of sense at all, well... lol. You know what I mean!!! It wasn't until I was typing it out that I noticed that it uses the same words/phrases over and over... Sweet Lleu, I was out of my head. HAHAHAHAH THERE'S EVEN A NOTE SAYING "FORGIVE THE INSANITY..." WRITTEN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE!!!
Alrighty. Bed time.